I can’t believe it has been a year. A year ago, I was three months short of becoming Mrs. Peter Thornton. But I am still Patricia Singleton and Patricia, Patsy, Singleton I will remain until I lay next to my intended husband, Peter. It was the fault of Sammy Casey. He was in the middle of one of his drug deals when Peter happened into the bar.

Clone’s bar was a dump and the name fit, but it was the only one in town. Peter was on his way home and decided to stop for a beer. As Peter was walking to the bar, a fight broke out, fists were flying and finally, a gunshot rang out. Peter was the one who got the bullet, not Casey. I will hate him until the day I die.

My friend, almost my sister in many ways, Cindy has never left my side. It is almost like she was part of me that loved Peter. She stayed with me for quite some time after the funeral. Everyone in town stopped to pay their last respects and marked the day with flowers, mass cards, or donations to the local boy’s group. Peter tried to help them with baseball, but he was not good at it. Reverend Missey had a wonderful service recounting his life.

The day I visited the grave, turned into a chilling March night. I felt like it was embracing me, preparing me for a night of romance. The night I was deprived of feeling my future husband’s soft tender fondling of my wanting breast and needing touches of a man.

I returned from the gravesite and wanted a hot shower. But as I got out of the shower and began drying myself, reality set in and I knew I would be greeted by an empty bed. I hoped the glass of Merlot would speed sleep.

As I slept without a dream in my mind, I felt the slightest brush of a warm breath against my neck. I just brushed it off as imagination and pulled the covers over me. But after a while, it happened again. Then a third time. The last was on the other side of my neck which was nestled in the pillow. That one was followed by a slight nip, a sexual nip on my neck.

Now I am awake wanting to find out what prank life was playing on me. My breathing was short and my heart was beating like a woman that is being teased by a dream. That was the end of sleeping for that night.

Several nights passed without my being aroused. I slept better than I had in a year or more. The glass of Merlot and I went to bed and sleep arrived quickly. As I lay there in the twilight of awake and asleep, the soft warm breath returned. This time it was more intense. I have got to be having some erotic dream. I have got to stop this, it is not healthy. Tomorrow, I will buy something to “relax” my mind and body. And I did.