Surreal Ecstasy

by Moon, Chrissy

  "See it objectively," Dess suggested. "And ask yourself: If someone you cared about was in a situation like this, what advice would you give her?" I looked up at her, my eyes brimming with tears.

  A loud beep from my phone—a text notification—interrupted us, keeping us from any further discussion.

  A feeling of dread filled my heart. There aren't that many people on this planet who would be texting me right now. The only person it could possibly be was my mother.

  I was so not in the mood for this, so not in the mood to hear about what a low-life piece of slime I was. I looked up at Dess, who was watching me with bated breath. She made no comment but respectfully gave me the space to handle this myself, while still standing close to me to let me know that she was there if I needed her.

  I totally loved her, this new best friend of mine.

  My mother's rude, all-caps font cut right to the chase without greeting or even a faked nicety.

  MORGAN! ARE YOU POSSESSED? YOU'RE LOSING YOUR JOB AND YOUR APARTMENT BECAUSE OF DRUGS? WHERE DID I GO WRONG WITH YOU? WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS? I AM BEYOND DISAPPOINTED.

  Sighing and shaking my head, I decided to be a little more protective of myself, and with a sudden fervor, I erased the message and closed my phone without replying. I looked at Dess, who gave me an encouraging smile.

  I sat there quiet for a moment, then returned Dess' smile. "I have to admit, I do feel tons better, from both ignoring my mom's message and getting all this off my chest. Thanks for listening, Dess." I was surprised by how serene and emotionally stable I felt. Never mind that I didn't know how my mother found out so fast about me being fired, and I definitely had no clue where she got the idea that I was losing my apartment.

  But I didn't really care too much anymore.

  It made me think of something else, something unpleasant that still lurked in my brain. That stupid photoshopped picture of me selling myself, the image that caused all this. The good news was that Facebook had probably deleted it by now due to its mature—though fake—content. Maybe it was time I did something proactive as well.

  I had a sudden, tantalizing thought. I asked Dess, "Do you have a laptop here somewhere that I can use real quick?"

  She started walking to her bedroom. "Yeah. Hold on though—I have to find the power cord. I keep losing it, for some reason."

  While she was gone, I got on my cell phone and called my service provider, asking to change my number with no forwarding message from my old one. The entire process took about 15 minutes.

  Dess came back in with her brightly-decorated laptop. "What did you have in mind?" she asked me.

  "I'm going to stop being a victim," I told her, winking.

  She smiled approvingly and nodded, setting the laptop up on the couch next to me and booting it up. I gave her my new cell number before I could forget and, while I was thinking about it, typed in and saved her number on my phone. Once the computer was on, I went online and logged onto Facebook.

  My original intention was to make my Facebook page private, but that didn't seem like enough of a precaution to me. I thought for a minute and, almost without thinking, went to Facebook's account settings page and completed the process required for deactivating my account, wiping it clean from the internet, so that nobody would be able to peek into my life at all (or contact me, for that matter).

  I didn't care anymore. It no longer mattered. I figured that if someone, relative or no, already disliked me to that extent, where they were willing to disown me based on events I had little to no control over, all without granting me the basic right of letting me explain my side of the story, then their 'support' could never have been all that great in the first place. Hell, I've been abused by different people through the years, and while I endured that injustice, not once did I say they were unworthy to be close to me or give them a hard time—about anything. At most, I would just stop talking to them for a short length of time.

  If only I were granted that same respect in return.

  I know of people who, if they did the worst things humankind could possibly do, the people who truly loved them would still show support for them. I almost couldn't believe such loyalty and unconditional love really existed, and though the idea made me hopeful, it also made me melancholy to reflect on that which I did not have.

  If a person declared that I wasn't as 'holy' as they were or that the quality of my soul wasn't 'good enough' for them to be friends with, well, their love, if it ever existed, was conditional and temporary. If people were so determined to think the worst about me, they're going to do it regardless of anything I could possibly do. They'd still find something to complain about.

  This was the conclusion I was slowly coming to, the theory that my tired soul was beginning to create.

  I did not want to have a conversation with my mother during which I would try to 'convince' her of my innocence, or of the misunderstandings she's obviously had about me. The word 'convince' implies guilt on my part, and though I was far, far from perfect, I was not a terrible person either. I really wasn't. I was a person who had loved and lived like everyone else, and just like everyone else, I had taken the actions that I'd deemed appropriate for whatever conditions that were in my life at the time.

  I decided then that I was going to be my own support system, for real this time. I was not going to count on anyone else, because everyone else seemed to have their own agenda. Just when I had needed them most, I was abandoned and, as a result, even more alienated than before. Why had I been basing my self-worth on these people, rather than building it up for myself?

  I decided I wasn't going to dwell on it any longer. Was it fair that my family believed I was the female incarnation of the devil? No, it wasn't, but thinking about it objectively, I realized this probably had more to do with them than with me. They obviously had their own issues for whatever reason, and I was done enabling them and asking for more of their abuse, done being the punching bag for everyone else. I had the right to live my life however the hell I saw fit, and if they didn't like it, then I didn't need their 'friendship.'

  It was time to put the blinders on. I was officially done with everyone's crap. I was done being sensitive to everyone else's emotions when nobody gave my own feelings a second thought. It was time to start really living and leaving all the negativity behind, negativity that was not only holding me back but keeping me captive in the most restricting manner.

  I'd had friends in high school, but I never kept in touch with any of them, and I didn't feel like I had a reason to. They fed me tons of negative energy under the guise of friendship. However, I was never fooled. That negativity was overwhelming and suffocating, and I couldn't understand how I could be a magnet for life-sucking people like that.

  Dess was an amazing person, and I was lucky she went nuts and decided to hunt me down and have crazy bible talk with me. It made me feel complete and happy to think that I now had someone I could really talk to—someone I could tell everything to. Not only would she understand, but she would use that information to be closer to me and be a better friend to me, if that were possible. We just became friends this week, yet I feel like I've known her for a lifetime. But I'm not going to depend on her either. That wouldn't be fair to either one of us. I have to find my strength and individuality, and I knew Dess would not only support me in that, but that she would insist on it.

  Funny how having one genuine friend beats out a hundred fake ones.

  As far as men were concerned: Was I ready to think about this? I sat back and took a deep breath. Would I like to have a beautiful romantic relationship someday with the perfect man?

  It was odd, the idea of truly moving on and forward in the hopes of finding someone new I could love. Thinking realistically to myself, yes, of course I would like to have a wonderful relationship with a perfect man. But I don't need to be in any relationship—platonic or otherwise—if it meant I wasn't being appreciated. If I couldn't find a man who treated me right, I would live a life of simplicit
y. I would go to work, read art history books, bowl an occasional 75 if I were lucky, and go to Mariners games with the avid hope that one day they make it to the World Series… all without a man, because this was my choice, and I could be strong without companionship.

  Adim was clearly losing his marbles. Part of me felt sad about that, but I reminded myself that he wasn't my problem anymore. He separated himself from my heart the first time he ever struck me. A small nagging thought implied that I was going to have to deal with this maniac again—something he said at the hospital about having to talk to me about our future. I shuddered. Yes, he was really turning into a nutcase.

  If he did approach me and continued to be his nasty self, I would deal with it. I am not going to keep looking over my shoulder or stop living my life. I'm going to deflect these boulders that people keep throwing at me. If it results in certain people not talking to me anymore, fine. The trick is to develop thick skin and stop letting them get to me.

  Well, once again, it appeared that I was to be alone.

  And for the first time in my life, that sounded okay to me.

  Chapter 9

  Remind me later to kill Dess.

  That was my only thought as I started the engine, my left hand clenched around Dess' steering wheel in a fuming death grip.

  It was just a little past noon on the day I got released from the hospital—the same day I got fired from work and had a run-in with my nutbag ex-boyfriend. I'd had a long, emotionally-draining morning, so I was grateful that Dess was there to discuss it all with me.

  Everything was fine after that—at first. We were both relaxing and beginning to have a really nice day. And then she does something so twisted that I had to add her on to my secret hit list, my affection for her notwithstanding.

  She'd tried to set me up with Ree!

  It all happened in a blur and yes, I was obsessed with him weeks ago, but I would have liked more time to adjust to the possibility of me actually getting to spend time with this rare human specimen. Here I sat, in Dess' unusual clothes which were SO not me, still reeling from my strange day. I haven't even been home yet, so I couldn't properly prepare for meeting the Most Beautiful Man on Earth face-to-face.

  Not twenty minutes ago, I had been sitting comfortably on her couch, watching Food Network, my favorite channel. Dess had been checking her own Facebook. I knew she'd wanted to know more about our destinies and missions, but I also knew she wanted me to rest. Instead of hounding me again, she had been considerate and chose to leave me alone for a little while as I sat lazily on her little couch.

  Did I mention that I loved this new best friend of mine, even though I currently wanted to kill her?

  There was a knock at the door. Dess got up begrudgingly, being forced to leave her Café World momentarily unattended. I heard her take a few steps toward the door and then laugh, squealing, "I cannot fucking believe it."

  I turned my head to see her open the door and HIM coming through with a small duffel bag, walking along nonchalantly, as if it had been perfectly natural for someone of his perfection to be standing there. He threw his bag in the house and then tackled Dess, putting her in a headlock. She bit down on his arm, causing him to loosen his grip on her and back up a little. She jumped at him, and they had wrestled for a couple minutes, pushing each other away and laughing.

  "Stand up, ya doof. I have to introduce you to someone," she told him.

  He did as he was told and stood up, noticing me for the first time since he'd arrived. My god, he was even more beautiful then I'd remembered. My memories of watching him at work were nothing compared to the beauty and perfection of seeing him in the flesh.

  He looked mouth-watering in loose fitting jeans and a red t-shirt, the sleeves just the right length to make his toned biceps visible, my eyes hungrily absorbing every inch of his visible, light brown skin. His hair was short on the sides and a little bit long in front, but his luminous brown eyes were very visible. Briefly, I wondered if he recognized me from work.

  I tore my gaze away from his and pretended to be much more interested in the TV, even though my heart was pounding hard and every thought was filled with how delicious he looked.

  "Morgue? Do you mind coming over here for a sec?"

  I looked back over to them, pretending to be shocked to see a man standing there. "Sure," I replied, trying to sound nonchalant, though I noticed my voice was an octave higher than usual.

  Aware that my face felt hot and that I was most likely blushing, I tried to walk in a cool, devil-may-care manner over to them, but I tripped over my own shoes that I'd tossed to the side earlier and had forgotten about. I quickly looked from my feet to Ree's face, and he bit his lip like Dess often did, but this time, I think it was to keep himself from chuckling.

  First impressions. Shit.

  "Morgue, this is my little brother, unfortunately."

  He elbowed her gently, and in a fraction of a second she grabbed it while elbowing him with her other arm. Years of practice, I'd bet.

  He tore away from her, pushing her away gently and taking a step toward me. "Ree Rios," he announced, closing the gap between us by extending his right arm. "We've met before, haven't we? You work with Dess, right?"

  I could die happy. He recognized me. I tried to act nonchalant as I shook his hand politely, trying desperately to ignore how warm and smooth his hand was. A vision had suddenly entered my mind, one in which Ree had his warm, smooth hands running up my naked thigh…

  I shook my head a little to obliterate that thought and smiled at him. "Uh, yeah. I used to work with her, but I don't think we've actually met. My name is Morgan Constantina. Not Morgue," I added quickly.

  "That makes sense. Dess never calls anybody by the name they'd been given at birth." He stepped forward a little as our hands disconnected. A fresh, crisp scent lingered in the air—not cologne or even after-shave, just a clean soap smell.

  That was drop-dead sexy. Certain parts of my body began feeling tingly, reminding me that my 'amorous' feelings from almost a week ago still lingered and threatened to take over my entire brain.

  "Rios, I have a few bones to pick with you," Dess said while making her brother's point. She closed her front door and pushed him gently toward the couch. We all sat, me back on the far-right corner of the couch where I had been sitting, Ree next to me, and Dess on the ottoman. I had guessed by then that it was her favorite seat in the house.

  Ree put his feet up on the ottoman, inches from Dess' butt, earning him a frown from his sister. "Ask away," he said carelessly. "And stop calling me Rios. Your name is Rios too, you know."

  "But your first name is Ree, which is the beginning of Ree-ohs," Dess protested in a whiny voice. "I have given you the gift of a new nickname. You have been baptized, my son."

  Ree rolled his eyes.

  "Dude, I didn't know you were coming," Dess continued. "Why didn't you call me? I could have picked you up."

  "I forgot," Ree replied carelessly. "And it was so much more fun to take a chance on getting in a serial killer's cab."

  Dess tsked at him then turned to face me. "He just flew in from L.A., where the rest of my family is. I knew he was coming sometime this week, just not today."

  "Oh, wow. L.A. I've never been there before," I remarked politely. "It must be pretty warm there now, huh?"

  Ree looked sideways at me and decorated his handsome face with a lopsided grin, giving me a look that made my heart pound and my stomach flutter. "You could say that." He continued to look at me in silence while I simply stared back. Everything about him was beautiful, from the thin slits of his eyes to his lips that were full, yet somehow thin enough to be masculine. They looked so soft. If I leaned in to kiss him, my mouth would feel the softness of his lips, and the warmth of his smile would be so, so close to me.

  My cheeks still felt warm. I had to look away and save myself the embarrassment of having a personal 'moment' right then and there.

  "Which brings me to my next item of bitching," Des
s went on. "Why aren't you wearing a jacket, nutass? Aren't you cold? Don't you know it's usually about 45 degrees in September here in Lynnwood?"

  He looked at her as if momentarily stunned. Then he shook his head and said, "I didn't bring one because I decided it'd be much more fun to have you interrogate me."

  "You need a jacket, and Morgue's going to take you shopping."

  What the hell?

  I opened my mouth, wanting to protest or say something, but somehow, I remained silent.

  Ree really didn't seem taken by surprise. "You're not coming with us?"

  Dess put a hand to her forehead and coughed pathetically. "I haven't been feeling well. I would love to go, but I don't think I should be outside right now."

  What the hell?!

  She hadn't been sick. She had been outside all day, and seemed to enjoy the weather, even though it was overcast. She'd especially taken pleasure in it since she didn't have to be at work. I wouldn't have been surprised if she had actually said the word cough while coughing.

  No Academy Award for Dess today.

  I would have laughed if I wasn't so annoyed. Dess insisted Ree and I go together while she took a hot bath and put her sickly self to sleep, shutting down her beloved Café World and Facebook all the while. She even made a show of taking her car keys out and explaining to me which was her house key and which was the key to her car—as if I couldn't have figured out that the big key with the word Kia on it was for her car and that the only other key left was the one for her house. She then instructed me to take him to downtown Seattle to see the very first Starbucks, as well as Pike's Marketplace, where there were a ton of stores and we'd be sure to score Ree a great jacket.

  She practically pushed us out her front door without wanting to hear a word of protest from me, coughing more for Ree's benefit and shoving the keys and some money in my hands. I hadn't even been able to muster out a goodbye before the front door had shut in our faces.