In my dreams you smile

I remember the first time I dreamt of you.

The champagne still felt gold and bubbly on my tongue as I laid in bed that night, the fizzy possibilities after our first date spilling into my unconscious mind. The darkness around me was soft, the ghost of your hand pressed so warmly in mine anchored me back to Earth as we laid against the grass. Explosions of red and pink painted the sky as I turned to you, your mouth smiling so prettily in the same colours as you held on tight.

It’s a different smile you’re wearing now. It’s beautiful, of course it’s beautiful, but it’s hollow. Stiff and unmoving like the frozen pout of some renaissance painting. 

It stays the same as you reach out and take your new wife’s hand for the first time.

I take another sip of my drink as she pulls you close, her free fingers pressing into the pale skin of your back. The glass is back to my lips before the spotlights have a chance to dim, my eyes twitching at this god-awful wine selection.  

What was her name again? Judy? Julie? Jemima?

I know you’ve talked about her more than once while I was in the room, your voice just a little too loud. I always chose to turn away, sure you wouldn’t be talking that way just to be cruel.

My eyes fall to the programme on the table, the drink sour in my mouth as I see your names hooked together in some disgustingly frilly font. Gemma. Yes, that was it.

I finish my glass, quickly reaching for the bottle and pouring another. There’s an answering tut as it overflows a little, so I place it down with an audible thud. It’s not like I’m here to impress people. Everyone knows who I am and I can feel their judgemental stares boring in the back of my head like the white of stage lights.

Who needs a DJ when you can have the ex to parade around to show how much you’ve upgraded?

Yet here I am. Watching you waltz along with some of the worst people I know just to get ready for the inevitable fallout.

My glass is quickly empty again, but the bottle is nowhere to be found. Looking up I see the pinched face of some cousin I never learned the name of holding it. She pours the last into her own cup and places it away from me.

I sigh, reclining back into my chair as the fairy lights around the floor flicker on and you start to dance.

*** 

I dreamt about dancing with you more than once.

Sometimes we’d be alone, your body against mine as we swayed to whatever soundtrack my brain decided to whisper that night. Sometimes it would be our wedding. In my mind, it was nothing like this. We had nothing to prove and no one to impress. We didn’t need flowers wrapped in golden twine or pink hers&hers cupcakes piled in a sugary mess on each table. It’d just be us moving gently against the shifting gold and purple sky my brain conjured behind us.

Usually I’d imagine us together on some dark dancefloor. I can still see your face flashing in hues of blue and green as I hold your hips against me, your hair a beautiful damp mess against your forehead. Your pupils were dilated, your eyes darkening with a want I could almost smell in the air around us. 

“I don’t like those places.”

Your words were short when I asked you to come out clubbing with me again. I won’t say it didn’t hurt, especially since the nights we’d had before were seared so brightly in my mind. I tried a few more times, but your flat response would never change. Eventually I stopped asking, opting to find my fun in the bottom of whichever drink was the cheapest that night and telling you about it over bitter black coffee the next afternoon.

Still it didn’t matter. I always knew I could crawl back with burning feet and black eyes before slipping back to my dreams of you dancing there with me.

My feet are starting to hurt now as well.

I flex my ankles under the table, suppressing a groan as I pull my sole out of the back of my heel. God, I don’t even know why I bought new shoes for this day. 

My fingers catch on the buckle as I try to shift my foot.

That’s a lie. Truthfully I wanted you to see me put together, see me strong, maybe even beautiful. It’s utterly selfish, but part of me wanted you to hurt as well. In the lead up to this nightmare, a small but vocal part of me wanted you to feel even the tiniest twinge of the wound you carved into me after it all happened. 

A round of applause rips through the air as I look back up, Gemma now dipping you low enough so your hair spills like honeyed cloth on the floor.

You couldn’t be smiling any harder if you tried, your lips stretching almost comically from ear to ear. I sigh and search around for another wine bottle, fully aware that look is the furthest thing from real. I know to everyone here it looks real, to Gemma it tastes real, to you it probably even feels real, but I can see. See that grey mist of doubt behind your eyes. 

They’ve never been quite as bright since your last box left my place.

Together we’d seen real passion, real fire, real love. It’s what we had and what you could crumple up as easily as every note I sent you afterwards.

We loved. We fucked. We fought. It’s what couples did. But we’d always cry and fall back to each other, finding comfort in the familiar blanket of each other’s arms. It wasn’t perfect, but neither is love. Love isn’t this bullshit pastel fairytale that you and Gemma had draped this day in just to show how amazing you are. It isn’t perfume and cupcake frosting and pink champagne- it’s gritty and real and why this whole farce was going to be imploding in a year.

I push those ugly words out of my mind, reaching out to shoot the nearest drink I can find. The room grows fuzzier as I calm myself, my hands shaking under the table.

It’s not your fault. This could never be your fault. You were so distressed about everything when you left, of course you’d get caught up in something like this. 

I don’t know why I never believed that this could happen. You always got carried away, it’s one of the things I love most about you. You’d fall into the world of every book you read, babble all night with insane theories about the last TV show we watched- for months you even bought everything orange-flavoured you could find after I mentioned it was my favourite fruit. 

For you, a rebound fuck could so easily turn into whatever this was and it’s why you’re going to destory yourself when your golden bubble of bliss finally pops. 

I turn away from the dance floor, heaving myself up towards the bar.

Strangely, all this shows exactly why you need me. No one around you was ever going to tell you ‘no,’ or that this rushed little romance wasn’t the foundation of anything solid. I was always there as your rock, tethering you down so you didn’t float away into the clouds.

After it happened, I told myself I’d never go running back, that everything you’d said to me was too much this time to forgive. I can still see your face, wet and red and twisted as you threw your keys onto the floor. Though even as my heart was being shattered, you still looked so beautiful to me. I could feel the strength thundering in your eyes like a goddess, powerful and terrible yet so ethereal I couldn’t look away.

Even then, I knew I didn’t mean it. As I watch you start to dance again with that insincere smile still stapled in place, I know.

I’m ready to fight for you.

***

I dreamt of you the night you left as well.

It wasn’t anything mind blowing. It wasn’t happy or sad or even anything really. We were just having dinner like we had done a thousand times before. No matter how hard I try, I can’t remember what we were eating, what we were talking about or even how I was feeling as it played out in my mind. The feeling when I woke up is still as fresh as ever though. Even after I tried to suffocate your image out of my mind with whatever was left in the liquor cabinet, the blunt force ache you left was still throbbing when I finally regained consciousness.

Still, it wasn’t like it hadn’t happened before. It’s just… longer this time.

And I was going to set the course straight.

“Are you alright?”

I jerk my head round at the voice. 

Your old coworker is eyeing my warily, her mouth pulled into a straight line. 

I pull myself up from the bar, trying to remember if I bothered to learn her name when we went to that awful Christmas party. 

She takes a small step forward, lowering her voice. “Do you need-”

“I’m fine,” I say flatly, though the words feel a little cottony in my mouth. 

I really don’t have time for her judgement right now.

“You sure? I can get you some water if you like.”

“No,” I reiterate as firmly as I can, ready to push past her. 

I think it’s time I finally talk to you.

I flinch as she grabs my arm, her grip stronger than I’d imagined. “I think you need some fresh air,” she whispers coldly, her shoes clacking forcefully on the floor as she pulls me towards the open door.

The air hits me like a brick wall as she pushes me onto the patio, my feet suddenly far less stable. The world spins in my head as I try to right myself, but I find myself on the cold flagstones before I even realise I’ve fallen.  

“Jesus Christ.”

I’m greeted by her disgusted face as I look up, her arms folded like a disappointed mother’s.

“If you wanted to talk, you could have just said,” I mutter as I shift to find a more comfortable position on the ground.

“We don’t need to talk. You need to get your head on straight.”

I roll my eyes and slowly pull myself up. “Well, if we don’t need to talk, I’d much rather speak to-”

“She’s busy right now.” She cuts me off, standing in front of the door with another hand on my shoulder. “It is her wedding after all.”

I immediately pull back, my annoyance rising.

What the fuck does she know?

“She’ll talk to me,” I say as calmly as I can, moving to step around her again. “It’s why I’m here. She wants to speak to me.”

She pushes me again as I take a step forward, harder this time. The force causes me to stumble, the world around us shifting blurrily. I catch myself before I fall, my head snapping up with a rage I can feel spreading hotly across my face.

“Amazing,” she says dryly, “you’ve managed to take this day designed specifically for her and somehow make it all about you.”

My mouth falls open at her fucking cheek. “Excuse me?”

She walks forward until we both end up on the lawn, the lights of the dancefloor shrinking behind her. “She invited you because you said you were happy for her, that you wanted to celebrate with everyone.”

My feet move clumsily against the grass, the right response lost in a cloud of disbelief. 

How could you ever be friends with someone as arrogant as this?

“We asked if we should put you on the sober table but she insisted on another because you promised you’d got this under control,” she continues, her voice icy and sharp. “I still don’t understand why she just believed you.”

Words are sticking in my throat at how fucking pissed off I am, the anger rumbling dark and low in my gut like an earthquake. “You don’t get to talk to me like that,” I say quietly, hoping the threat hits her like a punch in the face.

Taking a step forward, I feel something else clamping on my shoulder. Turning around I see at least three of your other coworkers behind us now, one holding on like a vice to my jacket. They’ve all got the same expression painted on their face. Not anger exactly, it’s something more melancholy.

I deflate a little when I realise, my fists unclenching at my side.

It’s pity.

“I’m calling you an Uber. I think you’re done here,” she says, quieter now. 

The hand on my shoulder releases and I crumple to the ground, my eyes focussed on the grass under me.

“Whatever bitch,” I answer softly, not bothering to look up. No one here wanted me. No one here even respected me. I really was the fool brought out for everyone’s entertainment and I was done being the punching bag.

She doesn’t respond, but I see her shoes heading back towards the ballroom, the others following suit. As I fall back against the lawn, I hear one small but pointy voice cutting through the late evening breeze.

“I’m glad she could finally get away.”

***

The car ride is silent, the music of the venue getting quieter and quieter as we pull away.

I close my eyes, glad this guy isn’t chatty. You always loved to talk to everyone: shopkeepers, the postman, even cab drivers. 

The corners of my mouth pull up a little as I remember the time you talked so enthusiastically with our Uber driver about the fantasy book he was planning to write.

My smile drops as I feel the car turn, suddenly very aware of exactly where I am. 

God, I wish I hadn’t left my hip flask at the table.

Maybe this whole thing is your fantasy. One where I’m the villain. Not a villain who gets slain by the hero, no. One who smiles in a chagrined way and waits to be carted away to prison as the princess gets all her hopes and dreams in a flash of sunshine and confetti.

I sigh, sinking further into the leather seat. 

You know, I dreamt of you last night as well.

The hilltop was vast, the sky ignited in beautiful shades of crimson and orange around me. You’d run to me before the wedding, barefoot and sobbing with your hands outstretched. We’d tumbled to the ground in a soft heap as I held you, gently stroking your hair while you cried about how scared you were. 

It was the best dream I’d had in a while, one that had me almost dancing around the apartment as I got dressed this morning with a renewed sense of purpose.

The car jitters as we run over a speed bump, a wave of vomit lurching through my stomach and into my throat. I shudder and swallow it back down, gasping as I pull down the window a little.

I close my eyes again, sending up a silent prayer that this is still a part of that same dream.

I press my hand to my face, hoping the driver doesn’t notice the fat ugly tears probably leaving messy pink streaks in my foundation.

This isn’t a dream, I don’t deserve an ending as gentle as that. 

No, this my worst nightmare.