Chapter 1

"Meow."

I cracked one eye balefully. Brightness burned my retina. I yawned, jaw cracking painfully, and turned over onto my left side, appreciating that one blissful moment of peace afforded by a good night's sleep. It wouldn't last long. As my body woke, so would its enemy. But in this brief moment, there was a reprieve. I savored it, luxuriating in the joy of simply feeling “normal.” A movement jostled the end of the bed. "Good morning." A fuzzy black face appeared in my vision. Hot cat breath and kitty kisses. “Ugh, stop. Samson. Stooooop." My hand left the warmth and safety of the covers to scritch his head while trying to avoid the jaws of doom. I failed and he latched on to the meaty pad under my pinky, sinking in his teeth just to the edge of ouch. I pulled the covers off my face to glare at him. He relented, then gave a pitiful mew.

"Yeah, yeah. I know. You're starving to death. Poor baby."

Jumping down from the bed, he padded off into the kitchen to wait. He knew the routine. Sighing, I resolved to get up. I started with my toes, gently wiggling them, feeling the tingle and burn begin. I stretched my arches and rotated my ankles. Pins and needles began flooding my feet. Gently, I stretched my calves - ah shit - burning, cramping, Charley horse oh god ow ow ow ow ooh okay it's easing ... thighs, thighs are okay ... hips are sore, achy, stiff, not too bad ... lower back, ooooohhhh that's really sore ... upper body and arms are okay today, hands feel good, neck turns freely, no pounding headache. My jaw was a little sore and I had that tightness behind my eyes that meant a possible migraine later, but in the moment, I was good. I could move, nothing was excruciating, all of my parts were in working order. Hmmm. All of my parts? Better take advantage. I grinned to myself, reached over to my nightstand drawer and pulled out Roger. His cheerful pink color and adorable bunny ears tickled my sense of humor, as always. Pushing the button that got Roger's ears twitching, I licked my lips, anticipating the vibration. Nothing happened.

"Fuck."

"Meooooow."

“Fuck.”

After plugging in Roger’s USB cord to charge and feeding Samson, I put the coffee on. Mmm. That smell. I grabbed a cup, splashed in my favorite soy creamer and sat on the loveseat, cracking open my laptop. Checking my email, I groaned when I saw the deluge of spam. "Natural Cure for Fybromyalgia! Click Here!" "Get the Relief You Deserve!" "You'll Never Believe This One Simple Trick for Chronic Pain!" After deleting all of those, I had one actual email. The most recent test results were in. I braced myself. Yep. Negative. So it wasn't lupus. That was it. I'd been tested for every possible ailment and still had no answers. They’d given me a loose diagnosis of “chronic pain.” My symptoms were inconsistent with every diagnosis and no single label covered all of my issues. I sighed, took a sip of my coffee. Did it really matter if I had a name for what was wrong with me? In all likelihood, there was no cure, so labeling it wouldn't make much difference. But somehow I felt like naming it would give me an advantage. At the least, I could tell people a disease they’d have heard of and they'd make that sad face for me. I shook my head and laughed ruefully. No point feeling sorry for myself. I shut the laptop lid roughly and stuck it on the lower shelf of the little wooden coffee table.

I went to the kitchen and peered up through the casement window over the sink. Sunshine! Wonderful. Mid-March, it would still be cool and breezy outside, but some time in the sun would definitely do me good. I threw a gluten-free bagel in the toaster oven, made my second cup of coffee, and then spread avocado on the toasted atrocity. Sprinkled it with Everything seasoning and added some fresh strawberries to the plate. I looked at my breakfast and sighed. I missed real bread. Cheese. Meat and eggs. But I was trying this restrictive, plant-based, whole-food, gluten-free diet in the hopes that it would reduce inflammation. Oh, well. Luckily, I liked fruits and veggies. But I sure did miss real wheat bread.

I carried my coffee, breakfast plate, and book, carefully balanced, up the basement stairs to my landlady's laundry room. She was there, transferring a load from the washer to the dryer.

"Good morning, Antigone!" Maeve said brightly.

"Morning," I said, shutting the door with my shoulder. "You can call me Ant,” I reminded her.

She smiled. “Okay, Ant. What are you up to on this beautiful Friday morning?”

“I'm gonna hit the hammock, soak up some sunshine before work." Maeve was kind enough to afford me the house's side yard as part of my rental.

I couldn't believe that I'd found such a perfect apartment. I'd lived with my parents (adoptive, but to me they were just Mom and Dad) until I’d finished my two-year Associate of Arts degree. Being twenty-one, I figured it was about time I had my own place. I’d lucked into this apartment — I’d been riding by on my way to work when I saw the "For Rent" sign tucked in the basement window. Maeve had basically rented it to me on the spot. She’d taken me through the gate to the fenced, private side yard, told me it was included in the rent, and showed me the apartment. As soon as I entered the little studio, I felt at home. There was something comforting and womb-like about the space. It's like a Tardis, I’d thought — bigger on the inside. It had amazing light for an underground dwelling, with casement windows all around. A full kitchen and bath, with an actual clawfoot bathtub. It even had cat doors. I had given Maeve my rent and deposit and started moving in the very next day, with help from Mom and Dad.

Anywhere else, I might have minded passing through the laundry room to get outside, but I liked Maeve and enjoyed the excuse to interact with her. Tall and slender, she had a riotous mane of curly red hair, currently pinned up in a loose, messy bun. She seemed confident and self-possessed. I guessed her age to be mid-20s, but it was hard to pin down. I didn't really know anything about her. We'd only had casual conversations so far. But since I'd only officially finished moving in on Tuesday, I wasn't worried. There'd be plenty of time to get to know each other.

The laundry room had a locking exterior door, to which I had a key, so it amounted to a private entrance. I waited for Maeve to be done, then set my coffee cup on the dryer to open the door.

Maeve spoke suddenly. "How do you like the place? Everything working for you?"

I turned to reply. She was standing in the open doorway to the kitchen, hip cocked, one elegant hand on the door. Her calf-length sundress had little strawberries dotted all over it. Her feet were bare, the toenails a matching berry red. I stared maybe a little too long at her shapely, muscular, alabaster calves. Wondering idly what it would be like to slide my hand over her silken skin, I felt my cheeks heat up.

"Yep!" I chirped, twisting a strand of hair around my finger. "I love it here! Can't wait to get some plants!"

"Oh, do you like to garden?" She looked pleased.

I nodded emphatically. "Yeah, I love to grow stuff. I'm so happy to have space for that. I'm gonna plant flowers, tomatoes, maybe some herbs ... " I was babbling.

"I'm glad you're making yourself at home. The side yard is so empty right now; it’d be great if you wanted to put in a garden. It’s all yours; do whatever you’d like. Help yourself to the garden tools." She gestured at the small storage closet to her left. "There's a shovel, rake, trowels, and gloves in there."

"Cool, thanks!" I grinned, a little light-headed. Jeez, Ant, get a grip.

"Enjoy the sunshine." She lifted her hand in a graceful little wave and shut the kitchen door. Juggling my book and plate, I held the door open with my hip, grabbed my coffee, and stepped outside into the fresh morning air.

I set my stuff on the little wooden crate I was using as a side table and flopped ever so gracefully into the free-standing hammock underneath the overhanging branches of the willow tree in the front yard, which sent its limbs and dangling tendrils out over the 6-foot fence. My head was shaded by the willow’s soft yellow-green dappled light, while my pale legs were exposed to the sun. I picked up my book, the newest T. Kingfisher novel, and flipped it open to the marked page. The sun was warm on my skin. A light breeze lifted my hair and kissed my cheeks. I sipped my coffee, then took a bite of my not-bagel. Perfectly content, I happily munched my way through my breakfast, savoring the avocado’s creaminess and the tart bite and sweet finish of the strawberries, stopping to sip my rich dark-roast coffee from time to time. Gradually, the warmth of the sun and the fullness of my belly combined to make me drowsy. My eyelids drooped. My book fell from my loose hand and dropped onto my chest. I startled, then returned to my light doze. As the hammock rocked gently in the breeze and the combination of sunlight and shade painted abstract flashes of red and gold behind my closed eyelids, a fantasy began to take shape. A skirl of dancing fairies, glowing like fire. Leaping with abandon, they whirled and shifted, long limber limbs contorting and bending in unnatural ways. My mouth curved up in an involuntary smile at their antics. Suddenly, a deeper flash of red. It appeared again as the breeze moved the trailing willow vines above me. The fairies faded away as the shadows deepened and the red grew more distinct, coalescing into a form ... a shape ... a woman's shape. Perhaps Maeve? I licked my lips lightly, a taste of strawberries still on my tongue. In that magical state between waking and sleep, I reached out to her, but she evaded my grasp. Slowly, she began moving her hips in a serpentine pattern, undulating gracefully. I envisioned her hair leaving its bun and cascading down her back, reaching nearly to her waist. Her sundress mysteriously melted away, leaving her nude before me. That wild, curly mane of deep copper-red hair fell about her, covering her breasts. I squirmed in the hammock, feeling the warmth between my legs. My panties were getting a little moist. I reached out to stroke her but again she escaped my touch, shaking a cautionary finger at me. She lifted her slender ivory arms over her head and spun in a graceful pirouette, giving me a too-brief glimpse of her high, parted, heart-shaped rear. Oh. I felt a quickening in my loins and my clit twitched in response. My hand crept between my legs, pressing the seam of the sweatpants against my little button. I rubbed lightly, the nubbly fabric creating a rough but welcome friction. I groaned softly, and heard a rough, barking laugh.

Oh, shit!

As I flung my hand away from my crotch, my eyes popped open and I saw a little face peering down at me from a branch overhead. Looking more closely, I chuckled. It was only a red squirrel. Oh well, I thought. I should get about my day, anyway. I had lots of unpacking to do and plenty of other chores that needed my attention. I gathered up my things and headed back to the basement. No sign of Maeve. It must be a bad idea to lust after your landlord, I thought, shaking my head. Heck, I wasn’t even sure if I liked women that way. I found them beautiful and fantasized about them sometimes, but I'd never made love with one. In fact, my sexual experiences had been few and far between.

I'd almost lost my virginity on prom night — how cliche would that have been? Our attempt was awkward and uncomfortable, taking place in the backseat of my date's car. We'd fumbled around and he'd blown his load while we were still trying to get the condom on. He was an average guy in every way and I hadn't had any desire to try again, but I’d appreciated that he wanted to use protection and that he tried his best to make it good for me anyway, using his fingers to bring me to orgasm. My other experiences hadn't been much better. I’d dated a few guys in my freshman year of college, but they'd each quickly moved on when they discovered my condition. My only other lover, if you could call him that, was Roger. And while he kept me satisfied, he left a lot to be desired. Oh, well. I shook myself from my reverie, decided I'd only pursue Maeve in my fantasies, and continued downstairs to my apartment.

My apartment! For a moment I just had to stand there and grin in amazement and glee. To my left was a broad expanse of cool gray concrete topped with clerestory windows. All of the apartment’s windows were above my head, but just above ground level on the outside, so my main views were of grass. I vowed to plant some flowers around the perimeter. To my right, the kitchen area occupied two-thirds of the opposite wall; the remaining third was devoted to the small closet and enclosed bathroom. Between the stairs and the far wall was open space. Nightstands flanked the queen bed in the far corner. My only other furniture was the couch centered against the west wall and the small coffee table in front of it. Hmmm. I needed to go shopping.

I dug out my Bluetooth speaker and put on my “Hip Mix” playlist, then turned my attention to the boxes in the middle of the room. I grabbed the one marked “Kitchen” and carried it over to the counter tucked underneath the staircase. Bouncing in time to the beat of Be the One by The Ting Tings, I started designating drawers and sorting items into them. My cooking utensils, in a cheery yellow ceramic canister, fit perfectly between the back burners of the stove. That was the kitchen taken care of. I grabbed a notepad and pen from the junk drawer and jotted down some of the things I'd need. A table, bookshelves, dish rack, cutting board, groceries ...

Suddenly, I was overcome. A wave of intense tiredness and lightheadedness swept over me, nearly dropping me to my knees. I put down the pad and pen and lurched over to my bed, collapsing heavily onto it. A napping Samson dodged my fall nimbly, used to this. Pain wracked my body, making me whine between gritted teeth. Sharp jolts of electric sensation ran up and down my limbs, muscles contracting fiercely. My back seized up and I curled in on myself, hugging my knees as close as possible to ease the tightness threatening to arch my spine. Small grunts of effort escaped my lips as I panted against the pain. Torturous daggers lanced through me and my head throbbed. Muscles seized, cramped, spasmed, jumping as if they wanted to abandon the sinking ship that was my body. I breathed, sucking air in through my nose and letting it out as slowly as I could, picturing myself in a dense green glade surrounded by stately trees, moss, and ferns, a brook babbling nearby, sunlight filtering through the foliage. In the background, I was vaguely aware of the perky beat of Miss Jane’s It’s a Fine Day. Focusing on my happy place, I breathed carefully, distancing my mind from the cage of pain I was trapped in. Samson came over, licked my cheek and lay at my side, resting his head on my shoulder. I turned my head to boop noses with him and stroked him absentmindedly as I focused on recovering. Gradually, the trauma eased. I tentatively stretched my legs. A full body scan revealed tenderness in the muscles, stiff joints, and a lingering headache, throbbing in time with my heartbeat. I breathed deeply, expelling the air in a cathartic sigh.

I'd been to dozens of doctors and specialists, and no one had an answer for what was wrong with me. It wasn't epilepsy or any other known seizure disorder. I'd even tried naturopaths, herbalists, acupuncturists, and homeopaths, all to no avail. Every few months, I would have several episodes of petit mal seizures alongside extraordinary pain, prefaced by the rapid onset of fatigue and vertigo. The rest of the time, I lived with mid-grade chronic pain. Feeling bad all the time had become just a fact of life. Since it was a fact of life, I didn't like to spend much time dwelling on it, even in my own mind. I kissed Samson on the top of his head and gently removed my arm. He gave a disgruntled hmph, stretched his legs, and curled up for more napping.

I sat up slowly and wiped a hand over my face, damp from exertion. Why So Serious by Alice Merton bumped from the speaker and got my blood flowing. I stood and, taking a cue from my cat, tried some simple stretches. Carefully, I reached overhead, feeling my ribs grind and hearing popping sounds from my shoulders and vertebrae. Grimacing, I held the stretch as tight muscles rebelled, then grudgingly loosened a tiny bit. Bending over to touch my toes, I noticed the polish was chipped and decided to do the bathroom next. Grabbing the box labeled “Toiletries,” I got to work.