I’m dreaming.
Usually, my dreams are of my bike and the endless road while I’m riding away from this hellhole.
But tonight, I smell sugar and I see blue. Both the color and her.
She’s on top of me and her curly, cloud-like hair’s all around us, making a curtain. And then, I roll over and trap her under my body. Hiding her from the world.
She can’t get away now and neither can anyone see her.
She’s safe. Her job’s safe.
But then, she’s laying me down on my bed and covering me up with my blanket, caring for me.
What the fuck?
I feel her taking my shoes off. I want to tell her to get away from me and leave me the fuck alone but I don’t have the energy.
I never should’ve drunk this much. I don’t even drink anymore. Maybe occasionally but nothing like I used to. I don’t know what I was thinking.
Jesus.
If drinking makes me dream of her and these nice, warm things, then I’m quitting tomorrow.
Fuck.
I need a cigarette.
Why am I not smoking? Why am I suffering through headaches and intense cravings when I can take the easy way out?
Oh, right. Because of her.
Shewants me to suffer. She wants me to not sleep, to go through withdrawals.
Of all the people on this planet, I had to be an asshole to one girl who wouldn’t take my shit lying down. Who wouldn’t leave me alone.
Fucking excellent, Zach.
Even now, her fingers are in my hair.
They’re running through the strands, caressing my forehead all the way down to my jaw. Everything pulses on my face. My jaw, my cheeks, my teeth, even.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this but… I’m sorry,” she says. “I mean, I think I’m sorry, Zach.”
Everything goes black before I can ask her what she is sorry for.