Chapter 7
7
S am owned a demonic CD player that operated sans batteries—drifting off wasn’t easy. She’d spent a lot of time trying to see if there was some other energy source—there wasn’t—then taking the CD out, popping it back in and making sure she wasn’t imagining that the screen was just back to normal, and queued to track three. If her CD player worked without batteries, what the hell did that even mean?
She was at the start of a horror movie, obviously. Or it was one of those viral news stories where someone discovered a McDonald’s Big Mac from forty years ago, still perfectly preserved. Though, when she’d googled old cd player works without batteries , the only thing that came up were people asking how to hook a CD player to their car radio, or if CD players needed batteries.
Hers, as it turned out, did not. So she’d spent time pacing the floor and muttering to herself. Then taken a shower. Then went on YouTube to look for haunted CD players , which yielded a few fake, but albeit funny, videos. There was also the general, ever-present feeling that she was on the verge of getting sick. Like, barfing-from-confusion kind of sick.
There was a chance that both songs were just vivid dreams brought on from the stress of the trip and the unending nostalgia. But there was really only one way to be sure. She had to listen to another one.
She warily placed the headphones over her ears, positioned herself on the bed and tried to take deep, calming breaths. Maybe if she was relaxed, nothing would happen. Stress hallucinations were probably a thing. Though, after a few quiet minutes, there was no calming the low current of apprehension that pulsed through her. So she decided to just hit Play.
Muse’s sharp electric guitar strummed as “Supermassive Black Hole” began. This had been one of her all-time favorite songs, and not just because the lead singer, Matt Bellamy, had said it was about how women were the center of the galaxy and you couldn’t help but get sucked in by them. The pulse of the beat, paired with Bellamy’s throaty voice, was just sexy.
Not to mention it was used in her beloved Twilight movie.
It would’ve been fun to listen to, if Sam wasn’t suddenly suspended in midair while the synths and electric drums blasted through. When there was something solid beneath her again, she breathed in the smell of popcorn and blinked against the low lighting. Muse’s song boomed from an overhead speaker and she stiffened in the itchy non-stadium-style movie seats. Which is when she realized that she was in a movie theater, watching Twilight . Sam’s hand instinctively reached up to cover the shocked noise coming out of her as the iconic baseball scene played, and Kristen Stewart told Nikki Reed that she’d struck out.
Sam tore the headphones off and turned around. Her gaze landed on a girl cuddled up to a guy in the row across from her, and a flare of color from the screen highlighted the long red hair of Alt-Sam.
This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. But this was now the third time and it was starting to feel impossible that it was just a dream. She pinched herself, hard , and bit her lip in pain. She wasn’t waking up. People didn’t feel pain like this in dreams.
Sam dropped her face into her hands and let out a whimper. When she looked back up, Damon was whispering in Alt-Sam’s ear. Damon said something that made Alt-Sam just barely look away from the screen. “Huh?”
“You’re gorgeous,” he said louder, so the people nearby—mainly Adult Sam—could hear.
“Shhh,” someone in the audience hissed at them.
“Yeah, shhh, I’m trying to watch the movie,” Alt-Sam said as she elbowed Damon.
“This is the third time you’ve seen it,” Damon said.
“Shhh,” another person from the audience said.
“Ugh, fine. Will this shut you up?” Alt-Sam turned to Damon and pulled him in for a kiss.
“Not saying you two should get a room, but like...” Sam said to herself. “Have a little respect. Robert Pattinson and Kristen Stewart won an MTV Movie Award for this.”
Alt-Sam moaned Damon’s name and then—well, the guy started to get handsy. The unmistakable way they pawed at each other made it clear that the movie they were about to star in might be rated R.
“I’ll give y’all a little privacy.” Sam backed away across the popcorn-scattered floor and down the aisle that would lead her to an exit. She was almost out of the room when a guy with a flashlight strode down the aisle. He shone the flashlight on Alt-Sam and Damon, as bright as a spotlight.
“Oh, God,” both Sam and Alt-Sam said at the same time.
“Can I help you?” Damon asked, a mix of embarrassed and alarmed. He straightened and there was the bloom of a bright red hickey on his neck.
“Sam! Girl! Hickeys?” Sam slapped a palm over her forehead and sighed.
Damon wiped his lips with the back of his hand as Alt-Sam scrambled off his lap and into her own seat.
“What’s going on here?” the man asked.
Adult Sam puffed out her cheeks. “I think you know what’s going on here, sir.”
The man’s jaw tightened. “Both of you. Outside. Now.”
Sam’s eyebrows rose so far up they hurt, but Damon and Alt-Sam obediently stood from their seats and made their way toward the exit.
Damon ran a hand through his hair and glanced over to Alt-Sam, who shoved her hands into the pockets of her low-rise jeans. She shifted in her Converse sneakers as Damon pushed open the doors to the theater, and they both walked out into the night, hand in hand.
“We just got kicked out of a movie theater,” he said with a smile.
“It’s not funny.” Alt-Sam nudged him. “We didn’t even get to the prom scene.”
Damon playfully brought her in toward him and began to slow dance with her. “We can practice for our prom. My moves are way better than Edward’s.” Damon dipped Alt-Sam low and held her close.
“Prove it,” Alt-Sam said with a grin.
As Damon leaned in to kiss Alt-Sam, a whoosh of air surrounded Sam, along with total blackness, and she was quickly yanked out of the moment.
As Sam landed back in her spot on the bed, her eyes shot open and she breathed in and out with a new heaviness. Whatever was happening was worse than confusing. It was disorienting. These weren’t real memories—at least not the way Sam remembered them. She and Damon had gone to see Twilight together—she’d been excited about the movie for months. But unlike Damon and Alt-Sam, they hadn’t been cozy at all. She’d loved the movie, but there had also been tension between them. The movie had come out over a year after she’d rejected Damon, so when Edward and Bella shared their own first kiss on screen, she’d felt like they were watching what they’d never have. She couldn’t speak to how Damon had interpreted the moment, but she inferred from the way he crossed his arms and avoided meeting her eyes that he was deep in thought, at a minimum.
Now, though, there was a different timeline where they were a couple. She and Damon were happy. And what exactly was she supposed to make of that?