Unraveling

Dominic's POV

I couldn’t sit still. My leg kept bouncing under the damn table like it had a mind of its own. I was already three sips into coffee and still didn’t feel like I was awake. Everything inside me was itchy. I was losing it. Maybe I already had.

Peterson wiped the counter with a rag that looked like it needed to be burned. He was humming something, off-key, low. Like always. His apron was crooked and he had flour in his hair. I didn’t ask how.

“You keep bouncing that knee like you’re about to get drafted,” he said without looking at me.

I stopped. Immediately started again. Couldn’t help it.

“You look like crap,” he added, walking around to my table with two mugs. One for him, one for me. Black. No sugar. I didn’t even ask.

“Thanks,” I muttered.

He sat down with that old-man sigh even though he was maybe five years older than me. Twenty-six tops. Still walked like he’d been through war. Probably just bad knees and too much overtime.

“So?” he said, leaning back. “What’s going on in that haunted little brain of yours?”

I didn’t say anything for a second. Just stared at the window like answers were written in the fog on the glass. They weren’t.

“I think I’m losing it,” I said finally. “Like... for real.”

Peterson nodded slowly like he expected that answer. “Any particular reason or just vibes?”

“There’s this girl,” I started.

He held up a hand. “Already sounds like trouble.”

“No,” I said. “Worse than trouble. I don’t know how I know her.”

He frowned. “What?”

“She said we talked. A bunch. Said I told her something big. Something... dangerous.”

“Like what?”

I looked around the café like someone might be listening. There were two customers. One had earbuds in and the other was asleep with a half-eaten muffin stuck to his face.

“She said I told her I was a werewolf,” I said low.

Peterson stared.

“Dude.”

“I didn’t, though,” I said fast. “I don’t remember any of that. I don’t remember anything. I remember seeing her yesterday. I think. But she acts like I’ve been in love with her since forever.”

“And were you?”

“I don’t know!” I almost knocked the cup over. My fingers curled tight around the ceramic. My nails dug into the bottom of the mug. “That’s the problem. I don’t freaking know. My brain feels like scrambled eggs.”

Peterson blinked. “Okay, okay. Dial it back. Let’s just—wait. So you don’t remember anything about her?”

I shook my head.

“Not even her name?”

“Selena,” I said automatically. “It’s... familiar. It sticks. But I don’t remember her face. Not really. Not... fully. Just pieces.”

Peterson leaned back again, arms crossed. “Did you dream her?”

“What?”

“Dreams, man. Sometimes we dream people and convince ourselves we know them. Maybe that’s all this is. A dream you’re still stuck in.”

“No,” I said. “It’s different. It’s not just forgetting. It’s like—like someone erased something from my head on purpose. And there’s still a hole where it used to be. I feel it.”

Peterson didn’t answer that. He just looked at me, tapping his finger against the table. Then he changed the subject.

“You thinking of running for student rep?”

I blinked. “What?”

“Student rep,” he repeated. “Election’s coming up. They’re posting about it in the group chat. People are already picking favorites.”

I scoffed. Loud. “Me? No. Hell no. I’m not running for anything.”

He shrugged. “You’d probably win. You’ve got that sad boy energy the girls like.”

“Sad boy energy,” I repeated, dragging my hand down my face. “That’s not a compliment.”

“Didn’t say it was,” he said, grinning. “Just saying—people like you. Even if you’re weird. Which you are.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

I picked up the mug again and stared at the dark surface. My reflection blinked back. I didn’t recognize the guy looking back at me. He looked tired. Older. Wrong.

“You really don’t remember anything about her?” Peterson asked again.

“No,” I said, and I meant it. “But she remembers everything.”

That silence stretched too long. I hated it.

“She cried,” I added. “In the hallway. In front of everyone. I told her I didn’t know her and she cried like I’d punched her.”

Peterson looked down at his cup.

“And you don’t feel anything?” he asked.

“I don’t know what I feel.”

“You feel guilty.”

“Maybe,” I said. “I don’t know. I shouldn’t. Right? I don’t know her.”

Peterson just looked at me. No judgment. Just that look. Like he saw something I didn’t want anyone to see.

Then the bell over the door rang.

And in walked Cherry.

Of course.

She didn’t walk. She sauntered. Like she had slow motion wind following her. Tight jeans. Red top. The kind that didn’t care what rules existed. Perfect lip gloss. Perfect hair. And the confidence of someone who’d been told yes all her life.

“Oh my god, Dom,” she purred, walking over. “Funny running into you here.”

Peterson smirked under his breath and got up fast like he suddenly had a thousand things to do in the back.

Cherry slid into the chair Peterson had just left.

She didn’t ask.

“Hi,” I said flatly.

She smiled. “You look like you saw a ghost.”

“I feel like one.”

“Oof, edgy,” she giggled. “You should write poetry.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

She leaned her elbow on the table, chin on her hand. “So. I heard about your little hallway scene.”

I flinched.

She noticed.

“I mean, wow,” she said. “That girl really went for it, huh? Dramatic much?”

“Don’t,” I said.

Cherry raised a brow. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t talk about her like that.”

She blinked. “Didn’t you just say you don’t even know her?”

“I don’t,” I said. “But... still. Don’t.”

She leaned back, crossing her legs, arms folded. “Interesting. You don’t know her. But you care.”

“I don’t care.”

“You sound like you do.”

“I said I don’t.”

She grinned. “Fine. Whatever. I was just checking if you were still available.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Available for what?”

“Lunch. Coffee. Life. You know, casual flirting. Maybe more if you stop brooding like a tragic novel character.”

I stared at her.

“You’re serious?”

She shrugged. “I mean. I could do worse. You’ve got the whole ‘lost wolf boy’ thing going on. It’s weirdly hot.”

“Thanks?”

“Not a compliment,” she smiled sweetly.

I looked away. My fingers twitched.

She followed my eyes to the window. “So? You free tonight?”

“No.”

“Busy?”

“Not really.”

“Then why not?”

“I just... I don’t want to.”

Cherry narrowed her eyes, not angry, just confused. “Since when do you not want attention?”

“Since everything started feeling like it’s falling apart.”

She didn’t have a comeback for that.

She stood up. Brushed her hair over her shoulder. “Your loss.”

She left. But to the bathroom.

Peterson peeked out from the back.

“She gone?”

“Yeah.”

“God, she’s exhausting.”

I huffed a breath and leaned back in the chair, eyes closed. She would be back though.

Something’s wrong with me.

And it’s not just memory loss.

It’s like I’m haunted.

By someone I can’t remember...

But somehow already miss.