Every so often, I have these dreams that torment me until I wake, and leave me trembling in my boyfriend's arms because they shake me so.......
I’m pulling up to his house. It’s just another day. It’s sunny, and I’m feeling pretty good. Haven’t seen him in a while, and so I’m particularly chirpy. Pull into the neighbour’s driveway, just like every other time before that, noticing the white car in his drive – one I don’t recognise. I shrug. Probably has a friend over, he didn’t know exactly what time I’d turn up today. I can hear his music from the front door, so I let myself in with the key his mum’s given me a week before. I shake my head, early Dance Gavin Dance, beats through the air. I call out at the door, not expecting a reply. Pat a greeting to the Chihuahua, then walk past the boxes in the hall. His door’s shut. Unusual, considering he’s home alone, but I think nothing of it. Knock once, briefly, then open the door. He’s not at his computer there’s a movie paused on the screen, and a distinctly female groan comes from the bed. I freeze, horror rising like bile in my throat.
I take a step forward, look at the bed, only to see a girl shrink under the covers, and he jumps up – I startled him, apparently. He starts to talk. I just look at him, stop him talking with a raise of my hand, and walk out. I can’t hear, I can barely see. I walk out to my car, a lot calmer than I thought I would be. I know it will hit later. He chases me out to the car, still pulling up his jeans, calling my name, ‘Liv. Liv. Liv! Let me explain.’ Feeling his presence behind me, my blood boils, he repulses me, and I can’t be near him. I turn around and slap him. Hard. I’m still wearing his ring, and the intricate design begins to shine red on his cheekbone. I push him in the chest, getting him away from me.
He begins with his excuses, his words blurring together as I shoulder my way past him to the driver’s side door, get in, and lock myself in. I sit there for thirty seconds, him knocking on my window, focussing on my breathing. In, out. In, out. I have two options, I choose the one that feels better. I get out of my car again, this time, anger, not shock, pumping through me.
‘Who is she? Huh?’ He replies, but I don’t hear. I storm back into the house, where she’s getting her clothes together. ‘Whore’ I spit at her, and slap her hard in the face, this time with both rings on the one hand. That felt surprisingly good. I stalk back to my car, to him; I pause, and look at him, the hurt beginning to pierce through the adrenaline. I look at him with sad, betrayed, broken eyes, and all I can say is ‘How could you! I love you with everything I am, everything I have, why should I listen to you now? How could you do this to me?’
He has no answer. Finally, the boy of a million words, has nothing to say. I get in my car, rev the engine, and leave behind me any chance of a future, a family, or ever trusting anyone again.
It doesn't take much to get me into a downward spiral, and the emotional wreckage that remains of me, shatter's my attention, leading me to choose to take the corner fast. Too fast. I feel the car tip. I'm scared, but at the same time, I don't care what happens, as i spin on my roof into oncoming traffic.
My eyes meet the driver's. I see the fear as the commodore hits me.
And I jolt awake.
They say you can't dream your own moment of death. You always wake up before you die, or you are already dead, and a ghost. When I dream, I dream of dying. Over, and over again.