Dreamy Distraction (Quest for Love Book 1)

by Emily J. Wright

  “Milk and cookies?!” I laugh a deranged laugh, putting down a sparkly oval-shaped bottle from the top shelf, and coincidentally enough, the brand name is also ‘Oval.’

  “Jeremy, stop him!” Todd says, still on his knees. “That costs $7,000.”

  “Sir . . .” Jeremy approaches me with short steps, extending his hand at me.

  “My world has turned upside down. My life is nothing but a desert. My heart aches all the time, waiting for her to come back. And you offer me milk and cookies? What am I, three years old?”

  I launch the Oval vodka bottle through another window, splashing some of it on the couch, and a glass shard making a perfect landing on Todd’s head.

  “Take shelter!” Todd let out a scream and crawl in the living room for his life.

  I look around for another target to hit. I have smashed enough windows today. Let’s not get repetitive.

  I rest my eyes on that ugly, oversized flower pot in the corner. I hate it since the first day. I gave it a fair chance to grow on me, but it failed. It needs to be eliminated from my life.

  “That’s enough!” Jeremy shouts, grabbing my forearm tightly before I could aim it with the black label Johnnie Walker.

  “Let go off me!” I yell.

  “No.”

  “No! You said no to me.” I grunt, trying to free myself from Jeremy’s vice-like grip. “Don’t overstep your boundaries, you pitiful, old man! You are just my butler.”

  “Brandon!” he shouts my name with his quivering lips and lands a slap across my face.

  As if that was not enough to blow the cobwebs away, he twists my ear. “Get out of there.” He growls, leading me around the bar, and toss me on the couch.

  When I told Jeremey that he can slap me if I ever overstep my boundaries with him, I never imagined him carrying some serious power in those puny muscles. My face is twitching, and darkness is floating before my eyes. And we never agreed to the ear twisting!

  “How dare you slap him?” Todd grabs Jeremy by his collar in a last-ditch effort to get in my good books.

  “Get your hands off at this instance!” I give Todd a stare that I didn’t know I can give—an angry one, and see him release Jeremy through the darkness that has started to fade away before my eyes. “If you ever lay your hands on him, I’ll rip out both of your arms, put one deep in your ass, and clobber you with the other one.”

  Jeremy shivers and takes a moment to collect his thoughts. “Wow! I just saw the shades of old Brandon. That was some serious threat. I never thought I would see that again.”

  I feel him too—probably for the first time since I am back from being nearly dead. My jaw is clenched, and the fist balled tightly as I fight my urge to make good on that threat.

  “Can you blame me? He was disrespectful to you,” I say.

  “I was disrespectful?!” Todd screams. “Have you lost your ability to feel shame along with your memories? Do you realize how humiliating this is? Dude, your butler slapped you. Your butler! The one you pay each week.”

  “Which I told him to do in case I get out of control. He did what he had to do to keep me grounded.”

  “Can I slap you?” he says, rubbing his hand together. “You did shove me twice.”

  “Hmm . . .” I rest my face on my hand to think. “You have a fair case; I have to agree to that. You can . . .”

  He is so excited to hear that, that he doesn’t even let me finish and step forward to let his frustration out.

  “. . . but I don’t know what I’ll do to you after that. I don’t like you.”

  “I suggest you don’t,” Jeremy advises wisely, preventing the meltdown of ‘chocolate-vanilla.’ “I have a feeling that you will get more than what you sow.”

  Jeremy sits beside me and taps on my left shoulder. “Brandon . . . son . . . I think it’s time you know about this. The girl you see around the apartment . . . How shall I say this?"

  Seeing Jeremy struggle, I made his job easy for him. “She is not real.”

  “You knew? How? Since when?” It takes Jeremy by surprise, but not unlike anything when I heard him talking on the phone with Dr. Maverick.

  At the doctor’s advice, he was playing all along, indulging in my hallucinations, so that it wouldn’t come as a shock to me when I realize that the blonde was only my imagination. But by then, it was too late. I was already down the rabbit hole. The lines of reality and imagination were already faded for me. She has become my drug, my addiction, and I knew if I ever deny or question her existence, she would stop coming to me. So, I choose to live in a world where I get to see her. Where I get to talk to her. Where she loves me. Rather than this dark world where I am all alone.

  Can anyone blame me for this? My hallucinations are far better than reality.

  “I have known for a while,” I say, sighing deeply. “But you have to understand. She may be not real for you, but for me, she is ethereal. She is my Alexandra, Jeremy. I will always love her.”

  “Brandon . . .” Biting on his nails, he shakes his head like a bobble head, wondering what could he say next. “It’s commendable that you have fallen in love. But sadly, it’s the woman of your imagination. She has no flesh and blood.”

  “Is flesh and blood necessary to fall in love, Jeremy?” I say, swallowing my breath. “Are you not in love with Alexandra to this day? Even after 25 years of her passing, your love is still young. If you can spend the rest of your life with her memories, why can’t I with the woman I love? Why is it so different for me?”

  “Because my memories are real,” he says matter-of-factly. “They are made over time with the moments that I spent with Alexandra. I can spend my life with them because it would last me lifetime. Your memories are not real; they are hallucinations. One day it will stop on its own. What will you do then?

  Jeremy has a point. What will I do when she would stop coming to me?

  I look around the room and assess the destruction caused by me. In my fit of rage, I could have hurt myself, or Jeremy, or my self-proclaimed best friend, Todd. She has brought me to the verge of insanity. I cannot live my life like this.

  I crash my head into Jeremy’s chest as I hug him tightly “I don’t know how I will ever forget her. Her beautiful eyes will never let me sleep.”

  I hear Todd gulp and let out a sigh of satisfaction. “At least, you didn’t donate Macallan 25.”

  In a heartbreaking emotional moment like this, he is still concerned about booze. I had high hopes from my only friend, Todd, when Jeremy first told me about him, but he turned out to be immature, selfish, and a bozo.

  “You know, the last I see you this passionate about something was when we dropped out of UCLA to start our business,” Todd says, taking a big gulp, and then let out an equally big burp.

  “Why do you have to say UCLA?” I un-hug Jeremy as the wet dream flashed before my eyes. It doesn’t feel right remembering her while in Jeremy’s arms. “She was wearing the UCLA coat in my dream and looking so hot. She has the hourglass figure, Jeremy. Hourglass figure!”

  “You went to UCLA?” Jeremy asks, to which I show my inability to answer with a shrug of the shoulder.

  “That’s what I just said,” Todd says, settling into the recliner. “We dropped out after three semesters.”

  “And the blonde was wearing the UCLA sweatshirt in your dream?” Jeremy questions himself, and I punch the cushion in frustration.

  I don’t understand him. He wants me to forget about her, but is reminding me about her again and again. Is this reverse phycology?

  “Brandon, I have a good friend named Professor Able,” Jeremy says, dialing a number. “He helped my previous employer Steve Robinson at his time of need, and I think he can do the same for you.”

  By the time I could question him, a man with a thick British accent answers the call. “Hello, Jeremy. I haven’t heard from you in a while.”

  “Four years have passed, Professor Able. Can you believe it?”

  “Four years,” he says with a
deep exhale. “It seems like yesterday when Steve called for help.”

  I hear Jeremy’s friend having a good laugh about it. It must have been some experience for him.

  “Professor Able, there is an exceptional young man sitting beside me. He is hopelessly in love and urgently needs your help.”

  “Nope!” Professor Able blatantly refuses, clicking his tongue. “The scars of training Jack would last forever. I can’t do it for the second time. Bye-bye.”

  “Professor Able, wait!” Jeremy exclaims, leaning over on the phone. “Please don’t hang up. We only need your expert opinion. Please . . .”

  After a moment of silence, comes the sound of riffling of papers through the phone. And then, we hear from Jeremy’s Professor friend again. “Okay, Jeremy. I am listening.”

  “Go on, Brandon,” Jeremy says, assuring me with a nod. “Tell Professor about your dream.”

  Chapter 13

  PROFESSOR ABLE USED to teach English literature at Oxford University. He also holds a degree in psychology and started practicing just four years ago at the age of 70. Because of his old age, he only takes a selected few as his clients, but on Jeremy’s request, he agreed to a telephonic session with me from his home in Los Angeles.

  It was absurd of Jeremy to think that I need a shrink. But he believes that my hallucinations are more psychological and less neurological. He has assured me that Professor Able is a miracle worker and I have nothing to worry about.

  With Todd and Jeremy around to answer any question about my past that could come up, I begin sharing my dream. And since I don’t want to share any sexual stuff of my dream with a couple of strangers whom I have known since today—one of them just a voice—I am keeping the narration strictly PG 13.

  “Don’t hold back. Every minute detail is important.” Professor Able’s shrieking voice comes through the phone, scolding me for not being candid enough. “Start again.” Somehow, he sensed I am hiding the bits and parts of my dreams, which I don’t feel comfortable sharing.

  But if that’s what the shrink wants.

  Begins, the most horrific experience of my second life. It’s embarrassing to share my wet dream when an old man is sitting beside me, another one is on the phone, and I can see the outline of my best friend dick through his pant.

  As told, I share everything with them to the detail—how I carried that goddess in my arms, a brief description of her beauty, the taste of her pussy, and her natural body odor just like Chanel No. 5.

  Now, the narration of my dream is about to take a turn from R-rated to XXX. I continue to share how she gave me an evil look as she spat on my dick, tea-bagged my balls, and brutally teased me with her tongue.

  I am done telling my dream and realize that I may have given much more details than required. I can already see its effect on the listeners.

  Professor Able is panting on the phone. Jeremy has his hand on his chest—probably checking his heartbeat. Todd is trying to adjust his boner, but unable to do so.

  “Let’s take five,” Professor Able says. “I need some time to process your dream.” And he hangs up the phone.

  “Agreed. I need to take my heart medication.” Jeremy hastily exit from the living room without even looking at me.

  “I need to go the bathroom,” Todd says while still trying to adjust his pant. “Where is my phone?” He starts checking his pockets for the phone as he moves away.

  He is going to watch porn on his phone and jerk off in the bathroom. I know it. He has that kind of look.

  Just me narrating her sexual prowess and techniques send them into a state of frenzy. Imagine my pain—I was married to that sex goddess in my dream. It felt so real—and still do. How can I recover from this and be in a relationship with any woman that isn’t her? God! I am so confused.

  15 minutes later

  We regroup in an awkward silence. Jeremy dials Professor Able’s again, and my session continues.

  “All right. I have cleared my schedule for the day,” he says with enthusiasm. “Let’s begin,” I hear a slurping sound in the background. I think he is having a shake.

  Jeremy said earlier that he was a miracle worker, but to be honest, I am not expecting any miracle in the future. He is treating my life like a B-rated movie. I believe he also has a bucket of popcorn in his hand.

  “Mr. Grisham, tell me something about Brandon’s parents?” His voice has a crunch. I was wrong about the popcorn. He is eating chips.

  “Mr. B is a nice man, but Mrs. B is awesome.”

  That bastard has a crush on my mom. I know because of the way he is rambling about her. He even knows her cup size. I don’t have the guts to ask how. I am sure I wouldn’t like the answer.

  From what I am hearing, my mom and dad are a great couple. My dad is a little boring—not surprising as he was an accountant. But he worships my mother, and the feeling is mutual. My mom can’t get enough of her human calculator.

  My family home is in Chicago since the last three generations. That’s where I grew up. We were never rich—but not poor either. We always had more than enough for our every need except that one time when my dad had a heart attack when I was 15. My mother had to work in ‘Bed, Bath and Beyond’ to pay medical bills while my father recovers; she didn’t want to dip into my college saving fund.

  I rub my hands together and put them on my face.

  These are my loving parents from whom I broke all the ties on Thanksgiving. I should have smashed a bottle or two on my head when I was in a frenzied state. Even that would not be a punishment enough for what I did, but at least it would have been a start.

  Professor Able then goes on exploring my sexual relations. What made Brandon Bryce a Casanova that he was up till the car crash? Where it all begin?

  According to Todd, it all started in my bedroom. It was summer—both inside and out for me. I was 13 and used to sweat a lot. I was going through the puberty and pretty much ignorant about sex. In fact, Todd and I both are—thanks to our conservative parents, lack of HBO in our homes, delayed Sex Ed class in school, and internet still being a luxury. I was still under the impression that babies drop from heaven, wrap themselves in the blanket of clouds, and land straight into the hands of a fat woman. But things changed when Patty Lawrence, the dirty blonde of my block, popped my cheery.

  My parents hired 16-year-old Patty as my babysitter for a few hours, and she went back home with a cool eight bucks an hour and my virginity. It wasn’t until a few weeks later when I attended sex ed class and realized that I was molested that night by Patty. My sexual encounter remained a secret between Todd and me until now.

  “Interesting . . . Molested at the tender age of 13.” I hear Professor Able scribbling.

  “Was it really molestation?” I look around for confirmation of my feelings. “Come on . . . That girl probably did me a favor by having sex with me.”

  “I hardly think so, Brandon. She engaged in non-consensual sex.” A loud slurp from the other side tells me that he is finished with his shake. “Tell me, Mr. Grisham, how did Brandon’s life change after that incident?”

  “He was depressed for a couple of weeks, but then, Ruby from our history class asked him out on a date, and everything went back to normal. In fact, more than normal. He was not a boy anymore, but a lady’s man.”

  “Oh, that’s very good.” Professor Able scribbles again like he got his hand on a gold mine.

  “What’s so interesting about this, Professor?” I ask.

  “Everything about your life is interesting. But please don’t disturb me right now. Hold your questions till the end.”

  I lean in and whisper in Jeremy’s ear, “Is he mad?”

  I begin to doubt his sanity. He is having a shake, chips, maybe French fries, and possibly taking notes to write a screenplay out of my life story.

  “Trust me, Brandon, he is good. Very good,” Jeremy whispers back. “I have seen his work, and he was nothing short than a godsend for my former boss.”

  After digg
ing up my childhood and high school stories, he moves on to riffle through my college life and beyond.

  Until now, what I take from my life story is that Todd was my lackey. But I was the one who followed him after graduating high school.

  Apparently, Todd played football at the running back position in high school. He received a football scholarship and went to UCLA. I had my heart set on the University of Illinois so I could remain in Chicago. But after Todd was gone, I followed him to UCLA in the fall.

  We barely survived three semesters, and according to him, learned nothing but to throw epic parties, drink without throwing up, and mastering threesome. I dropped out, and Todd followed me as his football career was going nowhere.

  After dropping out, we stayed in LA and waited table with the hope of being discovered one day. When that didn’t work out in the next two years, we came to New York and became insurance agents. Four years later, we set up our own shop and became successful sooner than we anticipated. But our lifelong dream is to open a film production company and star in our home production movie alongside Robert De Niro. Todd is working on the screenplay for the last three years.

  Todd is finished, and now Jeremy is telling the professor about the aftermath of my accident. How I am a completely reformed and a different person now. I stopped drinking, became charitable, fell in love with cooking, right until my little meltdown two hours earlier.

  “You certainly have lived a very colorful life, Mr. Bryce,” Professor Able says with a laugh.

  “You do realize that I don’t remember any of it, and possibly never will.”

  “That’s probably for the best,” he says, and possibly takes a final slurp of his shake, which I thought was over. He has some lungs on him.

  “Professor, I believe you have everything you need to know about Brandon.” Jeremy taps on my shoulder, and then hold it firmly, telling me by his gesture that everything will be all right.

  “Oh, absolutely. More than enough. I can even write a book out of it.”

  I was not entirely wrong. Instead of a screenplay, he wants to write a book first, and then sell the film rights.