THYME'S POV:
The images are burned onto the inside of my eyelids. The wet, intimate sound of a man's head hitting concrete. The fine crimson mist that exploded from where a face used to be. The smell of gunpowder and hot blood, so thick it coated the back of my throat. I witnessed people get killed right in front of me, and the one who killed them was the scarred-face Meta—a monster wearing the face of the man I kissed. That guy is a killer, a brutal, efficient predator, and I can't get the sight of his dead eyes out of my head. My hands won't stop shaking.
I was trembling inside the car, a terrified puppet being dragged through a butcher's theater. Why did I follow him? Was I insane? But what terrifies me even more is the impossible truth of it. The driver, the men he slaughtered—none of them saw me. The bullets passed right through me as if I were nothing more than air. "Am I really a ghost?" he'd asked, his voice a low growl of analysis. Did I die in the ocean? Is my soul now trapped, ricocheting between the gentle, confusing Meta of my time and this terrifying killer from another?
I don't understand what's happening. I don't understand any of it. Desperate for air, I'd opened the car window, but then we passed through a bank of thick, unnatural fog. It coiled into the car like spectral fingers, carrying the smell of ozone and something else… something ancient and rotten, like an open grave. It choked me, blinded me. I tried to close the window, to fight it, but it was too late. In the blink of an eye, the smell of decay was replaced by the rich, smoky scent of grilled chicken and pork. The world violently recalibrated, and I was standing on a familiar street corner, the phantom cold of the other world still clinging to my skin. I was back where I should be.
"Thyme?"
A familiar voice called my name, slicing through the ringing in my ears. I spun around, my heart leaping into my throat. It was Dom, his face etched with a look of casual confusion.
"Dom!" I gasped, my voice cracking. He walked closer, his presence so solid, so real, it was like an anchor in my swirling vortex of panic.
"Wait…" I took a staggering step back, my hand flying up to point at him, my finger trembling. "You can see me? You can actually see me?"
Dom let out a short, incredulous chuckle. "Are you on drugs, Thyme? Of course, I can see you. You're not invisible. What's with you? Is someone secretly filming us? Is this some kind of stupid prank?"
The words slammed into me. I wasn't a ghost. He could see me. The relief was so profound it almost buckled my knees, but it was immediately followed by a wave of hot, suffocating shame. He thinks I'm crazy. I probably am. The horrifying alternative—that everything I experienced was real—was too terrifying to contemplate.
"Are you okay, Thyme? I was just joking," Dom's voice softened, his brow furrowing with genuine worry as he took in my pale face and violent trembling.
"N-No, I… I was just thinking about something else," I stammered, the lie tasting like ash in my mouth. How could I ever explain this? How could I tell him that I think I'm jumping between timelines, being haunted by a homicidal version of a guy I just met? One thing was agonizingly clear: everything is related to Meta and the mysterious, forgotten past that binds us together.
"Oh... okay," Dom said, though he still looked unconvinced. "But why are you here? You look like you've seen a ghost."
The irony was a bitter pill. "I was looking for something to eat," I said, trying to force my voice to sound normal, casual. But the images were still there—the blood, the dead eyes, the cold muzzle of a pistol. They were real. I knew they were.
"Oh, I see! That's why you're spacing out, your stomach is already empty," Dom said with a grin, trying to lighten the mood. I managed a weak, hollow laugh, a pathetic attempt to lessen the crushing tension and confusion that was threatening to swallow me whole.
"I'm also looking for something to eat. Let's go," Dom said, slinging an arm around my shoulder and pulling me in the direction of his favorite diner. The casual, friendly contact was so jarringly normal it almost made me want to cry. I let him lead me, my feet moving on autopilot. I wasn't a ghost, but I was haunted. And as we walked, a new, colder fear began to settle in my gut: If I'm not dead, then what in the hell is happening to me?
The diner was an assault on the senses, a welcome one. The air hung thick with the fragrant steam of chili, lime, and garlic. We found a small booth in the corner, and without even looking at the menus, Dom and I ordered three sets of Green Curry each, along with two tall glasses of lemon iced tea clinking with ice. It's the one place we are perfectly in sync: our shared, almost religious reverence for a good meal.
The world outside the steamy windows ceased to exist. There were no words between us, only the rhythmic clink of spoons against ceramic and appreciative hums. I saw a family at a nearby table whispering, their eyes wide as they watched us devour enough food for a small army, but for once, the stares didn't bother me. Here, with Dom, surrounded by the comforting chaos of food being made and enjoyed, I felt a flicker of normalcy. I savored every bite, letting the creamy, spicy heat of the curry chase away the phantom cold that had settled in my bones.
But the moment I scraped my last grain of rice from the bowl and leaned back with a sigh, the comfortable silence shattered. The shift in Dom was instantaneous. He placed his spoon down with a definitive click, the sound unnaturally loud. The easy-going, food-loving friend I had just shared a meal with vanished, replaced by a stranger with hard eyes and a jaw set like concrete.
"Thyme," he started, his voice low and devoid of its usual warmth. "I don't want to ask you about this because Lance might get mad at me, but what is your actual relationship right now with Meta?" I could see the seriousness in Dom's eyes, which made me nervous. How could I answer my relationship status with Meta when I wasn't even sure what we actually were? And I wasn't even sure if I liked him, or if it was just confusion from everything that was happening right now.
"I'll be honest with you, Dom, I don't even know what my relationship with him is. I've only known him for two days – no, it's the third day today. There shouldn't be any progress between us because we just met, but..." I paused, unsure how to explain the situation. I didn't want to hide anything from Dom. Between Lance and Dom, Dom was the most trustworthy with my secrets. Lance was also trustworthy, but I still trusted Dom more than Lance. I knew Lance had liked me since high school, but unlike my other admirers, he never had the courage to tell me. It became more complicated because Dom, his childhood friend, had liked Lance since they were young. Lance was too dense to realize, or rather, Dom was good at hiding his feelings for Lance. Even with that situation, Dom never did anything bad to me; he remained a loyal and trustworthy friend, even if there were times he got jealous. But I always made it clear to him that I only saw Lance as a friend.
"But...?" Dom waved his hand, clearly seeing I was lost in thought again.
"Please don't tell Lance what I'm about to tell you." Dom nodded, and I felt somewhat relieved. Finally, I had someone to talk to about what was happening between me and Meta. I still couldn't tell him about seeing the scarred-face Meta or if everything was just my imagination because I felt like a ghost in that world where scarred-face Meta belonged. But I told him everything else that had happened between Meta and me, and I could see from Dom's reaction that he couldn't believe it either.
"Thyme, I can understand that the first kiss was unintentional because he wanted to save your life, but why did you kiss him inside a couple's room in a hotel?" Even I felt ashamed of what I did.
"I... I don't know, Dom. There was something inside me urging me to do it. It was like I was being controlled by an unexplainable emotion... I don't know how to explain it." Dom seemed worried.
"It might be something related in th... I mean, you might have just got carried away by the atmosphere because you were inside a couple's room, but Thyme, you can still do better if you don't let your emotions control you, right?" Dom was right. I thought I needed to control my own emotions, but I'm usually good at doing that. I can even avoid showing my true emotions in front of my family, so why, when it comes to Meta, does everything seem hard to do? I'm going crazy with everything that's happened.