Permutation - 2. Chapter 2

I opened my eyes slowly, the weight of sleep heavier than I could ever remember. Everything felt distant, like moving through water. As my vision cleared, I saw sunlight filtering through sheer curtains, illuminating the edges of an unfamiliar room. A steady warmth pressed against my chest, grounding me with a faint, elusive scent that felt familiar.

A hazy memory flickered for a moment: waking up in Kayleigh’s dorm room, the morning light catching in her hair, her presence so close I almost believed we could build something real from the fractured pieces of my life in other timelines. But I knew that timeline was gone. Just for a heartbeat, I wished to land somewhere she was beside me again. I wasn’t looking for intimacy or excitement; I just didn’t want to wake up alone in bed anymore. Still, I hoped this person was someone I could connect with on a deeper level, beyond the grip of childhood traumas.

Pushing the thought aside, I glanced around, taking in my surroundings. A collection of college degrees hung on the far wall, catching the light and casting soft shadows. The gold-lettered honors title, “Summa Cum Laude,” on one of the degrees was just out of view, but a swell of pride and affection filled my chest. Somehow, I knew the degree mattered, though I didn’t think it was mine. After a timeline reset, gaps often appeared in both my long-term and short-term memory, pieces that I couldn’t quite reassemble for weeks. According to MRI scans after each reset, my brain swells from integrating memories of overlapping timelines, leading me to rely on psychedelics to manage the stress of memory formation and prevent flashbacks. If my father or I continued jumping timelines indefinitely, the weight of memories could push us to the limits of human capacity—potentially a thousand years' worth.

As thoughts of different timelines surfaced, flashes of nightmarish scenarios returned. A pang of dread stirred in my chest as I wiggled my toes and flexed my fingers, verifying they were all intact. A chilling memory haunted me—a timeline where I’d lost limbs trying to stop an explosion. Relief washed over me as I confirmed all my fingers and toes were there.

The sensation of skin beneath my fingers jolted me back to the present. Someone lay on my chest, breathing evenly, a comforting weight. My hand moved instinctively, fingers tracing their side, mapping a familiar but different outline. My breath caught as my hand brushed over a flat chest, not the familiar curve I’d once known. I stilled, feeling a mix of confusion and shock.

“Tommy?” The name slipped from my lips before I could stop it. The person stirred, slowly sitting up with a sleepy blink. There he was—Tommy Miller, grown and staring at me with a blend of confusion and faint amusement.

“What the—” I jolted back, scrambling out of bed, expletives slipping out before I could stop myself. “What kind of twisted timeline is this?”

Tommy blinked, momentarily taken aback, then his expression softened as he recognized me. “Evan,” he said, holding up a hand to calm me, “you’ve had a flashback. I knew you missed a dose after we got back from the trip to visit your mom,” he continued, his voice steady, as if prepared for this moment.

I forced myself to focus, studying his face—the softened lines of age, his intense eyes now gentler. A surge of memory tickled the edge of my mind, but I couldn’t grasp it fully. He moved closer, his hand grounding as it settled on my shoulder.

“Evan,” he repeated softly, “what’s the last thing you remember?”

I swallowed hard, still reeling. “We were at a neighborhood barbecue,” I managed, my voice wavering. “You were six, angry, and ran toward me. You tripped on the grill. I saved you from getting burned by the charcoal.”

He nodded slowly, processing it. “That was... about twenty-one years ago. It’s a long time, but it won’t cause any permanent damage to your brain if we act carefully,” he assured, exhaling as if bracing himself. “You’ve told me this can happen, that sometimes you come back to the present from points in the past. We set up a plan for moments like this,” he said, holding my gaze steadily. “You told me what to do.”

“What to do?” I echoed, disoriented but clinging to his words.

Tommy nodded, beginning to recall a memory. “I need you to flashback with in a shorter time jump and use your short-term memory. A week ago, you came back here to grab my wallet. I left it on the counter with a pink sticky note on the ideation board in the living room, in case you needed to realign with the current timeline. What did your short-term memory remember about what I wrote?”

Suddenly, a vivid memory flashed—unlike the hazy recollections from past timelines, this one was crystal clear. I was in this apartment—a place I knew somehow, though I hadn’t actualize the memories connected with it yet—and saw a wallet on the counter beside a bright pink sticky note on a whiteboard. The words came back to me as if I’d just read them: In case of emergency, Tommy has DMT.

With a steady breath, I returned to the bedroom, grounding myself in the familiarity as pieces of this life slid into place. I knew this apartment, this man in front of me, and the warmth of his hand on my shoulder. He wasn’t a stranger. He was my boyfriend—a strange concept for me. I’d never considered being with another man; women hadn’t interested me after my last reset in college, except for memories of Kayleigh. I tried several times to be with women, managing to satisfy my base needs, but they were hookups and nothing more. Perhaps, I could have done the same with men, but I had no context to base it on.

I spat out the words of the note, “In Case of Emergency, Tommy has DMT,” then paused to consider, “You’ve got a generic street variant of psychedelic medication.”

Tommy’s hand moved to the nightstand, pulling out a small pill. He offered it to me, his voice calm. “This will hold you over until we can pick up your regular medication in the morning. It works fast and should help your memories from this timeline settle in.”

Without a word, I took the pill, dry swallowing it. Slowly, the room sharpened into focus, the haze lifting with each breath. I looked at him, really looked, piecing together who we were in this reality.

“We live here,” I murmured, more a statement than a question.

He nodded, his gaze softening, giving me space to reorient myself.

“You and I, we’re together.”

He smiled, a gentle, reassuring smile, “It’s been twenty-one years since we met. I’m not exactly sure when we became official.”

I managed a shaky laugh, marveling at the strange reality around me. “Never thought I’d find myself here.”

“You say that a lot when you flashback,” Tommy laughed softly, his warmth igniting a spark within me. “So, no offense, but it’s losing a little shock value for me.”

He moved to pull the comforter over his lap, but I caught a glimpse of his leg—or rather, where his leg should have been. It ended just above the knee, the space beneath the blanket empty. My eyes widened, but before I could ask, he held up a hand.

“Evan,” he said gently, a warning in his tone. “I need you to breathe. Too much emotional strain could trigger another flashback, and we both know that would make things harder without your medication.”

I wanted to demand answers, but I forced myself to breathe, focusing on the present. Gradually, the tension eased, and confusion gave way to a calm acceptance that, no matter the timeline, we’d navigate it together. It was an unconscious thought that my mind attributed to the trust I had for Tommy.

“You think you’ll be okay until later this morning?” Tommy asked, his voice soft and filled with concern as he watched me carefully.

I nodded, meeting his eyes. “Yeah, I think I will,” I replied, marveling at the warmth of his smile. I felt grounded here, in this timeline, by this man I’d spent most of my life with but could hardly remember.

The sun had risen a bit higher by the time I stirred again, wrapped in the warmth of our bed and Tommy’s gentle breathing. It was late Saturday morning, I realized, and the thought of having a full day ahead allowed me to settle into the moment without the usual rush. Memories of my new life came to me slowly, filling in the blanks that had once frustrated me in these jumps. I wasn’t fighting to remember the world around me—it was just slipping into place.

Some memories returned: I was still a psychiatrist, working at a community health center with a specialty in pediatric psychology and memory loss. My life was dedicated to serving those in need, not in private practice like in my previous timeline. Tommy was part of this life too. He worked as a physical therapist and after-school coordinator for inner-city kids at the same center. It fit the version of him I knew now: someone who cared deeply enough to help others, despite his own challenges. We weren’t living in a trendy neighborhood like the Village or Soho. Instead, we were in a comfortable townhouse in Queens. It wasn’t the high-rise Manhattan apartment I’d once had, but it suited us—and I didn’t think either of us wanted anything different.

In the full daylight, more memories surfaced. Our bedroom walls were bare of photos, likely to avoid any flashback triggers for me, but my academic records provided insight into our current lives. Both Tommy and I were focused on helping kids, prioritizing purpose over profit. Tommy had earned his Summa Cum Laude degree in sports medicine, an achievement that reflected his brilliance, resilience, and dedication, despite the trials he faced.

Tommy stirred beside me, blinking his eyes open as I reached over to pull him close. “Morning,” he said, voice rough from the short nap, offering a sleepy smile that felt so comfortable, so right.

“Morning,” I murmured, savoring the calm intimacy. The earlier shock and fear had faded, replaced by the warmth of Tommy’s presence.

We shared a shower, and oddly, it felt completely natural. I used the standard showerhead, while Tommy used an attachment while sitting just behind me. Being playful and intimate with him felt normal, like when he sprayed cold water at my ass just to make me yelp. Afterward, as we dressed, he reminded me that I needed to pick up my medication from the pharmacy. We headed out together, walking down the familiar streets as the morning sun streamed between the buildings. Tommy’s gait was balanced and steady with his prosthetic. I found myself remembering small details of our life—how he preferred to walk with his prosthetic instead of using a wheelchair, though I always kept one nearby for longer trips in case he got tired.

As we left the pharmacy, we spotted a New York deli a block down, the scent of fresh bagels wafting in the air. We stepped inside for coffee and our usual orders: chive and cream cheese for me, smoked salmon and cream cheese for him. We made our way to a nearby park and settled on a bench under a clear sky.

We talked about the Giants’ recent win over the Patriots in February. I teased Tommy, asking if he thought Tom Brady would finally retire after another Super Bowl loss. Tommy rolled his eyes, calling Brady overrated and insisting Eli Manning would outshine even his brother, Peyton. We debated back and forth until I finally relented, laughing at his absolute certainty.

“You think you’re right about everything, don’t you?” I nudged him playfully.

“Only because I usually am,” he replied with a smug grin, leaning closer. His arm slipped around mine, his head resting on my shoulder, warm and solid. I felt his hand settle on my arm, grounding both of us. I knew Tommy had become someone I could lean on, just as he leaned on me—we were each other’s support through every strange twist of fate.

It was strange, this quiet closeness with another man, but natural. Though I noticed a few stares and overheard the occasional cat call, I didn’t feel the usual discomfort. Instead, I felt contentment. With Tommy’s head resting against me, there was no longing or desire—just a sense of peace in his presence, as though we’d shared a lifetime together. Yet beneath this calm, I felt a flicker of fear. The feelings and memories of being with Tommy weren’t sexual. I could recall times we’d had sex, but I couldn’t remember what I felt. What if this timeline’s Evan wasn’t asexual, but actually enjoyed being with men? And if this version of me had given his heart to Tommy, could I do the same?

Unable to hold back, I turned to him and said, “I’m... I’m not gay, you know.”

It was something I had to say, to make sense of where I was and what I felt.

Tommy blinked, then nodded, “You’ve told me that before—when I came out to you.” He offered a gentle smile, his expression understanding. “You’re asexual, and I’m your boyfriend because of everything we’ve shared.”

He paused, his smile softening. “It doesn’t really matter what label we put on it. It’s about what we feel for each other.”

Relief washed over me. I was still me—the same Evan who couldn’t quite define romantic or sexual attraction. It was comforting to know that even in this timeline, the core of who I was remained unchanged. Somehow, Tommy understood me in a way no one else had, not even Kayleigh.

After a moment, he turned his gaze to me, a curious light in his eyes. “So... what was your last timeline like? What was I like?”

I laughed, shaking my head at the irony of it all. “You wouldn’t believe it. You were a pastor—an evangelical Christian pastor, of all things.”

Tommy’s laughter rang out across the park, loud and genuine. “A pastor?” he chuckled. “Sounds like I was deep in the closet, probably trying to ‘pray the gay away.’”

His laughter was contagious, and I joined in, the strange tension between us easing as we joked about the bizarre paths we might have traveled.

As our laughter faded, a lingering question surfaced in my mind, a remnant of the shock I’d felt when I noticed his missing leg earlier. “Tommy... about your leg…”

He raised an eyebrow, a scowl tugging at his lips. “Oh, I’ve got a story for that, but you’re not ready for the full truth after just one dose. Imagine for now that it was an IED while I was in the army for some reason, or a car accident on a high school field trip… or maybe some high school bullies did a number on me.”

He offered several possibilities, but I knew all of them were false. He was protecting me from being triggered by something that happened. My forehead rubbed against Tommy’s scalp, offering comfort.

He shrugged, trying to hide his true feelings with a frivolous tone, “Guess you’ll just have to stick around and find out.”

Despite his teasing tone, I sensed something deeper—a silent sadness. Whatever had happened, I felt I’d somehow shaped the path that brought him here. But he wasn’t ready to share that part of himself yet. And, sitting beside him under the morning sun, I found I was okay with that. I was okay with letting the details unfold in their own time because this moment was for Tommy and Evan.

We finished our breakfast, his shoulder resting against mine, our laughter echoing through the park.