Heart/break/through

At first, it's just a haze. I have to fight my way through kind of a fog to actually see the room I'm in. I'm still sitting on the cozy, comfy couch. I seriously could sink down into this and never come out.

I have to get up, though. I'm determined; I have to find the "doctor." I've got questions. I only hope he has answers.

Out in the lounge, there are other people. They look like patients. Some are in pajamas, others in comfortable clothing ranging from sweats to regular "street" clothes, but I know each of them is here to either hide or recover from something... or both. I'm seeing them as patients because that's my comfortable perception. I'm in an institution because what is happening to me feels crazy. We established that the last time I was here.

The doctor is not in the lounge. I turn and look out the windows. I can still see my attackers out there. The male is pacing back and forth, looking at the windows like a cat stalking his prey. Just the sight of him sends chills up my spine. The woman is just standing there, half watching him, half watching the windows. Her posture is different than I'm used to seeing. She's kind of slouched, like a surly teen. Her left arm is tucked close against her side, her elbow bent so that her forearm is hugged against her waist, her hand balled into a fist under her right elbow. She's nervously sliding her right hand up and down the outside of that arm, from elbow to shoulder and back. When she sees me, she stops doing that, stands taller, and leans forward a bit, like she's trying to appear more intimidating.

It works. I look away from the window.

To the left of the lounge, around the corner from my room, is a front desk set into the wall. I approach, and speak to the nurse, the lady who was the "maid" at the dinner party. She is surprised to see me. She says she didn't expect me to be up and about so soon. I tell her I can't just sit and wait. I know there's something I need to remember or figure out. I need to talk to the "doctor." I ask if he's here.

She tells me he's been waiting for me. He'll meet me in my room again. All I had to do was ask.

I wander back to the room. Sure enough, there he is, seated next to the coffee table, waiting for me. Instead of the couch, I sit in another chair, facing him. I can't relax. There is some stuff I just need to know. I remember writing the questions down. I have a list. It should be here somewhere. I look around me, and see that it's tucked into the book on the coffee table.

The doc says, "I know you think you're ready, but don't rush this. You have no idea what you're getting yourself into." He stops, shakes his head, then corrects himself, "...what you're getting yourself back into."

I'm annoyed. "NO." I say, almost shaking my head at him. "I am back into it, whatever it is. I mean, look. I'm under attack. I can't leave here. They're waiting for me outside. I have to know what this is about."

The doc tells me it doesn't work that way. I'm not ignorant because I just don't know. I haven't forgotten; I've hidden the knowledge from myself for protection. It's not that I can't remember. I didn't want to, and I had a reason.

Again, I'm annoyed, partly because this isn't getting me what I want, but partly at feeling that somehow, this makes everything my fault. I point out that whatever I was trying to protect must now be endangered by my ignorance. He agrees. He says he'll tell me what he can, and guide me through telling myself what I can.

I ask, "Who are those people?" He says he doesn't have an answer to that, because who they are is too complicated to describe. He asks me who I am, and I realize that if I just say my name, I'm not really telling him anything. I look at my questions, and realize I'm not going to ask everything as it's written on the page. These questions are too simple, and the answers they ask for are too complex.

I settle for asking him why the gray haired lady can pop my shield. Nothing else has ever been able to do that before. He responds by leaning forward and asking me, "Do you really want to explore the answer to that?"

I don't. Something inside me wants to avoid that information the same way I want to avoid the third rail in a subway, so much that my insides are screaming at me, but I have to know. I nod.

He says, "Don't blame me. You asked. Don't forget that you asked." He looks really distressed. "If you really want to know, it's yours. You just have to open it up and look at it."

On the table is a beautiful, white, leather-bound book. It looks familiar. I don't want it, but I have to know what's inside. Picking it up, I open it and begin looking at the pictures.

My own face stares back at me from inside the book, nervous and excited, and filled with joy. I'm dressed in a ceremonial robe, but it's not like anything I've seen. It looks formal, but at the same time, it's designed to be attractive. I've had my hair styled. I'm standing front of a bookshelf, leaning on it like I'm just relaxing there. I recognize this as a portrait pose. I never really stand like this.

My eyes cross to the next page, and stop. It's her, but it's not her as she is now. She looks so beautiful. Her eyes are soft, not cruel. Her hair is red, not gray. Her smile is kind, wise, and inviting. She's dressed in a ceremonial robe just like mine. On her, the effect is enchanting, regal. There are beads and feathers in her hair, and she's wearing a silver necklace with a glittery gem at her throat. There is an ache in my chest. I have to fight the urge to touch the photo with my fingers, as if I can reach through to the person shown in it. Looking at this picture makes me feel like someone has slapped me across the face.

What is this? I look up at the doc. He motions back to the book. He's not going to answer me.

I turn the page. There are more images, groups of people I seem to recognize, but can't remember. I'm in some, and she's in others. The more I look, the more it hurts. Then, in the middle of the book is a series of photos of the two of us walking together. Each of us is carrying a lit candle. Seeing this, I feel nervous anticipation rise in my gut, like I'm about to be "on the spot" and I'm afraid I'm going to screw it up.

In the next images, we pass the viewer, and enter what looks like a prop-defined sacred space, with another woman in a flowing, ornate robe standing in the center, and four very serious, somber looking people standing around the outer edges, facing out. In front of the woman is a small table covered in a golden cloth. There's a beautiful white candle in the middle of it, carefully molded and cut to create a lacy, decorative effect. There, we turn to face each other, holding our candles in front of us. The images continue, showing the lady speaking to us, and us answering her. After a few frames, there's a picture of us lowering our candles to light the fancy one on the table, and then we set them in holders on either side of it. My heart pounds, but I keep turning pages. It's pretty obvious to me now, what kind of album this is, but I don't think there was a really a photographer at this ceremony.

I stare at the photos of the officiating lady (a priestess, maybe?) as she steps around the little altar and leads us to the "front" of the circle, places our hands (my left, and my lady's right) together, and wraps a cloth over them, and then everything is blurred, and I can't see to turn the page. There's a wetness on my cheeks. I feel the book slide from my lap.

Everything around me seems to melt. For a moment, I'm falling, and then I'm not. I find myself reclining back into the softness, wrapped in someone's arms, legs intertwined, my face resting on a firm breast. Someone's fingers are weaving through my hair. I move so that I can see my partner. Her brow creases with worry, and she asks if I've had another of my "bad" dreams. Not knowing what to say, I nod, and she tightens her embrace, cups my cheek in her hand, and kisses my forehead. She tells me not to worry. They're just dreams. There can't be anything that horrible in the world, nothing so selfish and evil. I feel ambivalent. I want to be comforted, but I can't get the images out of my head; terrible, twisted beings with too many limbs and not enough mental capacity, raging down on us like roaches with unfamiliar weapons and startling tenacity. I'm overtaken by shivers. She asks, "do I need to give you something else to think about?"

I find myself holding on tightly. I try to block out the terrible visions by turning away from the light, burying myself in her embrace. Taking that as a yes, she pulls me into a deep kiss, and my fear fades as I'm lost in an awareness limited only to experiencing her.

I start to forget that this is just a memory, beginning to not hurt from reliving it, when whatever I've closed it up inside of bursts open, and I am flooded with fragments and images. The two of us standing at the back of a huge meeting hall, people shouting, two men dragging in the carcass of  something terrible and unnatural. I'm standing on top of a hill, looking down at what appears to be a long rip through the air, focusing an energy attack on it, trying to keep something from coming through. I'm laying on a mat on the ground, under a huge tent, along with many others, gritting my teeth as she stitches up a long gash in my leg. She is thinner, but she looks stronger and more beautiful than ever. The two of us, stealing a moment alone in the woods outside our camp, trying to listen for sounds of an approach, but otherwise occupied.

I remember that there was some kind of conflict, something horrible trying to get to us, and to others through us, and there was something innocent that needed protected. There was a ritual, a small group of us working together in an emergency. There had been a lot of fighting, but I can't bring myself to look back at that.

I know that the group used the image of a great, heavy door as a focus for stopping the invaders, and the image of a key to seal the door shut. That was our part in the ritual. All this time, I've been afraid that I was the key, but I'm not. I'm not the key.

I don't even have the key.

Something terrible pulls at my heart. Something went wrong. There's a fire, and there's a lot of pain. I remember floating away from my own body, watching her try to pull me back into it, drawing energy, focusing, seeing my spirit and screaming. The color drains from her hair, and I realize she's using her own life to try to bring back mine, but something is wrong, and I can't return. Something I'm carrying inside of me now won't let me go back. If she doesn't stop this, she's just going to die. I gather what energy I can, and blast her with it, throwing her backward. I push my body into the fire and watch it burn. It takes almost the last of my energy to even touch it. When I try to comfort her, my fingers aren't solid any more. I can't even tell her goodbye.

I feel myself snap back into the asylum, sitting in that chair, looking at the doctor. He tells me, "She can pop your shield because you let her. Just as she was unwilling to let you go, you've been unwilling to let go of her, too. If you don't break the connection, if you don't move on, she'll always have that power over you."

I look at the doc. My heart feels broken, and I can't stop myself from crying. It makes me feel whiny and self-centered. I realize what the connection is between myself and the gray haired lady, but now I don't understand why she's attacking me. I ask "But, why is she working with him?"

My alarm clock woke me this morning, and I didn't get a reply. I can't sleep late, because I have to work. This is a lot for me to process. I don't even begin to know what to do with this. It isn't right. I remember my whole life, and none of it was like this. This dream brought up memories only of other dreams, which I'd forgotten because they were too terrible to hold onto. 


This is enough - just documenting it. I'm not going to try to analyze this dream. It feels like there's a burning, heavy weight in my chest right now. I'm not tired, but I feel totally drained. This feels a lot like grief.

She

I don't know how I got here. This place is huge. The halls seem endless. Every room holds something different... some just odd, some unfathomable. I can't remember which way to go if I turn back the way I came. I remember being in different rooms, but all I can bring up in my mind is a series of cloudy, strange images. I know there was something outside. It had one huge eye in the middle of its face... I remember running away from it. I don't know if I was looking out of a window, or if I ran in here to escape the thing. I remember being so scared...

I don't want to go back. I don't want to go forward, either, but I don't want to be stuck here forever.

There is another door in front of me. I think about continuing on down the hallway to my right, but my hand reaches forward and grasps the handle. It's almost an independent act. It's like sitting in a theater, watching a horror movie. I'm thinking, "NO! Don't go in there! That's where the thing is that's going to get you!"

The door edges open. I feel my feet moving forward. I can hear something moving on the other side. My heart is pounding hard. There is that electric, terrified feeling in my chest. I don't want to see it. Horrible images of dead things and toothy, sharp-clawed monsters are playing in my head. It's going to eat me, and I'm going to feel every... single... bite.

I can't stop. I can't control my feet, as they propel me forward, stepping through the doorway, walking slowly into the room against my will. Tears leak from my eyes. I can hear a soft moan... it's coming from me. I'm unable to control that, either. I feel like a coward for reacting to the fear.

Shame joins the terror, and all of the tears flow...

but... it's not a monster.

She's an inch or two shorter than I am... very curvy, pale, with deep red hair, and wide, dark eyes, wearing some kind of flowing, low-cut, top that makes her look kind of gothic, or maybe witchy. The look she gives me could only be described as soft... maybe kind. A low, quiet voice rolls out of her full, dark lips. "Don't cry... now, it's not like that. You went into the bad rooms, didn't you?"

I am rooted to the floor. I feel hope, but I'm still afraid. She's shockingly beautiful. She seems so sweet, but when she realizes what a coward I am, she's going to be disgusted with me. I bet she sees the things I'm afraid of all the time.

She steps forward, holding her arms out to me. Unable to move, I watch her approach, feel her fingers on my arms. I watch her face for signs of a change in attitude toward me. I can't even wipe the tears from my cheeks.

Sympathy creases her brow, and my heart pounds again. She's seen my weakness. She's not going to help me. I'm not good enough.

Instead, one hand eases up and wipes the wetness from my face, brushes my hair back, and rests on the back of my head.

"Come here," she says, but she comes to me. I'm drawn into an embrace. Her arms are strong but gentle. A warmth spreads through my chest as I finally begin to feel confident. I'm not going to be rejected, and I don't have to go back out to the scary part of the house. I don't have to confront another monster. The paralysis begins to fade, and I am able to return the embrace. Relief floods through me as I raise my arms, wrap them around her and let her pull my head down to rest on her shoulder, and she lays her rounded cheek on mine.

I begin to relax, pulling tighter into the hug, just before her teeth sink deeply into my throat with a wet, crunching sound like someone biting into a juicy apple... and a moan of total satisfaction.

I don't even know how to begin interpreting this, except that I've been terribly stressed over so many things lately, and I'm currently very worried about someone I love. I guess my mind decided it was time for a total, nonsensical kick in the ass.

Surgery (2 gifs)

I run a cash register at work. There is one customer who comes in daily, buys the same thing every day, and insists on paying only at my register, at least when I am there. Seriously, he'll wait in line to pay at my register when the other cashier is open and waiting, and even if she calls him over to her register, he won't move out of my line. He pretends to not hear her. If I go into the back room to hide from him, he'll wait over by the coffee until I come back out, just so he can pay at my register. 

This guy really, really creeps me out. It isn't just the insistence on contact. Different customers at our place do prefer specific cashiers, often because one of us may have their orders memorized, sometimes because they like our sense of humor, etc. 

This guy is different. He doesn't talk, doesn't smile, and moves with a measured, meticulous care in everything he does, right down to folding his receipt and putting it into the pocket of his green scrubs. And he doesn't wear his facility ID when he comes into the store. He's the only one in scrubs without a facility ID. Everyone else who comes in wearing scrubs has a photo ID card on a lanyard or a name tag pinned to their chests for some kind of medical or dental facility. Then again, everyone else has scrubs with brighter colors on them, too. It makes me wonder what the guy does. Is he a surgeon (who might not wear a tag because it could fall into his patient?) 

Worst of all, though his movements are insanely slow and careful, he does not watch what he is doing. He stares at my face the whole time he's at my register. This is not like other men, who make eye contact, smile, and sometimes harmlessly flirt. His face is nearly expressionless. I almost feel analyzed by that stare. If this guy isn't a shrink, he's kind of scary. If he is, he's being really rude. Either way, I guess he bugs me even more than I thought. He showed up in my nightmares.


I've come out from behind the register to keep the coffee stocked up while my co-worker runs to the restroom and my boss goes to the shed for supplies. We just had a big rush of customers come through, but now there is no one in the store except for us, and I'm the only one on the sales floor. Half of our pots were empty when I started. I've got two down, four to go. I load them up and set them brewing.

I'm about to turn around to return to the register when something hits the back of my head, really, really hard. Holy crap, it hurts! I think my co-worker has hit me, and turn to see why, but it isn't her. The last thing I see before passing out is that creepy customer in the dingy looking green scrubs. For once, his face has an expression. He looks surprised.

I'm on my back. My hands are tied above my head, and my feet are tied beyond my line of sight. I try to lift my head to see, but I can't because there is a strap holding it in place.

I'm laying on something moderately soft. It almost feels like a massage table or a thick gym mat. It's wide and stable enough that when I wiggle, it stays put. A quick glance around the me shows little. The room is small, maybe only 8 feet wide by twelve feet long. There is no window, just a door, a light overhead, and a lamp down by my feet. Hanging on the wall nearby is a lacy white dress.

Finally, I notice the creepy scrub guy. He is standing next to the dress. To the scrubs, he's added a cap, a mouth cover, and gloves. He sees me awake, and approaches. When he comes up next to me, I see that there is also some kind of tray table. I can't get a good look at it because the strap keeps me from turning my head.

He lifts something up. At first, it looks like he's holding a bag of water. He moves his hand, and the bag jiggles like unflavored gelatin. I am confused. Why is he showing me gelatin?

He points at me, then at the bag of gelatin. I still don't know what the heck he means. I must look as scared and confused as I am, because he jabs his finger at me again, directly at my chest, and then points again to the bag. He picks something up off of the tray table. It makes a clinking noise. Then, he shows it to me.

He's holding a scalpel. He lays it in the other hand with the bag. He points at himself, then at the scalpel, the bag, and my chest. Probable understanding dawns on me. I think he is telling me that is a breast implant, and he's going to cut me open and put it into my breast. He notices the change in expression on my face. He picks up another implant, and holds the two together up next to his chest, and nods. Then, he puts them back on the table.

He doesn't put down the scalpel. He doesn't pick anything else up, either. He just takes the scalpel in his right hand, and puts his left hand on my left breast, the side facing him.

This is when I realize that I am naked, and that he is really going to cut into my body with that scalpel. It doesn't look like he's going to knock me out first, either. I'm not sure which thought is more horrifying... knowing he plans to cut me without anesthetic, or the thought of being unconscious again with him in the room. I start begging him not to do this.

I tell him I don't want bigger breasts. I don't want surgery. I don't want to be cut open. He just looks at me.

I ask why he is doing this. He points at me, then at the dress. Again, I am confused. He wants to give me breast implants so I'll fit into the dress? I don't get it. Then I realize... it's a lacy white dress. The back hangs down a bit further than the front. It's a lacy white dress with a train. Hanging off of the shoulder is a flowery headpiece, with a short veil. That's a wedding dress.

I start to tell him that I can't marry him, because I'm all ready married, but something inside stops me. What if he's messed up enough to hunt down and kill my husband so I'll be single? What will he do if I just tell him I don't want him? I'm tied down, and he has sharp cutting tools. I had better not piss him off.

I tell him that I have back and neck problems, that breast implants will make those worse. I ask him to please not alter my body. His eyes look amused, then he utters a thin, whispery laugh. He moves over to the dress, and with his elbow, moves it aside. Behind it is a small window. Looking through the window is one bizarre looking big red eye. The eye is almost as big as his head. He points to me, then the dress, then the eye.

I have no chance of persuading him. He's not doing this for himself. He's doing it for whatever huge, terrifying thing is on the other side of that wall. Nothing I say could change his mind. He's going to perform surgery on me while I'm awake, and then he's going to give me to that thing, whatever it is, that is so huge its eye is as big as his head. I start to realize this can't be real. I'm trying to turn my head fast, so I can wake up, but the strap prevents me. I can feel tears on my cheeks.

He returns to me and again starts maneuvering my breast. The scalpel descends, and I feel it cut into the flesh just below my nipple.

The pain is intense, sharp, pinching, and burning. I scream and pull against the bonds on my hands and feet, but they hold tight. The surgeon looks at me sternly and shakes his head.



Yeah. Sooo... I swear... next time he comes in, I'm hiding in the restroom until he leaves. O.o