My dream, my feelings

A night in my head, a night in my bed

In the beginning there is a huge and comfortable chair..

The chair is a deep blue. A rich, heavy woven fabric with a sea green thread speckled through it. It’s a solid 1950’s style armchair with a deep sloping back and wide arms. We are in it together and I’m curled on his lap with my head in the hollow between his shoulder and his chin. His arm rests against my back and I’m safe. I’m secure, filled with happiness. We are happy together, he’s telling me so. He’s laughing and I feel the warmth, movement and curve of his body beneath me, I feel his breath on my forehead as he speaks.

I’m looking at our hands. Our fingers are interlaced. My right hand his left. I see the intricate details of his small, soft hand and mine joined together. Our fingers are entwined with our thumbs playing, curling and dancing around each other. The moment, it’s sublime. Perfection.

Something falls and breaks behind the chair and I try to look but he holds me down, says it doesn’t matter. Again something falls and a shard of glass pierces my arm and the blood begins to flow. I can’t move. He’s holding me so tight.

The room begins to break and fall. The walls and ceiling are all made of tarnished glass and it’s cracking, cascading down and shattering. The room becomes an explosion of fragments which cut into me and I’m pouring with blood but although panicked I’m unable to move. His body is now cold and hard like a corpse and it grips me like a vice.

I’m kneeling in the shower now with the water cascading over my head. The blood is flowing from my skin taking with it the tiny fragments of glass. I’m watching the as the blood and water combine and flow away from my body, away down the drain in rivers. He’s on the other side of the screen but he’s leaving. He is speaking but all I hear over the sound of the shower is a rumble of his voice with no coherent words. I hear him walk away, down the stairs and close the door. I am alone, bleeding and full of shame.

I wake. I’m wrapped in a towel, sitting in the middle of my bed. My wet hair drips and I’m watching as each drop mingles with the blood on my arms. I watch the droplets form little rivulets of pink water and trickle away over my bare flesh. I look up and I am in my childhood bedroom my face is reflected in the round mirror across the room. There’s an emptiness surrounding me, a cold sense of feeling I am alone, bleeding, ashamed.

I wake. This time in reality. Hair wet and heavy, stuck to the back of my neck and face. My clothes are soaked in sweat and clinging to me. I need to move but fear holds me still.

I wake again. I’m so cold. The bathroom floor is cold. I don’t know how I got here. I’m wearing a different shirt and there’s vomit on the floor. I feel so alone. So ashamed.

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