Locked Doors

Matt opened his eyes to darkness. Above him, he could make out the left side of his ceiling fan, its slow revolutions bringing each propeller momentarily into view. With a tilt of his head, he could make out bright red numbers that told him it was after three. To his right, he could feel Jess unconsciously pulling more of the duvet away from him. He always fell asleep with her in his arms, and always woke up curled at the edge, alone. 

A lucid quality to his thoughts made him carry part of his most recent dream into the present. He had been running down a hall, desperately trying various locked wooden doors. Inside each door he knew there were people talking about something he had done and felt a strong desire to confront them and explain himself, but not a single door would budge. Sometimes, on the other end, he could hear laughing; other times, hushed whispers; and worst of all, for the last couple of doors he frantically put his ear against, he heard only silence. 

This feeling of being misunderstood lingered in the seconds after he awoke. It was only as Matt adjusted his eyes, that he realized he had left all that behind. Yet, like the ebb and flow of a tide, as his dreams left, reality crept forth, and the conversation — or lack thereof — of the night settled in. This reality was a colder one, without any promise of being washed away with the morning. 

Jess had come over just after eight with a bottle of wine and a small duffel-bag containing a change of clothes. Matt recalled how beautiful she had looked, standing in the doorway, and how he had felt a rush of affection for the woman now sleeping next to him. He could picture, like a photograph, the way the curled edges of her long brown hair lay gently on the shoulders of her red and white floral dress. Just as easily Matt could recall how, the moment she entered, he had felt as though a weighted vest had materialized over his chest.

There had been something so hollow about the two of them sitting; talking; getting to know each other in his apartment. As her anecdotes poured forth, Matt felt his distance grow. Something about the entire scenario felt off; staged; canned. There was never a question about how genuine she was, but how genuine all of it was. 

“And how’s work been, since that awful manager got transferred away?” Jess had asked, cradling her chin in her hands.

“It’s been a lot better” Matt had replied. He recalled immediately recognizing the significance of this question. His remarks about Mike, the guy who had made his office-life far more toxic than it already was, had been an off-hand comment from two dates before, and she had apparently held on to it. Something about her interest in his life repulsed him.

Later, they had taken to his room, and had put on a movie as a pretext for artificially spontaneous sex. On top of him, her inhibitions gradually lowered. She spoke to him, through stuttering breaths, words of encouragement that unsettled him. Pornography had spoken them before, and websites directed at spicing up one’s sex life had written them long ago. His feelings of distance materialized into a sullen expression that gave her pause.

“What is it?”

“What’s what?”

“You don’t look like you’re enjoying yourself.”

“I am.”

“But it doesn’t look like you’re enjoying yourself.”

“Jess, it feels really good, don’t worry.” His words had done nothing to resolve the look of confusion on her face. “I’m just a bit tired, that’s all.” Still nothing. “Really.”

Jess had got off of him, and placed her head on his chest. “Then let’s just relax for a bit.”

“No, no-“

“It’s fine” she had assured him, looking up into his eyes. “Really.” 

After a few minutes of silence, Jess had asked if he wanted her to leave. He had said he didn’t, and as a reply, she had wrapped one arm under his back, another over his chest, and squeezed. 

“Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, trust me.”

“Okay, but I’d still like to know what’s wrong.” 

Matt’s sense of remoteness from the bedroom had abated for just a moment, as a feeling of deep affection bloomed within him. “If I told you I didn’t really know, would you believe me?”

“I will if you want me to” Jess had replied, squeezing him once more. 

And that’s how she had fallen asleep, with her arms wrapped around him, and her head on his chest. The rhythm of her light snores had seemed to guide his heartbeat to a softer and more gentle pace. Eventually, Matt too, had fallen asleep and found himself alone, in a dimly lit hallway made of concrete and potted fluorescent lights, with the rest of the world hiding behind locked doors, whispering secrets about him — rumours that could never be put right. 

A sense of dread sprung forth from a central point in his gut. He could visually see it there, like a black musket ball, congealing and hardening — a black hole from which all his thoughts both emanated from and returned to. The ending of his time with Jess was inevitable; such events were preordained. No rhyme or reasons accompanied his prediction, just a deathly certainty that this would likely be the last night she was in his arms. It was a cruel process of deduction, for no other potential future could materialize in his head. 

Matt closed his eyes. He could picture the musket ball in his gut; it weighed him down, solid and immovable. It had only been four months, but he had been certain for weeks that he loved her. But lying in bed, such an idea seemed puerile. What was true in its infant state seemed laughable once any ‘intent’ to share these feelings occurred to him. The idea of such words leaving his own lips was pointless; it was something that brought about only a feeling of embarrassment. That he rarely decried the love between others did nothing to detract from these feelings. 

Matt opened his eyes to a ceiling fan whirring directly above him. Cleary she had left him; gone home. Now he didn’t feel so bad. It had come sooner than he expected, but he had made peace with this outcome a long time ago. He would just have to get up and lock the apartment door…only, he found himself frozen in place. 

Matt thought that to be experiencing sleep paralysis at a time like this was just in line with fate’s sense of humour. 

Until his head began to move on its own. He was watching himself adjust his body under the duvet, yet couldn’t feel a thing. Matt realized that his eyes were blinking intermittently, entirely divorced from his own control. He willed himself to turn over, but instead found that he was propping himself up on the pillows behind him. 

A yawn that couldn’t be felt; a scratching of the leg where there was no itch; a movement of the hands to push back the sheets; but now his hands were thinner, more slender, and beneath the covers he found himself looking at a pair of woman’s breasts.

Panic set in. He tried desperately to move, but his motor skills had been entirely severed. His internal dialogue rose in volume until his thoughts were practically screams. There was nothing here to make sense of. Matt’s thoughts desperately tried to solve what was happening until, suddenly, his thoughts began to take on a new quality where they were…almost…

detached. 

I’m detached. 

I’m thinking but my body is just, 

no. 

This is not my body. These breasts are not mine. They look…like Jessica’s. 

I’m dreaming that I’m Jessica. 

For only a moment, his use of logic to figure out what had happened was comforting; but the ‘how’ still eluded him.

But I will wake up, soon. 

God, this feels so real. 

This feels so…real.

Matt realized he had neglected one of the most crucial implications of his predicament; one that revealed itself as he found Jess turning on her side and staring directly into his own face. 

No, no, no… 

Jess placed her hands together under her cheek and continued to look at him. An overwhelming feeling of disgust seized Matt so powerfully, he could have vomited if he still had a body.

Please, turn away. 

But she continued to look at him, her occasional blinks acting as the briefest of respites. 

Please, please, stop looking at me.

And now she was digging her left leg into the bed and pivoting her body closer to his. Jess was creeping slowly towards him, without taking her eyes off his face.

I can’t take it anymore, please stop!

She was just inches from his own face. A face that was ironically peaceful in sleep despite the waking nightmare he found himself in.

Stop. STOP! I CAN’T!

As Matt’s pleas grew more desperate, it became clear that she couldn’t hear him. Looking into his own face, he felt dirty and ashamed. 

Despite the obvious futility of his efforts, Matt tried to will her to get up and leave.

Go! GO! GO!

But it was no use. He had been locked out; forced to just listen and remain observer to — 

NO

“Hey, Matt” Jess whispered. Her voice echoed through his brain like a rock thrown into a bottomless well. 

Shut up, shut up.

“I know you can’t hear me, but I’m going to tell you something anyway. Hopefully, someday soon, I’ll get to tell ya for real.” 

Her voice, quiet in its whisper, was practically biblical in the way that it encompassed his entire being. 

SHUT UP! PLEASE!

Jess leaned in until her lips hovered over his forehead. 

“I love you.”