Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
“Really?”
“Mm-hm.”
“Hm. Yeah, well, I suppose that about sums it up.”
And then I think I fall asleep. I’m not sure for how long, but I doze off without meaning to and in whatever amount of time I’m out, I have a dream. A kind of a lucid dream but a dream, nonetheless. It starts with me sitting on a beach, contemplating my life. A thought passes through my brain…
“I don’t think anyone has ever accused me of being happy.”
And then I see the yellow dress. The one Christine had so many years ago.
Walking along the beach, ankles being lapped at by the waves.
There’s going to be a… party, or something? A celebration maybe? Of what, I’m not sure, but there’s a big bonfire set up and…
And then I’m talking to someone. A friend? He’s handsome. Dark skin, Australian accent. Or New Zealand maybe? As established, I’m not great at picking that shit out. He’s older. Not old, per se, but older than me. Except he’s not.
Because I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror and I’m older too. I’m older, and tanned, and weathered, and for some reason, I’m wearing an eyepatch. It honestly looks kind of badass, but I’m still surprised to see it there. I start to ask the guy, my friend maybe, if he knows why I’m sporting it, but before I can, the dream shifts and I’m somewhere else. Some other place. Some other time.
A castle.
There’s yelling. And running. And mayhem. And…
“Danny?”
I snort awake at the sound of Christine’s voice. “Hm? What’s happening? What’s going on? Whozat?”
Christine is sitting up beside me. She laughs quietly, pats me on my bare chest. “You fell asleep,” she says.
“Apparently. You too?”
“No.”
“What were you doing?”
“Just watching you.” I can’t specify why, but that makes me smile. A lot. “What were you dreaming about?” she asks.
I have to think. It’s weird. I know I was just dreaming. And it seemed incredibly vivid. But suddenly, I can’t recall entirely. Something that felt like ... a premonition? That’s certainly what it feels like now as the spotty images dart in. I don’t really believe in that type of thing. Premonitions. Or visions. I mean, I feel like I have them a lot. Maybe more than most people. But that doesn’t mean I have to believe in them.
Does anything exist if you choose not to believe in it? Can you craft reality? Can you will your future into being?
Does it make a difference?
Not really.
The only thing real is now.
“I dunno. Why?” I finally respond.
“Because you were making all kinds of noises.”
“Really?” I ask. She nods. Making noises without realizing I’m doing it seems to be a new thing and is not the kind of thing I want to be known for. “Yeah, I dunno,” I repeat.
She smiles again, rubs my chest, and then says, “You worried?”
“About what?”
“Whatever’s coming next.”
I sit up, take her hands in mine, kiss her fingertips and tell her the truth. “Nope.”
“Really?” she asks. I shake my head. “Not even a little bit?” I shake it again. “Why?”
“Because whatever is coming next isn’t here now, and worrying about what it might be or not be won’t change what it is when the time comes, so it feels like a shit ton of wasted energy.”
She nods. She knows, but it never hurts to be reminded.
“I mean… look around. This is where we are now. I guess I’m just trying to get better about being here and not… wherever else. Because shit changes fast, and trying to stay ahead of it or stay in the moment that’s just behind doesn’t really feel like it does a ton of good. Or maybe I just have a death wish. Could go either way, I suppose.”
She laughs again. Holy shit, I love her laugh. It’s so rare that it comes out that it takes me by surprise when I hear it, but I could get used to hearing it every day. I think, if I were to spend time worrying about the future, it would be entirely so I could cultivate a world in which that laugh had a chance and a desire to let itself out way, way more often.
And then, suddenly, she stops laughing and her expression changes. Her eyes get big and she lays her hand on her chest.
What the fuck is happening right now?
“Christine?” I say, pulling her arms toward me and getting in her face. “What’s going on? What’s happening? Are you okay? Talk to me.”
She doesn’t talk to me. She just pulls herself free, jumps up, and runs back into the fancy, marble bathroom, barely making it before I hear her start throwing up.
What the fuckin’ fuck?
I leap up after her and dart to stand in the open bathroom doorway, dick swinging with the swaying of the train.
She’s knelt down over the toilet bowl, letting it all out. Watching her back arch and heave under the white robe is the kind of thing I normally like, but not like this. Only when it’s the result of her pussy being engorged by my mouth or—to maybe just a slightly lesser degree—Alec’s mouth, but this… this is fucked up.