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SATURDAY I wake with a start, Chris’s words from the dream echoing through my mind. My face is wet with tears I must have cried during my sleep. My throat aches like I’ve been yelling for hours. The relentless sorrow washes over me like a tidal wave, carrying me back under. I curl up in my bed, pulling the covers over my head, and scream. And scream. And scream. When my voice is completely gone, the despair shifts to rage. I’m so angry that my limbs shake. At myself. At the other team for getting lost in the first place. At the scientists involved in the time-travel project. And above all else, at Vincent Sharp. My hands squeeze into fists, and I want nothing more than to slam them into his face over and over. I force myself out of bed and head to my gym, where I spend the next hour w
- Writer
