The sounds are all there. The smells are the same. Everything is identical, even down to the dry mouth and ill-tasting stinky breath I have going on.
This twisted déjà vu is meant to t*****e me, twisting the knife into my already tattered heart. I hear my mom and Grayson. Their tired, worried voices seem amplified in this vacuum of despair. Every word they speak makes its way directly to me, despite their hushed tones.
I try to block them out, but it is useless. The conversation gets interesting when a third voice enters the discussion. It comes from a male, probably older, with a slight accent. The sound of his voice is soothing, so I listen. They seem to be continuing a discussion from earlier, but from what I can gather, I must have fainted while Grace was delivering her baby and hit
