**Stacey**
Pressure in my head. Scratchy throat. Eyelids made of lead.
I woke up to a deep rumbling engine, and looked around, the sun’s rays attacking my irises. There were cars packed in neat rows from all sides, as if we were at a dealership, but upon further inspection they were from all years and brands. I’m in an outdoor parking lot, and alone.
‘Chris?’ I asked, my voice surprisingly small and hoarse.
‘I’m right here,’ his warm, masculine voice came from behind me. I heard something metal hit the pavement, and then the whirring of the Escalade’s trunk lowering. Relief replaced the initial pang of anxiousness when I laid eyes on him, his presence reassuring me.
He pushed a comfortable-looking wheelchair around to my side of the car before opening the door, the cool November air invading the cabin. ‘Here,’ he said as he lowered me onto the chair as easily as if I was a straw doll, and I gripped the hard muscles of his upper arm instinctively, providing me with a secure point where I could lean my weight.