Chapter 3

Chapter

Three

AWAKE

I believe in everything until it's disproved. So I believe in fairies, the myths, dragons. It all exists, even if it's in your mind. Who's to say that dreams and nightmares aren't as real as the here and now?

John Lennon

I forced my eyes closed, refusing to open them, and coercing myself back into a slumber of nothingness. Rest, biological, mundane. It was too short, too quick. I could still feel the pricking of the corset against my waist, the sticky floor on my feet. The feeling of his violet eyes roaming my body and his tongue swiping against my bare skin. How I wished to roll over and see him in bed beside me.

He'd never been a pirate before, though, it suited him. He was always dramatically vague, swashbuckling his way through my pleasure and pain.

My therapist should know about him, about this. I'd googled it, already, and read all about delusions. If Sam knew, she would wrinkle her forehead to fight the tears, fumbling through the realization that her baby sister was losing her mind—truly—losing grip on reality. While my therapist and doctors would… I don't know what they'd do. No, I couldn't tell them. And what harm was this odd fantasy adventure? So maybe I was dreaming, but it gave me a reason to get through the day if only a longing for the night. For a chance to see him again. A pirate, a pumpkin phantom, a regular guy—whatever adornments, whatever setting shift, it was always him and me.

My fixation, my mirage, my dark shadow man.

Doctor Truman yawned and scratched his grey beard. "I apologize, I didn't rest well last night. Speaking of—how is your sleep, Lucy?"

The question was cold water splashed on my face and I fumbled over my words, watching the clock as I did. "Normal, totally fine and normal. Why?"

"Your medications can interfere with sleep. Lack of rest can make your symptoms worse. You said you're having more average days lately, that makes me hopeful we're on the right path with your prescriptions and the EMDR."

I fidgeted with the corner of a pillow on the therapy couch. "Could the medicine be making… dreams more vivid?"

The doctor paused the tapping of his pen. "It could. Why? Are you experiencing vivid dreams?"

I swallowed, my mouth feeling dry. My headphones vibrated music I wished I was listening too against its resting spot around my neck. I shouldn't tell him, but something inside me wanted to tell someone. "What if… is it normal to see the same person in your dreams over and over?"

"For how long have you been experiencing this?"

"Three months or so."

"Right around the…" He paused, choosing his words carefully. "Introduction of your medication." Dr. Truman scribbled something on his notepad. "Perhaps it is someone or something you have unresolved issues with. May I ask who or what you're seeing in these dreams?"

"No one real, I mean, no one that I know in real life…" Hearing the words tumble from my mouth, I knew I sounded like an idiot. But Dr. Truman looked at me like an insane person anyway, so why not lean into his assessment? "Is that normal?"

"Lucy, dreams, nightmares, they have no meaning. Not in a therapeutic sense. What you're experiencing is a random firing of the neurons in your brain. Electrical brain impulses pull from memories, past experiences, or things you've watched on television or seen in passing. I wouldn't think on it, it means nothing." He chuckled before adding, "For example, my nightmare last night was directly related to work stress, coupled with watching Star Wars before bed. I do not believe there's any further meaning to feeling my spaceship was under attack from an evil empire."

My ribs constricted with the gut punch of his declaration. My shadow man wasn't real. Of course, I knew that, but he felt so real… a random misfiring of my brain, my medication making the images more vivid… random…

Dr. Truman snapped his fingers. "Where are you going in your mind right now? Lucy, are you sure this person you see in your nightmares… isn't someone you recognize?"

"What?"

My gaze flicked to the clock, and I stood in a hurry. "My boss gets so mad if I'm late, I have to go. See you next time."

My therapist may have said something that I didn't hear, but I was out the door and clocking into work before I could even think about our session. It didn't matter. Though the pain in my chest felt real, not like the misfiring of brain impulses. All I wanted to do was get back in bed, find my nightmare man, and have a real conversation. Why was it so hard to have a real talk with him? All I could think of or desire in his presence was his hands on me, to feel his kiss, to experience his breath in my ear and tongue lapped with mine. That felt real, so incredibly real I could recall his taste even as I stood at my very set-in-reality job, weighing cantaloupe, and doubled bagging wine.

My register stayed busy, which was good because I could avoid Brandon—who suddenly worked the same shift and days as me—and I could push my therapy session out of my mind by turning up the audiobook on my large, earmuff headphones. Sam had talked to the store manager and convinced her to let me wear them during my shift. If I were awake, my headphones were on, blaring music or books. Anything to keep my mind safe from wandering too far.

My breathing was hurried as I unlocked my apartment and kicked off my daytime clothes. Skipping my evening checklist, forgetting dinner, not caring about my shows or my jewelry making. Sam had been by and left a cucumber and feta salad in the fridge. Irritation sank in my throat as I gulped a glass of water and shut the blinds, climbing into bed.

I needed more time with him, needed to see him.

He felt real.

He wasn't real.

My heart cracked as I forced my eyes shut, hoping I was tired enough to sleep, hoping my rapid thoughts of the day didn't affect my ability to find him in my slumber. Or was it him who found me? Regardless, I steadied my breathing, clutching my blanket—and behind my eyelids, I waited.