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aleapoffaithfiction · 5 years

Text

XIV.

It's like I've been awakened Every rule I had you break it It's the risk that I'm taking I ain't never gonna shut you out

You ever felt like you’ve been hit by a car, survived it, and as soon as you go to stand on your feet, you end up getting hit by an eighteen-wheeler truck?

No?

Well, that’s how I’ve been feeling since I woke up this morning. I’ve suddenly morphed into a milk chocolate toned dragon who breathes fire from the depths of my chest and straight out of my throat. Every word spoken comes with an excruciating aching that Tylenol refuses to ease. The tea and honey are barely doing anything to subdue the rough cough that began just yesterday. Oh, and the body aches? I might as well just lay down in the middle of the floor and pray the Lord has mercy on me at some point.

“I don’t know how the hell you made it through the entire show like that. You really are crazy sometimes.” Anna pulled my box braids into a high ponytail as I slouched my frame even further down into the styling chair. I’m conning myself into believing that the slump position will give me a few seconds of relief from the aches I’m having.

The chills trickling everywhere have left me shivering under a throw blanket I took from home. If anyone on set didn’t know any better, you’d think I’ve been standing outside in the blistering soon to be winter air. Thank God I sat through the lengthy amount of time to allow her to put the braids in on Saturday night. With the way I’m covered in perspiration, any straightened or curled hairstyle would have left me looking like an extra left out of a Soul Glow commercial.

“It irritates me to have to call out at the last minute. That typically leaves production scrambling to try and fill in gaps. If I were in their shoes, I know it would be a headache for me, so I don’t like to do it to them. On Saturday, I e-mailed both Amy and Chip to let them know that I feel pretty shitty and to clear my schedule for the next two days pending further notice. I’m hoping it passes by then.”

The last time I had a cold, it was right at the very end of winter and it felt like nothing more than a bad headache and the sniffles. A couple of home remedies and a few over the counter products had me feeling much better within two or three days, but what I’m feeling now? I don’t know what the hell is going on. Rite Aid literally showed up to the medical office at the studio and offered the flu shot to everyone, through our insurances, as a curtesy, so it better not be that. I can’t stand getting injections, so it would be one hell of a disservice if I allowed them to inject that medication into me only for it to not work out in my favor.

“Are you going to go to the doctor?”

“Probably tomorrow. It’s too late to do any of that today. Once I drop Taylor off at the airport, I’ll head straight there.” Though I’m so accustomed to living on my own, I can admit to being sadden about Taylor heading out to Los Angeles tomorrow. It’s not that I’ve gotten used to her being around; it’s more so that I’ve enjoyed the company that she’s been to me for the past week. We always have incredible conversations over the phone about the most trivial of topics, but it’s been far more fulfilling and hilarious to be able to say all of those things to one another face to face. We’ve indulged in our love for classic cult black films, shared recipes between one another in my kitchen, and have taken New York City by a storm.

Even with Jesse being in town, it didn’t feel like the presence of her man overshadowed anything that we did together. Ice skating was better than I thought it would be because I was and still am quite rusty in that area. We did see the Radio City Christmas Spectacular and humorously took photographs sitting on Santa’s lap complimentary of the showrunners. Although I’ve seen it more times than I can count, we saw The Lion King on Broadway and then had far too many pitchers of Matusalem rum infused mojitos over at Havana Central on West 46th Street.

I nearly came face to face with the filthy pavement as I moved at the best speed I could offer to avoid the invasive TMZ camera crew awaiting our exit. In Hollywood, I suppose it’s controversial for a woman to be involved with a soon to be divorced television actor while he’s in a discomforting public battle with his soon to be ex-wife over alimony and joint custody of their children. Anywhere she goes, that narrative follows Taylor like a sinister stalker in the night and though her feelings run deep for the blue-eyed Chicago native, I know that she’s quietly growing tired of being the scapegoat for what is beyond her.

“You better go too. I know you. Sipping tea and taking spoons of Robitussin isn’t going to get the job done this time it seems.”

“I’m going. I’m going with a shit ton of questions about why the flu shot is a hoax. I’m not one of those conspiracy theory people, but I don’t know. I might have to start.”

“Take your illuminati ass home and get in the bed.”

“I’m not rich enough to be in the illuminati. They’ll probably be calling me when I make my first hundred million. I’m not there just yet, but I’m working on it.” I wanted to laugh, but I couldn’t. Even a chuckle would have pulled more energy than I can exert at the moment. I’m currently questioning if I’ll even be capable of moving at a snail’s pace to make it out of the building with the next couple of minutes. I could have been gone already and yet I’m lingering around in this chair with hopes that my imagination will take me home. Where’s Glenda the Good Witch to instruct me to click the heels of my Jimmy Choo pumps so that I’ll be able to suddenly wake up in my bed in Edgewater?

“Get you a man that’s there already.” I knew she was going to say that. I just knew it. Anna will never not find it fascinating how I encounter countless men who earn hundreds of millions of dollars by running a ball around a field, court, or course.

In her words, I, more than the majority of the women in the world, have the perfect opportunity to live life lavishly and worry free by the way of someone else’s finances if I’d only open myself up to the opportunity of dating just one out of the many who flirtatiously attempt to garner some interest out of me. While my financial obligations are the last thing that I’m interested in a man handling for me, if only Anna knew what is going on in my life now.

“Yeah? So that he can think he’s entitled to stress me and all of his other women out because he’s providing materialistic shit? Girl, I refuse to allow a man to turn my head grey and cause bags to be up under my eyes sooner than it should be happening. No thanks. I’d rather be smiling in a Benz that I purchased than to be crying in one that he did.”

I’m naturally a giver. I give credit to my dad for instilling that quality into me. I’ve always struggling with taking or rather being gifted things. The majority of the time, all I wanted for birthdays and Christmas’ were new accessories needed for whatever sport I was playing at the time.

I never pestered either one of my parents to lace me in the latest Jordans, although my dad made sure to surprise me with them at least once a month. If he was due to leave town, he would leave enough money for my mother to handle it. Honor roll report cards always came with great gifts and while Celeste would often ask for the most expressive girly trinket she could think of, I never wanted anything. I was fine with a stack of pancakes from iHop and a day at the park.

What I did ask for was experiences. It never needed to be anything financially burdening or something that specifically catered to my taste alone. I was fine with exploring new exhibits at the Met or taking a random road trip to Philadelphia just for the hell of it. I loved walking around neighborhoods that I didn’t reside in to people watch and observe the different ways in which they express themselves and the culture that we all share.

I’ll never forget when we road on an Amtrak train to Washington, DC and stayed in the district for the weekend. I still consider that to be one of the best times of my life despite my sister’s ridiculous and pompous complaints about her boredom. Though she’s yet to admit it out loud, I know that she now undoubtedly regrets all that she said during that weekend because it was the last family trip, we ever had with him.

“All of his other women? Damn. Why did you have to put it like that?”

“Because men are vile creatures. If women are walking around talking about how much average men aren’t worth shit due to their antics, then use your imagination to think about what men with money and power are doing. I’m not saying all of them are dreadful, but I’ve heard far too much while working within this industry to write it all off as coincidences.” The last portion of my sentence barely made it out as my chest heaved up a rough cough. The furnace that only calmed for a mere couple of seconds ignited with a wild fire and sent a rush of warmth flushing through my chest while the rest of my weakening limps shivered.

“Okay, you need to go, because I’m not trying to get sick. You may not have any dick in your life at the moment, but I do, and I’m trying to get back to it with my health intact.”

“Whatever.”

Like a boxer in a ring attempting to peel himself off of the floor after a knockout, I pulled myself up and out of the comfort of the chair. With every step, my muscles stiffened and the aches throbbing from the sides of my body intensified unexpectedly. My Alexander Wang bag felt like a dozen bricks rested at it’s very bottom once I positioned it over my shoulder and it only slowed down my stride as I made my way to the awaiting SUV.

I could only silently thank God for Fred as he secured me inside the vehicle and warned me that he better not see me in the morning. Thankfully, I followed my gut and decided not to drive. If I were sitting in this parking lot in my own car at this very moment, I probably would have taken off this midnight black Moncler coat and used it as a blanket while I lay in the backseat awaiting a rescue that I never called for.

“Can you please turn up the heat just a bit more?” I’m sure I’m suffocating him but I can’t help that it feels like the temperature precipitously plummeted to ten degrees below zero. The sound of my teeth chattering against one another has surpassed the faint tunes coming from the radio.

“Sure, Ms. Nazaire.”

As the heat increased and swarmed me in the manner that I needed it to, I glanced down at my phone vibrating in my lap. The lone heart emoji was a clear signifier of who was attempting to contact me. He’s the only person in my phone not identified by his name and at this point, it is the most idiotic tactic to keep because I have more than enough photographs of him and the both of us together to implicate me in whatever may happen if we’re caught.

As soon as I slid my thumb across the bottom of the screen to answer, the splendor that is his face filled the frame of my screen. And just like that, I’d been reduced to speechlessness.

“I thought I told you not go to work this morning.” I certainly read the text message as soon as I opened my eyes this morning, but it did absolutely nothing to deter me from doing what I had to do. It was great advice but it had to be brushed off until I handled a number of things at the production studio this morning. Besides, it wasn’t as rough of a day as I thought it would be, effort wise. Aside from speaking throughout segments, we had no guests or anything major to cover.

“I’m staying home tomorrow. Also, look at how early I’m leaving today. It’s still the afternoon. I’m not doing the Podcast.”

The slight shaking of his head was brief and though he quickly stopped, I noticed it. I’m not sure if it’s in reference to this morning’s chosen defiance or the current state of frustration we’re both in for two totally different reasons. Despite my explanation about my occasional absentmindedness being a part of the reason why I needed to hurry home and write out a check for the nine-a.m. maintenance job my mother called to have done on her stove, I omitted the part that truly mattered most to the both of us.

I fear him.

My mind is with him whenever I’m not within his presence. My body yearns for the warmth that soothingly radiates from him whenever we’re within an inch of one another. I can eerily sense and feel him; emotionally and now physically. He evokes a sentiment within me that is at call unceasingly and has intertwined our lives in a manner that I never faced before or expected to come into my life at this point.

My body is now at his mercy. Just the tips of his fingers faintly grazing off the smooth surface of my skin awakens every aspect of me; sending my frame into an uncontrollable frenzy that only he knows how to tame. I don’t know what he did to me that night in New Orleans. I expected to be fucked; most men prefer to turn a woman over on her stomach to consciously strip away any intimacy that may be felt and emotionally clung to during and after those moments when their bodies are adjoined. Despite his unpredictable nature, I did cling to that repeated experience as something that I’d always endure. I should have known that what we shared would be everything but that.

He savored me; deliberately drawing out every single second of it in an effort to achieve a never-ending wordless oath that we’ll never be able to share with anyone else. His eyes bore into mine and spoke to me whenever his lips weren’t whispering into my ear in the midst of the groans spilling from them. My body clung to his, gratifying his silent plea to take possession of me in every way possible.

Our heartbeats created an identical medley as they thrashed against our chests in unison with the increase heat within our cores. I was no longer in control of myself. His flesh played as the remote; pushing buttons to leave me weeping and leaking. I believe I only slept for minutes. Though the clock read that it had been four hours later, it only felt like minutes because the feeling of him hadn’t subsided. If anything, he served as the gasoline to the flames as his tongue awakened me for what turned into another two rounds of him.

I am wordlessly at war with my evolving devotion to him; to us. What if I’m not enough? With the life that he lives, something better always comes along. What am I supposed to do when we’ve arrived to that point?

“You’re so hardheaded. You going out into the cold and being at work all day has most likely made your cold worse. You should have stayed in the bed today. Did you just leave?”

“A few minutes ago.”

“How do you feel?” He tugged on the neck of his hooded Givenchy sweater to loosen it’s pulled tightness around his neck and almond shaped eyes narrowed, intensifying his glare. He’d pull my card if I lied.

“Like shit, honesty. Everything hurts. It even hurts to breathe. I thought I’d be able to tough it out until I can see a doctor tomorrow, but I don’t know. I might have Taylor drive me over to Hackensack University Medical Center when I get home.” And just like that, he sat up from his lazy and laxed position on the couch. As his large palm brushed over the golden curls falling all over his forehead, he stood to his feet. He paces when he’s nervous but it was never my intention to provoke him to do so.

“You feel that bad? You want me to go with you?”

“Odell.” As great as that sounds, I shouldn’t have to explain why that can’t be. He already knows the answer to that.

“You’re going to the hospital.”

“Yes, so that I can speed up the process of getting some medication. I’ll be able to get prescriptions tonight rather than waiting until tomorrow. That’s all. It’s going to be an in and out thing. Also, you have an event tonight. Did you forget?” He’s heading into Manhattan to promote the launch of his Air Force I collaboration by speaking with fans and a couple of groups of kids who won a contest to be able to meet him and have their shoes autographed. I know he doesn’t want to miss that because being a great role model for the youth is one of the primary reasons why he does what he does. He loves kids, so disappointing them for no legit reason doesn’t make much sense.

“I didn’t forget. If I don’t go, the least I can do is come and stay at your house so that I can make sure you’re taken care of until you’re better.”

“And spread my germs to you?”

“What is it with you and your love for being difficult? You hate to cooperate.” I’ve heard that before. Actually, I’ve heard it far too many times. It’s been said that I have an answer for everything before even hearing the complete scenario or question being asked of me. I can be somewhat of an overthinker. Well, not somewhat.

I am an overthinker, but I’m not admitting that out loud because it’ll give people the ammunition to call me out on it whenever they feel like it and I’m not with the shits. It is never my intention to do it to be difficult or uncooperative as he just called it. I tend to try and side with logic first before I jump into anything. Unnecessarily spreading my germs isn’t logical. Besides, I tend to go and lay up at my mom’s place whenever I’m not feeling my greatest. She doesn’t always welcome me with open arms, but ultimately, who else do I have to lean on despite her resistance about that?

“That’s not true.”

“Yes, it is. It’s annoying as hell too.” He rolled his eyes to put even more emphasis on what he had to say.

“If you come, don’t complain when you start sniffling and feeling like every part of your body is aching.”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll take the risk.”

“What time does your event start?” I nearly dropped the phone down onto the carpeted flooring as another rough cough poured out of me. I’m convinced my lungs are going to suddenly fly out of my mouth and land in my lap.

“You sound really bad.”

“I know. What time does the event start?”

“Seven.”

“Oh, you have time. I can’t believe I caught this stupid cold. I was supposed to start my Christmas shopping this weekend. Speaking of, what do you want?” I’ve been trying to think of gifts for him. There’s one in particular that I already have hiding in my closet. I consider that one to be the big gift.

Patek Philippe is a family-owned Genevan luxury watch manufacturer. Their watches are considered to be among the best in the world: full stop. Of all of the other impeccable Swiss watch manufactures with distinguished statuses and sophisticated watches, Patek Philippe has driven itself to the forefront of them all. While it would have been much easier to purchase him a Rolex, he deserves something that is as inimitable as he is. The “Ribbon Joaillerie” watch and its distinctive diamond embellishments that orbit its surface in a glimmering never-ending loop stole my heart as soon as I laid my eyes on it. The spiraling circles of diamonds beautifying the dial was what immediately made me hand over my Citigroup Chairman Card to secure it. It’s the first time I’ve ever spent six figures on a man.

“Supreme stuff. It doesn’t have to be any specific item. Oh, and maybe some art or something.”

“Art or something? Like a painting or a sculpture?”

“Anything. Actually, I want it to be a picture of you. A painting or something of that sort.”

“A painting of me? Are you kidding me?” That’s arguably the most narcissistic gift I could ever give anyone. I can only imagine how much internal cringing I’d be doing while boldly requesting for a painting of myself to gift to be my man. Actually, a canvas painting of Heather, Jazzy, and himself together would be breathtaking. I love that idea so much more.

“No. I’d love that.”

“And where exactly are you going to hang it up? You currently have a camera crew in your house once a week.” He is presently in the midst of filming a docu-series with Lebron James and Maverick Carter’s sports-media company Uninterrupted. Though the majority of it will focus on his comeback throughout the next season, they are filming coverage of his recovery from the ankle injury and his life off of the gridiron.

“In my bedroom. They don’t go in there.”

“We’ll see.”

“Ain’t no we’ll see. That’s what I want. Oh, and you in one of those sexy ass Mrs. Claus outfits.”

“Okay, I’m hanging up now.” I’m not sure if the driver is focusing on our conversation, but if he is, I’m certainly embarrassed now. His laughter might have made it even worse.

“I’ll call and check on you in a bit.”

“Okay.”

I attempted to take a nap but the physical discomfort served as a disruption to my mental state and kept me awake the remainder of the ride to my home. Traffic wasn’t as disorderly as it usually is during this time of the day, which allowed me to arrive just fifteen minutes over the nearly two-hour timeframe that it’s supposed to take me to get into Edgewater.

“You’re finally home!”

The way Taylor’s voice vibrated off of the walls almost made it seem like my house is completely empty. It was so piercing.

“Yeah.”

I’m not sure what she decided to cook but it smelled appetizing from the moment I stepped into the door. Maybe it’s Italian.

“I watched a bit of the show before making a Whole Foods run. Oh, and I found this bottle of wine upstairs in your room. I hope you don’t mind, because I couldn’t resist.” It was one of the remaining bottles of wine Odell bought me during our weekend getaway. I decided to pack it and take it home.

“You’re drunk?” That’s the last thing that I need her to be.

“I wouldn’t say drunk. I’m feeling pretty good though. Incredible, actually.”

She’s drunk.

“I want you to come with me to the ER, so that I can get checked out for this cold and get prescriptions for it. I wanted you to drive but since you had drinks, I’ll do it.”

“You feel that bad? Oh my God.”

“I’d just rather go now instead of waiting to go to the doctors tomorrow.”

“Let’s go. I just have to grab my coat. I told you to stay home this morning.” If I had the energy, I would have gone upstairs to change into whatever sweatsuit within close reach but I’m not walking up there. I’ve barely stepped away from the door.

“Taylor.” Part of her hazelnut toned wool trench coat hung off of her body as she rushed in my direction. As I nodded my head in the direction of the wine glass in her hand, she took a glance at it.

“Oh.” Before she put it down, the remaining contents inside of it went down her throat. If we both weren’t notorious for finishing entire bottles of wine on our own, I would have thought that something stressful or a man were driving her to drink so heavily today.

You good?

I read the message as I stood at the very top of my porch.

Yeah. Headed there now. Taylor’s drunk, so I’m going to drive.

Of all the days for her to get drunk, it just had to be this one.

Drunk? The sun hasn’t even gone down yet. I’m just going to meet you there.

As I slid into the passenger seat, apprehension immediately caused my eyes to bulge out of my face. His stubbornness will probably be the one thing that’ll always make me want to reprimand him.

You better not.

I-80 West was the fasted route. It took me to Exit 64B within seven minutes. As we walked through the parking lot, I slipped Taylor one of the cough drops I had in my pocket so they wouldn’t frown upon the whiff of the alcohol oozing from her breath any time she opened her mouth up to speak and I sprayed her coat with the mini bottle of perfume I keep in my purse to further mask it.

It’s very seldom that I use my status as a trump card for perks. Often times, it just happens and I go along with the flow. In this case, I used it. One autograph for the registration clerk served as a fast pass through the paperwork to process me through the emergency room and straight into triage. The hundred and two fever and slightly raised blood pressure rose the severity of my flu like symptoms to somewhat of an urgent case though I’d beg to differ. Luckily for me, the examination room was built to only fit two patients and thus far, I’m the only one in it.

“Did you see that bald guy nurse?”

“What bald nurse?”

“The one who walked past us out in the hallway. I’m not even into bald guys but he’s hot.” Like a child in a store, her curiosity kept her out of the seat next to the bed, and urged her to walk around examining everything in sight. Though she didn’t touch much, she looked on and read off whatever she thought I’d be just as interested in knowing about. Now I think she’s starting to see shit, because there was no bald nurse in that hall way. If she’s talking about who I assume she’s saw, that was a woman.

“Right in here?”

That voice couldn’t be mistaken no matter how much I desired to be hallucinating in a reaction to whatever drug they intend to give me for the pain I’m feeling. It’s that soft depth filled tone that plays like the sweetest medley in my dreams when I’m resting and fills my thoughts at random moments throughout the day when I am diligently executing every task on my schedule. It evokes chills and a throbbing within my center that nears me to the point of erupting.

I could choke him right now.

Behind a visibly annoyed Ben, he appeared in the doorway barely discreet in his black and vivid yellow attire. The Supreme beanie on his head barely covered his signature platinum blonde curls and casual dreads as they loosely hung out of the very front of it. His light caramel skin was without a single blemish as it always is.

God, he’s beautiful.

“Hey, big sister Sarai. I heard my favorite sister was in the hospital and I rushed here right away. I was hanging out with my boy, so I figured I’d bring him with me.” Both of my eyebrows rose as my head dropped back. Ben slowly panned his eyes to Odell and instantly rolled them in response to the nonchalant shrugging of his broad shoulders. What the hell is he talking about?

“Ben told them he was your brother so we could get in. I mean, it was either that or I was gon’ say that I’m your husband.”

“I’m going to fuck you up. You do know that, right?” If I had the energy, I would do it right now. His rebelliousness is absolutely pointless within this moment. It’s a trait that I’ve always admired about him from afar and now that admiration is coming back like a thief in the night to haunt me.

“I’m so confused. Maybe I’m a little drunker than I thought. What are you two doing here?” Taylor wagged her finger like a scolding mother as she twisted her head back and forth to take in the additional presence within the room. I had no set date or specific timeframe for when I intended to explain what’s been going on to her, but I planned to do it at some point. We share just about everything but I’m still trying to navigate all of this and figure it out on my own, which is why I’m purposefully avoiding any additional opinions.

“I’m going to sit in the car. Ya’ll two motherfuckers are annoying with this sneaking shit.” The hint of playfulness in his tone did not match the expression on his face. While my lover found it to be all so hilarious, a confused Taylor glared at me with a questioning expression that I did not want to have to answer to. I never thought I’d ever say it, but I was sad to see Ben walk out. If anything, I needed him to remain in place to be the comedic relief or better yet the distraction from the verbal questionnaire that is sure to come from my friend.

“The doctor came in here yet? What did he say?” As his large palm meshed into my forehead to serve as his own personal thermometer, I smacked it out of my way.

“Why don’t you listen?”

“I told you that I was coming. Don’t act surprised.”

“And I told you not to come.”

“And I didn’t listen. What’s next?” My frustration rose with every word that slipped past his supple lips.

“Since when are ya’ll such close friends? Like three months ago, you were ready to argue with me about why you two couldn’t be cool and now you’re the best of friends? What?” She finally flopped down in the chair that was in place for her to relax in and she looked on between the two of us as if we were two guilty souls. I may be the only guilty one.

“Sarai Nazaire?” A middle-aged white woman donning blue scrubs and a white lab coat cheerily entered the room with a chart in her hand and a stethoscope loosely hanging around her neck. I faintly raised my hand to single myself out so she wouldn’t confuse me with Taylor.

“I’m Dr. Shepard.”

“Oh snap. Like Grey’s Anatomy?” Why did I bring Taylor?

“Yes, just like that. I get that all the time. I’m not Meredith though. I’m Dr. Jane Shepard.”

“Nice to meet you Dr. Shepard.” I didn’t extend my hand to her because hers aren’t gloved and I’ve been using mine to cover my mouth during the coughing spells.

“So, it says here that you’ve been having flu like symptoms. I see the hundred and two fever. You’re visibly sweating. Tell me anything else you’re been feeling and for how long.”

“I start feeling sick a few days ago and it just got progressively worse. I feel chills, aching muscles, fatigue, a horrible headache, my nose is stuff up.”

“Don’t forget the sore throat, baby.” I was getting to it before he interrupted.

“Baby?” Oh my God. I should have let her finish off the rest of that bottle without any interruptions.

“Have you been taking anything?”

“Tylenol and cold medication. Robitussin DM.”

“Anything else?”

“No.”

“I’m going to take a listen to your lungs. You mind unbuttoning your blouse for me?”

“No.” Odell reached his hands in for the small buttons on the Zara dress shirt covering the upper portion of me and I rapidly smacked his hands down.

She only needed me to unravel the first few buttons so she’d be able to easily reach her hand down into my top to access my chest and back.

“You’re definitely congested. Are you allergic to any medications?”

“No.”

“Based upon the date of your last period, I have to ask, do you think that you could be pregnant right now?”

“Oh, dear God no. Absolutely not.” Taylor’s abrupt answer and laughter was nearly condescending. We’ve had far too many conversations about kids being something we’ll worry about later on down the line because we have so many aspirations that we’re working towards accomplishing now.

If a sewing needle suddenly dropped onto the floor, it would have sounded off like a vibrant bass within a stadium due to the stillness within the room. All eyes panned down on me while I had every urge to unexpectedly combust into a gust of nothingness so that I wouldn’t have to expose the anxiety I’ve been dealing with since we boarded the private jet to leave New Orleans.

My periods have always been slightly irregular and may sometimes skip a month, but God only knows how much I did not need one of those skips to happen this month. I haven’t been on birth control in three years. I decided to stop taking the pill because I had no use for it anymore and wanted to regulate my hormones and cycles. It’s been smooth sailing ever since because I haven’t had any men in my bed and I haven’t been in any of theirs until now. I’ve always been careful. Always. Even with the few years I spent in a relationship, I’ve never had unprotected sex until I shared my body with the man sitting at the foot of this bed.

“I….”

What was once one set of questioning eyes, turned into three, but all I could focus on was his. I awaited the grimace, but it never showed itself within his facial expression. Much like everyone else, he was awaiting the answer that would involve his fate just as much as it would mine.

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. I’m just not one hundred percent sure.”

And there it is. My reality. I truly don’t know. I’ve driven past a few Walgreens, Rite Aid, and CVS stores since it all happened and my lack of courage kept me from going inside to purchase what would give me a verdict to either ease or intensify the stress. Back in Louisiana, what should have been a trip to a pharmacy for a Morning After pill when the sun began peaking beyond the curtains and cascading down on us turned into yet another escapade of him filling me again.

“Okay, what the fuck is going on?”

“Taylor!”

“That’s not a problem. We’ll collect a urine sample to measure your HCG level. It’ll be quick. A nurse should be in the room within the next two minutes or so with a cup. It’s just protocol so that we’re on the safe side when administering medication to you. She’s also going to do a rapid influenza test so that we can verify those flu symptoms you’re having. Your symptoms align with it, but we still have to run the test. She’s going to swab the back of your nose.”

“Okay.”

“In the meantime, just relax. Once we get the results back, we’ll proceed from there. Sounds good?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.”

The nurse couldn’t come with the plastic cup fast enough. I nearly fell onto the floor as I leapt out of the bed once she did. Locking myself in the bathroom is what eased the spell of anxiety being triggered by all eyes focusing in on me. What should have been a two to three-minute process turned into fifteen as I sat there wallowing in my thoughts. I never wanted my apprehension to be on display in front of him. I didn’t need any of what I’ve been dealing with being a conversation until it was absolutely necessary.

“You okay baby?” His knock was light but I could undoubtedly sense his urgency.

“I’m fine.” It’s far too late to hide now.

“The nurse is back. You want me to give the cup to her?” This man wants me to hand over a sample of my urine to him? Seriously?”

“No. I’m coming out.”

Once I handled the hygienic aspect of things, I finally stepped out of the bathroom with the cup wrapped into two pieces of paper towel and I timidly handed it over to the nurse. Once I was seated again, she swabbed my nose just as the doctor informed me, she would.

“Thank you. I’ll be quick.”

I wished she would have offered to take me with her. I wouldn’t have minded walking to whatever laboratory that she’s going to drop that off to.

“How long has this been going on?”

Her lean leg crossed over the other and Taylor sat back with a knowing smirk on her face. Her haughtiness in figuring out the obvious would have been hilarious at some other time.

“Months.” His answer came with a shrug. His tone was so blasé that it nearly made it seem like the entire world knows about this and she’s the only one who’s late to the party.

“Months? You hid this for months?”

“T, can we have the room for just a minute or two?”

“So, you can talk about your baby?” The lingering headache seemed to strengthen at what she thought was some sardonic joke. Her irritation about being left in the dark is justified but now is not the time to admonish everything that I am. I’d rather she stand before me and release her frustrations in a private setting and away from him.

“Taylor, please?”

“I’ll go. I’m going to the waiting room. While there, should I think about baby shower themes? Maybe Tinkerbell if it’s a girl and Finding Nemo if it’s a boy? Oh no. I know. A New York Giants theme sounds so much better; a little cliché but better.”

“Taylor.”

“I’m going.”

She tenaciously cut her eyes at Odell sparking laughter from him in response.

“Cute though. Really cute.”

Those were her last words as she disappeared down the hall, finally leaving us in the privacy that I needed. The lack of commotion in the hallway kept my attention focused on his striking face. I thought I would have seen a rush of nurses running a gurney down the long hall and into emergency surgery. If not that, then maybe a crying baby and a fretted mother who can’t seem to figure out why her child has been crying all night long. I need a distraction

“I don’t want you to be upset with me. I should have been more careful. I…”

“Sarai. Upset with you about what? The unknown? I’m not upset with you. I’m not upset at all. I’m here. I’m right here with you. It’s not just you.”

“I know but…”

“What’s the but for? Whatever happens, happens. We’ll be fine.” Will we be? I don’t believe I’m with child but hypothetically speaking, what happens if I am? How do I explain a sudden pregnancy to a man that no one knows about? I am not Mary and this is not the Immaculate Conception. How do we navigate still being in the stages of exploring and learning all there is to know about one another while preparing to be parents to a child that we did not plan?

Both of his hands reached for my thighs. This time, I had no energy to smack them away as they began a pacifying caress. I just want to go to sleep. Is that too much to ask for? In the midst of what should be a temporary illness, the weight of erratic decisions rests on my shoulders and is further deteriorating my mood. He’s in the prime of his life. If people aren’t talking about Tom Brady, they’re talking about him. He’s not ready for any of this. He doesn’t need this.

“Relax.”

“What?”

“You keep tensing up. I can feel it. Relax.”

“You make it sound so simple.”

If it were, I would have already been home sleeping.

“It’s as simple as we want it to be. I don’t mind being your Big Daddy and someone else’s daddy. It’s cool with me. A kid that looks like us? We can both retire now and use the kid for money. Plus, we’re both athletic, so our kid is bound to be a pro athlete. Yeah, our retirement plan is set.” Every muscle within my upper core clenched to an unbearable tightness and yet I laughed anyway. With my mouth being open, I know I’m sharing every bit of this virus with him. However, his words tickled me in a manner that I needed. I haven’t laughed all day long. If anyone is more than capable of making me do so, it’s him.

“My what?”

“Your Big Daddy.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You sound like Stephen A. Smith. Ridiculous. Conspicuous. Prosperous. Expeditiously. He’s forever using some unnecessarily big word to describe his frustrations.” The joke about my fellow ESPN brethren amused me even more. He is absolutely right and it’s what we all love about Stephen A. He’s animated, exaggerated, and his outbursts about the eternally cursed New York Knicks will stand the test of time for sports fans. I constantly have a good laugh when I stop by his dressing room for conversations. He’s been a mentor to me from the moment we’ve met and my admiration for him is boundless.

“Don’t talk about Stephen A. He’s great.”

“He stays on my ass though. He tends to be hot and cold with me. One minute, he’s praising my talent and in the next breath, he’s tired of me.”

“He appreciates you. I promise you that. Steven A. is tough, but he believes you’re the heart of the team. It’s why he can be so critical.”

“I watched the discussion ya’ll had about my pending contract situation. You really think I should be the highest paid receiver?” He’s the most explosive one.

“We can make arguments about Antonio Brown and Julio Jones, but when people think of wide receivers, your name is the first name to come out of most people’s mouths. You have the highest selling jersey of any receiver in the league and you’re the one who fills those seats at the Giants stadium. You have been the heart of the team’s offense for the past three years. Prior to your injury, they averaged twenty-three points in three games when you were on the field for the most snaps. They averaged thirteen point six points when you weren’t out there. You’re worth almost ten points per game with your ability to take a short gain and turn it into a long touchdown. Teams literally run their defenses strictly off stopping you. Get paid. You deserve it.”

All I could see is pearly white porcelain as his eyes further narrowed the more his smile spread across his face. As soon as he leaned in for a kiss, I drew my head back.

“Germs.”

“The way you know your shit is sexy as fuck. You want my last name?”

“Shut up, you…”

Dr. Shepard stepping back into the room ceased my reply. And just like that, my nerves were rattled all over again.

“Well, the pregnancy test is negative. Flu test is positive. I’m not sure which way you wanted those results to go, but that’s the verdict.” I know it was supposed to be witty but it didn’t register as such as I signed in a relief that wasn’t as fulfilling as I thought it would be. No, I’m not ready to be a mother. I’m not in that space just yet. More than anything, what I’m now focused on is the person who would have been alongside me in the journey if the results were the opposite. I would not have been alone. I commend him for that.

“I got a flu shot.”

“When did you get it?”

“A little less than two weeks ago.”

“It takes the body about two weeks after the vaccination to develop immune protection. You probably were exposed to influenza viruses sometime since then. Also, there are different strains of the flu. The vaccination only protects you against certain ones. You may have been exposed to one that is very different from whatever ones the vaccination is designed to protect you against.”

“Well screw whoever was around me and had been sick.” She and my man shared laughter at my words.

I’m serious.

“We’re going to give you Tamiflu. The directions on how to take it will be in your discharge instructions and the pharmacy will give you some too. You can take Tylenol for the fever. Rest. You need a lot of that. No work for a couple of days because you have a ton of germs right now. Hot foods and drinks. Steamy showers will help with congestion and the stuffy nose. Vitamin C is great, so orange juice and they have the cough drop like ones. I emphasize rest. Getting rid of the flu is really a waiting game.”

“You hear that Sarai? Rest. Lots of rest.” If I had no class, my middle finger would have been up and towards him.

“If you feel like your symptoms are persisting, come back.”

“Thank you, Dr. Shepard.”

“The pleasure is all mine. The nurse will be back with the forms and prescriptions.”

As soon as we were left alone again, I immediately slipped back into my coat for much needed warmth.

“I’m about to head out so I can make it into the city on time. Are you going to be okay?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sending Renee over so that she can make you some soup or something. So, be expecting her. You need something from the store?”

“I can make the soup myself.”

“Anything you need from the store?” See? This is what I mean.

“No. I don’t think so.”

“Alright, so I’ll see you when I get back. Be in the bed.”

“Uhm.” He knew I’d swerve his lips, so he softly planted his kisses on my warm forehead.

“See you in a bit.”

The nightfall car ride to Walgreens and finally to my home entailed of more conversing than I wanted to have. I was nearly ordered to confirm and deny many of her assumptions, feed into her baseless jokes about a baby that she now knows is non-existent, and defend myself against my supposed lying by omission as we spoke on the phone while I was away. She then proceeded to take credit for our relationship; citing the Bleacher Report party run in as all being a part of her master plan. I beg to differ. I still think it’s a coincidence that he saw me there, but I’ll let her run with that fairytale if it makes her feel better and keeps her off of my case.

“I’m going to lay down.”

“As you should. It’s not like you have to do anything anyway. Your man’s chef is currently making you tea and soup.”

“Taylor.”

“And he arranged for a driver to take me to the airport tomorrow so that you don’t have to get out of bed.”

“Taylor.”

“And he shoots up your club.”

“You know what, goodnight Taylor.”

Lavender; I doused everything in it. I lathered my body up with Dove’s Purely Pampering Relaxing Body Wash while in the shower and spent an extended time inhaling the steam to loosen my nasal passages. Once I was dried off, I moisturized my skin with whipped shea butter fused with lavender essential oil. I lit a match to my Joe Malone London Lavender & Lovage candle, and finally sprayed my pillow cases with Bath & Body Works lavender pillow spray. If I don’t get the best sleep of my life after all of that, I’ll know that I’m suffering from insomnia.

Renee’s coconut ginger carrot chicken soup and the cup of ginger tea certainly made me think of my mother because it’s her key remedy for illnesses. The rich flavoring and natural spice of the ginger eased the congestion discomfort in my chest.

I opted out of the television because it would only deserve as a distraction to the rest, I not only needed but wanted. Unfortunately, what I thought was going to be a long night of slumber ended up being nothing more than on and off naps.

Bergamot, cedar musk, and hints of sage superseded the rest inducing scent that once filled my room. With only a hint of moonlight peaking beyond the white curtain, the man of my affection quietly dropped what appeared to be a duffle bag onto the floor and began to shuffle around the open space within my bedroom to sort himself out.

“I’m not sleeping.” His pace was slower than his usual because he didn’t want to ruin whatever sleep he assumed I was getting.

“You should be.”

“I keep taking naps.”

“You hungry or something?”

“No. Not really. You?”

“I’m good. There’s more than just soup downstairs. I had something before I came up.”

“How was the event?”

“It was nice. The kids were great. They enjoyed themselves.” With every piece of jewelry that he removed; I could hear it clinking against the dresser as he placed them down one by one. “You smell great.”

“Thank you.” I love when he chuckles. It’s so lighthearted and innocent, especially following a compliment. I always want to hug him right after. It’s no different now.

“You look good too.” Yellow against his skin is defining. The whole time he sat with me in that examination room, I couldn’t look away. Even in this darkness, I still cannot do so. My body is riddled with a confusion that I cannot define. I can feel every single flu symptom there is and yet, my nipples are impulsively stiffening against this t-shirt of his that I’m wearing. The prickling in my thighs is increasing with every article of clothing that he removes. I should make him go into the guest room.

“Thank you. Go to sleep.”

“I’m trying.”

His presence kept my eyes open and trailing behind his every move until his almost bare frame slid under the covers and alongside me. I’ve warned him more times than I can count about my germs and yet here he is, basking in them.

“Thank you.”

As he always does when he’s in my bed, he took two of the pillows on his side and tossed them towards my side to lower himself to his liking. I’ve always been someone who loves to lay on way too many of them. It’s probably why I wake up with neck pain every once and a while.

“For what?”

“Taking care of me today.”

“You’re stubborn as hell but it’s what I want to do. It’s my pleasure.”

“Thank you for dealing with my stubbornness too.”

“Of course, baby.”

“And thank you for that yellow coat because I’m keeping it.” That amused him.

“You can have it.”

“Can I have a kiss too?”

“Nah. Germs.”

I used one of the pillows he tossed to whack him in the head. How is he so adorable and maddening all at once?

“Hey, Sarai.”

“Hm?”

His arm extended and slowly snaked around my waist to draw me closer. The skin of his legs melted into mine as they intertwined.

“No Beckham babies today, but later on down the line, for sure, right?”

Beckham babies. Plural. Maybe two boys? Possible two girls? How about the best of both worlds? More than two is out of the question. Twins would ideal. It’s a one shot and done, deal. Actually, no. Two at one time sounds like madness. The genes are strong within his family. I don’t think they stand a chance of genetically inheriting any of my traits. I’ll literally be birthing clones of him in either male or female form. It’s hilarious and yet warming to ponder about.

“Right.”

His lips then met mine.

#odell beckham jr fanfic #odell beckham fanfic #fanfiction #fan fiction #fanfic #fan fic #obj fanfic

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radioactivepeasant · 7 years

Text

Fic Prompts: Folklore Friday

Long ago there lived a humble woodcutter at the edge of a forest. "Humble" in this context merely meaning that his life goals were primarily to have a steady job, a house of his own, and access to a village doctor who didn't charge exorbitant fees. The local noblemen tended to misinterpret that as a lack of ambition, considering such things were already readily available to them. (Those same noblemen would later wonder why so many of the peasants simply upped stakes and moved into the lands controlled by the neighboring Farmer King, which had a considerably more stable economy courtesy of the exasperated Grand Vizier, but this story is not about those noblemen, or the Farmer King, or poor old Vizier Eggwich, and we are getting off-topic.)

One day, the woodcutter had gone into the heart of the forest -- which was really shaped more like a spleen, to be honest -- to cut down some old, dead trees that were liable to fall at any moment. He had been at it for a few hours already, and his hands were getting very sweaty. And, as happens when one's hands turn into a slippery mess of blisters and calluses, his grip on the axe handle weakened. He was pretty lucky not to have injured himself, really, but he would almost have preferred that to the axe flying head over haft into the deep creek a few feet away.

The woodcutter was a decent swimmer, but you don't go cannonballing into strange bodies of water in a forest without making sure they aren't inhabited first. That's just common courtesy. And the last thing you'd want to do in a situation like that is crash feet-first onto some irritable kelpie's head or something. So the woodcutter stared at the place where his primary means of supporting himself had vanished, and sighed.

"Well," he said, "That's unfortunate."

"Say there," said a gurgly, froggy sort of a voice, "Why so glum, chum?"

I expect you already know this, but strangers calling you "chum" or "old sport" in the spleen heart of the forest are as likely to be Good Neighbors as anything else. The nymphs and dryads and the like tend to be a bit behind the times with their slang, but don't tell them that.

Sure enough, a very green and dripping wet person was now sitting on the bank, trying very hard to look innocent and endearing. And if you find a spindly figure with the complexion of a frog and a mouth full of very sharp teeth to be endearing, then she was doing a splendid job. She tossed her weedy hair over one shoulder, dislodging several very alarmed tadpoles, and blinked at the woodcutter.

“Well?” she asked, “What’s the sockdollager? You look like you’ve lost a game of cards with a snail. And he didn’t even have to cheat, which is just sad.”

“I’m...not really sure I understood that simile,” said the woodcutter, “But as it happens, I did just lose an axe. I would ask if it was alright for me to swim down and look for it, but frankly, seeing you, now I’m more worried that I might have clobbered someone with it.”

The water nymph shrugged and said that was just a hazard of living near populated areas. Someone regularly got stepped on by a deer or had goblins chucking rocks at their heads. You learned to live with it, or so she said.

“Yeah that’s fair, might not want to venture down just now, old sport,” she said easily, “But I’ll tell you what: how abouts I go look for it, and if I find it you can have it back without me telling anyone it might have clobbered. Just as long as you tell me the right one.”

Now, you or I would of course instantly suspect that this was A Trap. And frankly, the woodcutter knew it was A Trap too. He just didn’t have much other choice. The job market for peasants in the area wasn’t very good, after all. So he simply said that would be very kind of her and sat down on a rock as if to wait. Off splashed the nymph, who was gone for several minutes. Just as the woodcutter was beginning to wonder whether he ought to climb one of the trees in case she came back with a big, hungry kelpie or something of that nature, she returned.

“Hey hey, chum,” she gurgled, “Got your axe!” And she dropped a solid gold axe on the bank at his feet.

“A gold axe?” the wooductter squawked, “In this economy?!” Impracticality aside, the woodcutter could not fathom how the nymph had gotten this wrong. He gestured wordlessly to his tattered tunic, then waved at the offending instrument.

“So it’s not yours then?” the nymph asked pointedly, narrowing her eyes. (Which really just had the effect of bringing them down to about human-size eyes for the sake of intimidation, which is actually not at all healthy for freshwater nymphs and her doctor would probably scold her for it later, but that’s neither here nor there)

“It’s definitely not mine!” the woodcutter replied. Then, realizing he hadn’t described his axe at all, shrugged. “But that’s on me, I suppose, for not telling you what it looked like. It’s brown and a little rusty.”

A little annoyed at the failure of her standard “trick-the-greedy-human-and-eat-them” ploy, the nymph decided to try again. Gold was obviously too much of an exaggeration, and she had gotten a little too ambitious, clearly. The second time she came back, she was holding a rather nasty-looking thing that might have been an axe at one point. It was tarnished to the point of nearly being unrecognizable, and there was a great deal of pond scum along the handle.

“How about this one?” she asked.

Somewhat wary of the pond scum, the woodcutter poked at the axe with a stick -- one could never be too careful -- until he was reasonably satisfied that the blackened material along the blade was tarnish and not mud.

“Is this silver?” he asked incredulously.

“Was your axe silver?”

“No ma’am, not in the slightest!” The woodcutter edged away from the axe, and wondered if perhaps some enterprising werewolf-hunting individual wasn’t missing their primary means of defense by now. That was the only reason he could think of for anyone having an axe made of silver, after all, unless someone just really liked seeing their own reflection while chopping things to smithereens.

The nymph was getting frustrated wither her lack of success, and was pondering just giving up and going back to the creek bed to sulk. But these things always come in threes, you know, so she decided she’d try one last time to trick the woodcutter. This time she returned in only a few seconds with a rusty brown axe that she all but threw at the man.

“Here you go, egg,” she said, perhaps a little too laconically, “This time for sure!”

The woodcutter started to reach for the axe, recognizing that it was as rusty as he remembered, then stopped. The nymph looked altogether too pleased with herself and he was getting a Bad Feeling about those very sharp teeth. Sharp teeth bared in a smile does not always mean Hello, I am very pleased to see you today, how’s the family? Sometimes, sharp teeth bared in a smile mean, Haha, stupid human, I am almost certainly plotting your demise and I did not tell you the rules of this game on purpose. Or sometimes it just means You bother me, please go away, but this was not one of those kinds of smiles.

So naturally, the woodcutter took a closer look at the axe. The rust was almost right, and it was chipped and pitted a bit along the blade like his too, but there the similarities ended.. The metal peeking out from under the rusty bits was a little too bright. “What’s this one made of?” he asked.

“Your axe, shouldn’t you know?” the nymph sniffed, a watery sort of snort that conveyed both contempt and nasal congestion.

“Well,” the woodcutter mused, recognizing that he was on metaphorically thin ice, “My axe is rusty, has a wooden handle, and is made of iron. If this one is all of those things, it might be mine. But great heavens above, how many axes have you even got down there?!”

The nymph answered that he’d be surprised. She waited hopefully for a minute, watching to see if he’d take the steel axe she’d brought. Of course, she didn’t think he was actually foolish enough to not know his own axe when he saw it. She was just hoping he’d give her a wrong answer so she’d have an excuse to drag him into the creek. The River Mothers did tend to frown on just snatching people willy-nilly. That kind of thing got the wrong kind of attention these days. You had to have a reason if you were going to grab a human, and arbitrarily punishing some randomly perceived vice was just enough of an excuse to satisfy general inquiries.

But of course, the woodcutter knew his own axe, and even though the steel tool looked like a little bit of an upgrade from his own model, he wasn’t gullible enough to think it was being offered for free. So he kept well away from the edge of the bank -- which was, of course, just as much to keep out of reach of the increasingly irritated nymph -- and as politely as he could manage while being tired, frustrated, and very very suspicious, told the watery creature that this was not his axe either. At this point he was considering just trying to find some reasonably sharp rocks and some twine and a good stout stick to fashion a new axe. It had to be safer than this, and more affordable than refinancing his cottage to buy a new axe.

“Oh applesauce!” the nymph growled, and splashed back down into the creek with very poor grace. Three times asked and three times answered, that’s the rule. He’d told the truth three different times and she really didn’t have an excuse to eat him now. Of course, she didn’t have to bring back his actual axe, not if she didn’t want to, but tadpoles are tattle-tales, and sooner or later word would get to one of the River Mothers about this. It was probably better to just send the human on his way in the long run.

The woodcutter stood in the mud with that bewildering sensation of having escaped something by the skin of your teeth and wondered if the nymph would even be able to grab the axe, what with it being iron and all. Sure enough, when she exploded out of the water again, she was gripping the wooden handle between thumb and finger, grimacing horribly.

“Ewwww take it take it take it!” she shook the axe in his direction. “Take ‘em all and get out of here, would you, chum?” She was in a bad enough mood as it was, having failed to trick a human into being greedy and grabbing for the most valuable axes. Carrying around stinging iron, as you might imagine, did not do anything to improve her attitude. Neither did the welts it raised on her hands.

The nymph retreated to the water, submerging everything but the top of her head so that she could glare intimidatingly at the woodcutter, who just stared back.

“Okay, thanks for the axes,” he shrugged.

The money he got for the silver and gold axes in the village proved enough to pay off his mortgage and possibly a few of the noblemen’s taxes, but at that point the woodcutter had decided he was probably better off joining his previous neighbors and moving into the territory of the Farmer King. Apparently the Good Neighbors of that kingdom were more concerned with protecting humans’ businesses and homes from disaster in exchange for some annual fees than tricking them into strange games that probably ended in death. He decided he’d take his chances with them.

#let's be honest this isn't a fic prompt it's a whole short story #folklore friday #water nymph #she's kind of terrible i love her #fic prompts #writing prompts #fairytales #this is part of my NaNoWriMo collection #original stories #original work #totally did not mean to make a state farm reference at the end but i'm delighted it happened

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stefandesofia · 3 years

Text

Stories from the Unliving Ch 3

“And that’s how I saved humanity from a reset” said I to the wide-eyed man.

“You can’t be serious! You went through all that trouble, you literally survived through a war, stopping it BY YOURSELF! And they still ended up taking you apart to learn what made you live?”

“Ah well, it’s fine. All those people are dead now, and even if they did hold me in a cage for years, I can’t die, so I just waited for the cage to fall apart. Only took about 300 years for the metal to get too rusty, and I managed to break it.”

“Even still! It was heartless of them, they cut you up, took you apart, when you should have been treated as the hero you were! Why, if I could go back, and give them a piece of my mind!”

“They still ended up dying anyways, though I don’t know what caused it, since I was locked away. I did end up looking around, after I got out. It was very interesting, everybody was gone. There was little to no damage to the buildings around. There was cars and whatnot that had obviously crashed into things, but it’s like all the people disintegrated. That was about 4000 years into the current reset, so very high level of technology. I checked out the military bases that I knew, and most of them were empty, though a couple I couldn’t get open either, so that’s likely where you had hid that time. I ran some scans using the leftover equipment, so I could check what might have happened. The radiation was really high around. And I mean, everything dies in less than 1 seconds of exposure, and by 20 minutes, only a bloody pile is left kind of high. I’m guessing what happened there was, some sort of radiation wave hit the planet, likely something from the sun, and only the quickest and most well off people managed to hide in underground bunkers. I ended up not communicating with anyone at that point for over 3000 years until the radiation died down a bunch. I also tried helping. You know that area, waaaaay up north? That place where you people call it cursed? Where anything that goes too close, be it people or animal dies? Yeah, I did that.”

“I thought you said you weren’t an evil lich! And now you’ve cursed the whole Valley of Death?”

“Nah, I made it easier for all you to live on the surface again. I went with a truck I fixed, and by hand scraped down and decontaminated all surfaces, gathering all the radioactive material off the surfaces of literally everything, putting it in the truck and driving it off over to the Valley. You know how bad radioactive stuff is for technology? I had to use all trucks in over 300 different shipping yards, fill them in, and after the 14th-15th truckful they would stop working, and I would just start driving them in the Valley as far as they would go, and once they broke for good, I’d just abandon them, walk back the several hundred miles, and start over with another truck. Considering how deadly that area still is, even after 13.000 years, I’d say, I single-handedly managed to bring you lot to the surface thousands of years before you would have gone out on your own. And you know, you might not have, at that point. I read that people can only really stay underground for a few generations at most. Not being able to see the sky or something messes with your heads, and you either go insane, or drop dead.”

“Well, in the name of all of humanity, past and present, I thank you for the work that you’ve put in, that noone but me even realises.”

“Don’t sweat it! It actually gave me a purpose. Not being able to even talk to animals was a real bitch, so I needed something to keep me ‘alive’ so to speak. But you know, I never really figured out exactly what the issue was. I only had my speculations, but since all technology died from the massive EMP that swept over, pretty much erasing all records of things. I watched the sun from a telescope for a while, but the large ball of white didn’t help much, I’m afraid.”

“How did you look at the sun? Wouldn’t it have damaged... your... eyes... I realised the error in that question, forget I asked anything”

“It’s fine, you’re used to something, and it’s difficult to wrap your brain around anything else.”

“What about the time while you spent locked up? Did you have anyone to talk to?”

“Well, I don’t feel pain, so they would take me apart, and almost get me atomized, and then put back together, but I would still be able to speak, and whatnot, so I definitely made them enjoy my witty commentary. There was that one doctor chick. Don’t remember the name, but she had the dorkiest laugh. Every time I would comment on them taking me apart again, she would laugh. She probably got reassigned because of that. Getting too close to the subject and all that. And looking back on it, if you laugh at the joke ‘Hey baby, I hear there’s a party coming up, and I have no body to go with. Wanna go with me?’ while I am just a piece of skull on a table, they must really like you. Shame too. She was a looker. After that, all that was left was sweaty, fat guys in coffee stained lab coats. There was this one particular tubbo, he was the nastiest piece of work. He was balding, but just on top, he had the largest boil on his forehead, and his sweat stains would soak through the lab coat, even. He had the worst, most evil attitude! He would put his cup on my skull, and hold me in his greasy, little, fat hand. Would even sit on me. And then when I would tell the other people there he would say things like ‘Would you really believe what this freak of nature says? Why would I sit on it?’ and it would always work! I bet if that chick doctor was there, she would have believed me! But no! He was the replacement for her!”

“He really does sound awful. Why didn’t you talk to the leader of the settlement about him?”

“You think the general would go down to where all his lowly science dudes were? Nah, he’d stay up in his office/suite, and just have the people bring him food and news, while he sent his assistant down to give orders.”

“And you didn’t talk to that person? Why not?”

“Not due to a lack of trying, I’ll definitely tell you that! Nah, they would always put me in a box whenever they expected someone important to come. Can’t let the ‘big, bad, evil skeleton’ do anything to our dear leaders!”

“Wait, if you were taken apart, who put you back together, so you could escape? I get the sense that you can’t move then taken apart.”

“Oh, I can, I just didn’t. I can actually control every bone in the body individually. Here, watch” and I take my left fist into my right hand, detach is, and chuck it over the pond’s surface. Right before it hit the water, I stopped the bones midair, and pulled them back to me. “I can only really pull the pieces closer, and not much else. And even this took me many years to figure out.”

“That’s witchcraft! How did you do that?”

“I mean, magic doesn’t exist, so not witchcraft. I can control the bones in my body, so I am put together again, but nothing else.”

“Even so, this really is reminiscent of magic. Can you do it to other people’s bones too?”

“Nah, have to consider the bone a part of me. I guess, technically, if I just go crazy and decide, and fully believe, that all bones on the planet belonged to me, I could pull them closer and become this colossal mass of bones. I wonder if it will pull the people, or pull the bones only and leave the flesh. I guess it’s a good thing we’ll never find out, right? Ha!”

“That truly is a terrifying thought. Noone will be able to stop you, as you will be able to just control everyone.”

“Worse yet, since all bones will be mine, I will be the singular cause for the permanent extinction of all vertebrates on the planet! No more resets, no more people, no more big animals. Only me and the snails! That’s a little funny”

“I suspect we have different definitions of funny”

“Having consumed as much media as I have, you get numb to most things.”

We stood there in silence for a while.

“I think I’ll go now” said the man. “I actually have an outing later tonight with this maiden that I fancy, so I need to polish my armor!”

“Wait, don’t tell me you plan to go dressed like That!”

“Is there anything wrong with my family’s armor? It was passed down for generations as an heirloom! Only the greatest of warriors have ever worn it, and now I have that same honor!”

“Oh for the love of everything that’s living still, you can’t expect to ask a girl out and then go dressed like you’re ready to slay her! Come here!” I pulled him closer and started undoing his armor straps. “You need to dress to impress, and I bet if I still had the ability to smell, you would reek! When’s the last time you took a shower?”

“I do not know that word, but I washed up just a few weeks ago, and I haven’t even fought anything.”

“A few weeks?! Jesus! I knew it! Help me out here! Take all this tin can stuff off! Oh, lord, there’s a chainmail underneath, what are you going to fight, a dragon?”

“No, you told me all of them died out. I am showing pride in my family’s name!”

“Yeah, no, I get that, but can’t you just wear, say, a nice set of clothes, and a cape with your family’s crest on the back? And like, the sword hanging at your side, if you reeeeeaally need it that bad.”

“... I suppose that would work, but I will have to requisition a cape made with my crest. Back in town there is a tailor, that I’ve heard does a fine work at things.”

“Now we’re talking! It’s too late now to get it done, but we can still dress you up a little better. Do you have any other clothes in that pack of yours?”

“Of course, I always keep a spare set. Have a look.”

“I suppose these will have to do, now start bathing!”

Took a while to get all the grime scrubbed off, and of course, I didn’t let him anywhere near my pond with that soap of his, just sent him down the stream a bit so he doesn’t contaminate anything.

“You’re almost glowing!” I said. “I didn’t even realise your skin was that white!”

“I know, it’s terrible! It’s a show of my sheltered life! I was never allowed to leave the walled off area around the house, and the only place I was allowed to explore was the small area in our garden where there were trees planted.”

“What are you talking about, you look great! If I were a chick, and still had any skin, I’d totally go for you. But let’s get you ready, put the clothes on... Great, and let’s shine those boots. Perfect. I have an idea for finishing the look, here” and I took just the chest plate from his armor and put it over his vest. “Now this way, you can show off your house emblem AND look like you’re going on a date. Do you have a flower guy?”

“I’m sorry? Ah! If I have anywhere to buy her a flower? No, why would I do that?”

“Are you kidding me? You like her, right?”

“Sure, she’s real pretty, and very smart.”

“And you want her to like you, right?”

“Of course. She would make a wonderful wife”

“Just don’t tell her that to her face. Okay, you need to get her a flower. Just give me a minute” and I dove back in the water. I picked some bright water-weeds, a few lili blossoms, some greens from the nearby willow, and wrapped them all up in a piece of parchment, tied together with a piece of string. “Here! Now you won’t look completely helpless”

“Thank you! This is amazing! I didn’t know you could make such beautiful things with flowers”

“Yeah, yeah, had time to read books on design, and learned a thing or two. Now! Before you do anything else, before you meet up with the girl, you go to that tailor, and you get him to make that cloak. You want it to be an over the shoulder kind, and go up to right above the butt, as that will show off what you’re working with, but also will have enough space for the house logo. And the over the shoulder type is what the nobles wear just about every reset, so it’s a good bet!”

“I will! Thank you again! I will tell you how it went, when I come over tomorrow! You will keep my armor safe, right?”

“You better! And duh, it's not like anyone ever comes here.”

"You have my gratitude!"

"Come on! Off you go!"

#Stories from the Undying #storrytelling #writing

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yeskei · 4 years

Text

Dreams

When I opened my eyes, I couldn’t see much.

It was dark, which was odd because it never happened after dark, but then again I never had the privilege of knowing first hand how everything was going to take place.

This time it looked like I was standing in the middle of nowhere. I had been in nowhere before but in the end, it was always somewhere – I turned around, took one more look but still couldn’t see anything that might spark familiarity – usually, it was small details like a tree, a sign or even a person,…making nowhere became somewhere.

At cue, there were rustling sounds under my feet, ruffles in my ears and an open field across the street. I said it was a street but it was more of a narrow, rocky trail. As intriguing as watching everything started to make sense, I had no interest in crossing – I must wait here. I didn’t know for how long but I must. I waited until the winds picked up until there was the moon – a crescent one – in the sky. I waited until I shifted from one leg to another for how many times I lost count. Until I wanted to take a seat…

On my right, a bench suddenly presented itself. Tilted my head, I tried to recall if it was there the last time I turned around but I could not remember. I took the seat anyway.

I sat there for a more while, or at least I believed time did pass around here – It was always hard to grasp the blurry concept of time whenever I found myself in this position, nor feel, nor anything. Especially when I was waiting.

A lamp post made everything a bit brighter, a bus sign sprouted from my right, on which read the next stop was three minutes from now – It seemed I was waiting for a bus – It had always been a moving vessel. Last time it was a boat, the other time before it was a train, some other times were either a plane or even a roller coaster. But never a bus. First time for everything I guessed.

The bus in question slowly cut through the night, approaching the station at snail pace. From afar I spied it was a piece of junk; crusty, rusty, crackling on its track. Gusts of wind picked up fast. They combed through the wild grass, making them caressed each other, hissing sounds filled the void and I shivered under the cold. I wondered if it was warmer on the bus, maybe I could roll up the windows, that unless there were windows on that thing.

Would I need a ticket for it?

The bus ate its break in front of my eyes and its door sprung opened.

Guessed not.

The steps creaked under my weights, its whole head shifted to one side as where I stood. The driver seat was empty – there was no driver, no valet – the door automatically closed behind me and the wheels started moving. I should have been hesitant, should have a chill running down my back but my legs carried my way down the back like nothing happened. Someone was waiting for me and that was all I cared,

I took a seat on the far end, not quite the last row but right above the streaky tires. The seat by the windows as I expected was already taken.

“I’m sorry for this has no glass.” The person said, implying the lack of shield on the windows.

It was a man with a familiar face, one I had seen too many times to the point I could have easily pick him out in a queue, literary in my sleep. Though his hair was a bit longer since the last time I saw him, cheek hollower, eyes haunting, sunken, deepen – hovering above the left eye there was faded line I yearned to touch, which stood out even more as his face sharpen and skin darker. He looked like he terribly in need of a goodnight sleep.

“Since when do you have beard?” I asked wryly.

He consciously touched his chin, where said beard lay and twitched.

“I’ve been busy. Don’t you like it? I think it’s cool.”

I shrugged. “It’s different.”

Some extra body hair made him almost handsomely rugged, far different than the lanky boy I had in mind.

I should have known better; every time I saw him he was a bit foreign than the last. One day he showed up taller than me, one day way tanner, sometime in the past his face was full of pimples and the next with wicked jawlines. Though he never quite grew out of the length of his limbs, even they had muscle now; strong and lean muscles.

“How are you lately?”

“Fine, I guessed,” I said, blinking a tad too fast. “I think I was finishing up the last few pages of my latest draft when you called.”

I missed him.

When I was nine, I had a crush on this boy in my class. I didn’t remember how he looked like nor how I managed to develop feelings for him – the fact I could have a genuine emotional connection with anyone aside from my family was an amazing feast by itself – there was a lot of things I didn’t remember about him but there was one thing I did; his name.

“Deondre.” It’d been years since that name escaped my lips. It left a strange taste on my tongue, yet rolling out easier than I thought. That name held no significance to me but I guessed it had always been there, in the back of my mind, locked away, waiting to be drawn back out.

I couldn’t recall much what eventually came down between us – we were nine, so I reckoned not much – just some small interactions here and there or fragments of flashbacks. He and the memories about him faded as years passed, until one day I had no recall of him down the road. It would have been fine just like that, as a ‘good old time’, as a reminder I was not always as “cold” and “unbothered” as I was dubbed.

Until one day, he stood in front of me again.

The ‘reunion’ wasn’t what I expect it to be – a cup of coffee or tea would be nice, catching up with each other would be fine but definitely not on a moving train to nowhere.

I first dreamt of him when I was fifteen.

I couldn’t recall what went down, it was seven years ago after all. But I knew who he was the moment I lay my eyes on him. Maybe there wasn’t anything with that dream. Maybe I did spend the entire time looking at his face and wondered how – he looked different – but it was brief and sweet. The boy i had a crush on was lanky and awkward at best, the young man sat next to me radiated confidence. The boy I had a crush on would trip over his own feet while running up to me with a bar of chocolate in his hand on Valentine's day. The young man sat next to me flashed me a Colgate smile brighter than my future at the time. The boy had crocked teeth, he had perfect rows.

He took my hand in his and we sat like that not saying a single word.

I woke up with damp cheeks but brushed it off as a normal dream. I also brushed off the next, one half a year later, when Deondre took us on a boat ride. Also the third time, six months after that on a cruise ship, and the fourth…fifth…sixth…

Every time I opened my eyes it was just another dream, ones that would become blurry and dismissive when I got back to reality.

Deondre averted his eyes, fondling on the brim of his shirt. He was wearing a white tee, one side of his collar fold inward. My hands itch to straighten it up but instead of reaching out to him, I touched mine.

“Sorry to disturb you. Though I feel like it was necessary.” His voice was low, too low. “You were drinking, weren’t you?”

Alcohol and me, we were like ex-lovers. We pushed and we pulled, we were toxic to each other but the temptation was so attractive.

I didn’t get surprised. Deondre knew everything.

What I wasn’t expecting was the fact he mentioned it straight out - for the past ten years we never talked about anything that was outside what happened at the moment as reality was a taboo subject for both of us, it didn’t have a place in the unconsciousness. I thought we never would. We met, we made small talks about the flowers we saw on the way, how the clouds here were always the same shapes, or maybe we should be more creative and decorated next time with cotton candy and chocolate fountains. Sometimes we went out for a few walks before he sent me on my way.

The sunken eyes of his had dark bags now, I hadn’t noticed.

He took my hand in his, brought it to his lips. His breaths were so shaky I could feel it on my skin.

“Are you okay?”

He whispered against my skin. His voice was so grave, it broke my heart a little.

“I’m doing fine.”

“You know you don’t have to lie to me right?” He said. “You can’t actually”

I didn’t look at him, didn’t dare to. Instead, I was focus on something that wasn’t here.

“When was the last time you cried?”

“A while,” I said. “I missed it. Crying. It sucks and it hurts but at least it makes everything a bit bearable.”

“Then cry.”

“It won’t come out.” Shaking my head, I said bitterly. “Besides, for what? There is no reason for me to cry.”

“Did you talk about it-”

“Don’t.” I cut him mid-sentence. “Anything but that question.”

The bus stopped abruptly causing me to lunge forward, hitting my head into the seat in front. When I turned around to check on him, he wasn’t sitting any more but stood quietly in the walkway.

“Promise me that you will be fine. And be careful – “

“Of what?”

Biting his lip, the look on his face was grim. He took my hands again, this time it felt a bit cold. Or was it always cold?

“Of yourself. After all, isn’t it why I am here?” He said. “Inside your head. Confronting you, reminding you?”

Before I could say anything, he took my face by two hands, holding my nape and leaned forwards. His lips met mine in a rush and desperate attempt. His lips moved softly as warmth spread through my body.

“I want to see you again.”

And every time, wanted or not. I melted into the kiss.

When I opened my eyes again, I saw my messy desk with scattering drafts and books. The computer was still on, my fingers lingering on the keyboard for when I felt asleep I must be typing, which I would have to look over the whole page once again to got the feel back and knew where the hell I was in the story. But before that I needed to get rid of the feeling of loss and disorientation from blurry memories and incoherent patches of what I was dreaming, clouding my head.

There was no bus, no empty field or sign of another person in my room. Everything was a dream, like it always had been. Nothing seemed real except for the fathom touch on my lips.

I reached out for the cup of water I always kept on the stand nearby and downed it in one go when a small bottle of white pills caught my eyes, ignoring the golden whiskey right next to it.

In the back of my mind – a very, very, very far back section – I had an idea why he said what he said by the look of the full pill bottle. I couldn’t recall the last time I took one of those as I was prescripted. Right now I bet if I trade my way back to my schedules and emails, I would have a full inbox of notification plus reminders for unattended sessions.

In my defense, I was busy. The story couldn’t write itself and Mia – my editor – would have my ass if she didn’t get a full draft of it by the end of this week.

Once again, all the red flags were ignored. And I couldn’t remember what I was dreaming about.

#short story #draft #notproofread #i wrote this a while back #i have an idea #where this might go #kind of #im sharing #for the first time

0 notes

hvpydraft · 4 years

Text

Dreams.

When i opened my eyes, i couldn’t see much.

It was dark, which was odd because it never happened after dark, but then again i never had the privilege of knowing first hand how everything was going to take place.

This time it looks like i was standing in the middle of nowhere. I had been in nowhere before but in the end, it was always somewhere – I turned around, took one more look but still couldn’t see anything that might sparked familiarity – usually it were small details like a tree, a sign or even a person,... making nowhere became somewhere.

At cue, there were rustling sounds under my feet, ruffles in my ears and an open field across the street. I said it was a street but it was more of a narrow, rocky trail. As intriguing as watching everything started to make sense, i had no interest of crossing – i must wait here. I didn’t know for how long but i must. I waited until the winds picked up, until there was the moon – a crescent one – in the sky. I waited until i shifted from one leg to another for how many times i lost count. Until i wanted to take a seat...

On my right, a bench suddenly presented itself. Tilted my head, i tried to recall if it was there the last time i turned around but i could not remember. I took the seat anyway.

I sat there for a more while, or at least i believed time did pass around here – It was always hard to grasp the blurry concept of time whenever i found myself in this position, nor feel, nor anything. Especially when i was waiting.

A lamp post made everything a bit brighter, a bus sign sprouted from my right, on which read the next stop was three minutes from now – It seemed i was waiting for a bus – It had always been a moving vessel. Last time it was a boat, the other time before it was a train, some other times were either a plane or even a roller coaster. But never a bus. First time for everything i guessed.

The bus in question slowly cut through the night, approaching the station in snail pace. From a far i spied it was a piece of junk; crusty, rusty, crackling on its track. Gusts of wind picked up fast. They combed through the wild grass, making them caressed each other, hissing sounds filled the void and i shivered under the cold. I wondered if it was warmer on the bus, maybe i could roll up the windows, that unless there were windows on that thing.

Would i need a ticket for it?

The bus ate its break in front of my eyes and its door sprung opened.

Guesses not.

The steps creaked under my weights, it whole head shifted to one side as where i stood. The driver seat was empty – there were no driver, no valet – the door automatically closed behind me and the wheels started moving. I should had been hesitant, should had chill running down my back but my legs carried my way down the back, like nothing happened. Someone was waiting for me and that was all i cared,

I took a seat on the far end, not quite the last row but right above the streaky tires. The seat by the windows as i expected was already taken.

“I’m sorry for this has no glass.” The person said, implying the lack of shield on the windows.

It was a man with a familiar face, one i had seen too many times to the point i could have easily pick him out in a queue, literary in my sleep. Though his hair was a bit longer since the last time i saw him, cheek hollower, eyes haunting, sunken, deepen – hovering above the left eye there was faded line i yearned to touch, which stood out even more as his face sharpen and skin darker. He looked like he terribly need a goodnight sleep.

“Since when do you have beard?” I asked wryly.

He consciously touched his chin, where said beard lay and twitched.

“I’ve been busy. Don’t you like it? I think it’s cool.”

I shrugged. “It’s different.”

Some extra body hair made him almost handsomely rugged, far different than the lanky boy i had in mind.

I should have known better; every time i saw him he was a bit foreign than the last. One day he showed up taller than me, one day way tanner, sometime in the past his face was full of pimples and the next with wicked jawline. Though he never quite grew out of the length of his limbs, even they had muscle now; strong and lean muscles.

“How are you lately?”

“Fine, i guessed.” I said, blinking a tad too fast. “I think i was finishing up the last few pages of my latest draft when you called.”

I missed him.

When i was nine, i had a crush on this boy in my class. I didn’t remember how he looked like nor how i managed to develop feelings for him – the fact i could have a genuine emotional connection with anyone aside from my family was an amazing feast by itself – there were a lot of thing i didn’t remember about him but there was one thing i did; his name.

“Deondre.” It’d been years since that name escaped my lips. It left a strange taste on my tongue, yet rolling out easier than i thought. That name held no significance to me but i guessed it had always been there, in the back of my mind, locked away, waiting to be drawn back out.

I couldn’t recall much what eventually came down between us – we were nine, so i reckoned not much – just some small interactions here and there or fragments of flashbacks. He and the memories about him faded as years passed, until one day i had no recall of him down the road. It would have been fine just like that, as a ‘good old time’, as a reminder i was not always as “cold” and “unbothered” as i was dubbed.

Until one day, he stood in front of me again.

The ‘reunion’ wasn’t what i expect it to be – a cup of coffee or tea would be nice, catching up with each other would be fine but definitely not on a moving train to nowhere.

I first dreamt of him when i was fifteen.

I couldn’t recall what went down, it was seven years ago after all. But i knew who he was the moment i lay my eyes on him. Maybe there wasn’t anything with that dream. Maybe i did spend the entire time looking at his face and wondered how – he looked different – but it was brief and sweet. The boy i had a crush on was lanky and awkward at best, the young man sat next to me radiated confidence. The boy i had a crush on would trip over his own feet while running up to me with a bar of chocolate in his hand on Valentine day. The young man sat next to me flashed me a Colgate smile brighter than my future at the time. The boy had crocked teeth, he had perfect rows.

He took my hand in his and we sat like that not saying a single word.

Every time i opened my eyes it was just another dream, ones that would become blurry and dismissive when i got back to reality.

“Sorry to disturb you. Though i feel like it was necessary.” His voice was low, too low. “You were drinking, weren’t you?”

Alcohol and me we were like ex lovers. We pushed and we pulled, we were toxic to each other but the temptation were so attractive.

I didn’t get surprised. Deondre knew everything.

What i wasn’t expecting was the fact he mentioned it straight out - for the pass ten years we never talked about anything that was outside what happened in the moment as reality was a taboo subject for both of us, it didn’t have a place in the unconsciousness. I thought we never would. We met, we made small talks about the flowers we saw on the way, how the clouds here were always the same shapes, or maybe we should be more creative and decorated next time with cotton candy and chocolate fountains. Sometimes we went out for few walks before he sent me on my way.

The sunken eyes of his had dark bags now, i hadn’t noticed.

He took my hand in his, brought it to his lips. His breathes was so shaky i could feel it on my skin.

“Are you okay?”

He whispered against my skin. His voice was so grave, it broke my heart a little.

“I’m doing fine.”

“You know you don’t have to lie to me right?” He said. “You can’t actually”

I didn’t look at him, didn’t dare to. Instead, i was focus on something that wasn’t here.

“When was the last time you cried?”

“A while.” I said. “I missed it. Crying. It sucks and it hurts but at least it makes everything a bit bearable.”

“Then cry.”

“It won’t come out.” Shaking my head, i said bitterly. “Beside, for what? There are no reason for me to cry.”

“Did you talk about it-”

“Don’t.” I cut him mid sentence. “Anything but that question.”

The bus stopped abruptly causing me to lunge forwards, hitting my head into the seat in front. When i turned around to check on him, he wasn’t sitting any more but stood quietly in the walk way.

“Promise me that you will be fine. And be careful – “

“Of what?”

Biting his lip, the look on his face was grim. He took my hands again, this time it felt a bit cold. Or was it always cold, because i never noticed how it would feel, the contact.

“Of yourself. After all, isn’t it why i am here?” He said. “Inside your head. Confronting you, reminding you?”

Before i could say anything, he took my face by two hands, holding my nape and leaned forwards. His lips met mine in a rush and desperate attempt. His lips moved softly as warmth spread through my body.

“I want to see you again.”

And every time, wanted or not. I melted into the kiss.

When i opened my eyes again, i saw my messy desk with scattering drafts and books. The computer was still on, my fingers lingering on the keyboard for when i felt asleep i must be typing, which i would have to look over the whole page once again to got the feel back and knew where the hell i was in the story. But before that i needed to get rid of the feeling of lost and disorientation from blurry memories and incoherent patches of what i was dreaming, clouding my head.

There were no bus, no empty field or sign of another person in my room. Everything was a dream like it always had been. Nothing seemed real except for the fathom touch on my lips.

I reached out for the cup of water i always kept on the stand nearby and downed it in one go when a small bottle of white pills caught my eyes, ignoring the golden whiskey right next to it.

In the back of my mind – a very, very, very far back section – i had an idea why he said what he said by the look of the full pill bottle. I couldn’t recall the last time i took one of those as i was prescripted. Right now i bet if i trade my way back to my schedules and emails, i would have a full inbox of notification plus reminders for unattended sessions.

In my defense, i was busy. The story couldn’t write itself and Mia – my editor – would have my ass if she didn’t get a full draft of it by the end of this week.

Once again, all the red flags were ignored. And i couldn’t remember what i was dreaming about.

#Dreams #writing prompt #prompts #draft

0 notes