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M.

His girlfriend was sitting on a chair, her clothes still mostly on, while a guy leaned down to her, kissed her, and let his hand slide down to finger her.

Nightmare!

But Noa was lying in bed, unable to move, fully aware it was a nightmare, but unable to wake up!

A nightmare, and on top of that, yet another one of those damned sleep paralysis episodes!

He fought against it, trying with every ounce of willpower to move his body and break free from the nightmare, to finally wake up to reality.

And then he woke up, taking a deep breath, staring at the ceiling, shaking his head.

What if his ex-girlfriend was experiencing something like that right now?

But – this early in the morning?

What if she hadn’t experienced this now but recently – and some stranger had shoved his fingers inside her?

Yes, what then?

“Yes, what then?” Noa asked his therapist later that day.

“Don’t worry about it. You’re not with her anymore.”

“Yes, but I still don’t have an explanation for the breakup. Neither does she.”

“You mean your ex-girlfriend also doesn’t know why the breakup happened?”

“Yes, at the time of the breakup and shortly after, she openly admitted she couldn’t explain why it happened.”

“Still, you shouldn’t think about your ex anymore.”

“But I can’t control my nightmares!”

“Of course not. But you shouldn’t dwell on your ex during your waking hours.”

“That’s easy to say. This breakup, this damn trauma, it’s still in my bones. It’s in my DNA! Do you believe that?”

“Yes, I know it’s incredibly hard for you. But your ex has her own life, just as you do. And if someone really did to her what you dreamed about – why does it bother you so much?”

“As long as I don’t know why she broke up with me, I’ll keep suffering. It’s the splinter in my heart, this one wound that won’t heal. And that’s why she doesn’t even have the right to kiss anyone else!”

“So you haven’t let her go yet?”

“Not really… no. I won’t let her go. I need an answer!”

“When was the last time you spoke to your ex?”

“That was two thousand eight hundred twenty-two days ago… it was in December, almost eight years ago.”

“You’re counting the days?”

“Yes, I count the days.”

“Don’t you think you’re taking this too far?”

“No. But I’m so done with it. That’s why I’m going to find her.”

“But you told me you don’t have her address or phone number?”

“I still have a picture of her. And I’m going to start searching.”

“Please, you’re overreacting!”

“No. I just need an answer to this one question.”