by Aya DeAniege
“I have not had enough wine to discuss god with a capital G,” I said.
“Then, drink more,” Lilly said. “Because you’re about to start dating my ex, which means I get to choose the conversation topic.”
I muttered a curse and drank from my glass. Over the course of two more glasses of wine and three glasses of water, we discussed theology, but don’t ask me how the conversation went. I just went with it because I knew almost nothing about the topic. After the water, Lilly went to bed, leaving me to the couch.
In a few more weeks, I wouldn’t have to put up with the couch any longer. I could just sleep in my own bed. Tugging the blanket up, that thought warmed me.
I was curled on my side with my back to the back of the couch. As I slipped into sleep, I had the odd sensation of falling. The world seemed to move around me, and I woke halfway up before falling asleep again.
Like many dreams, bits of it seemed to slip away. Little details that my head decided I didn’t need. I only semi-recalled that I was dreaming.
I was in the club. There was music playing and lots of people on the dance floor. Almost like any other time I had visited the club to pick up Lilly. Except I was still wearing the dress that I had worn to dinner.
I appeared in the middle of the dance floor, in the midst of faceless people. They had heads, even hair, but looking at their faces was like looking at grey holes in the world.
They were all dressed and dancing to the music, caught up in their own little worlds. Here and there I swore that I saw a flash of features across the grey. Like other dreamers were checking in and out of the club, aware that their dream self was dancing somewhere in the purgatory that was the sleeping world.
I walked through the crowd. They all just seemed to part for me, moving out of the way as I passed. From the floor, I went to the bar. The bartender behind the counter leaned on it, then seemed to peer at me. His features appeared vague. Maybe he was the same bartender who had been in the club every time I had visited.
I know I ordered something because he nodded and began to make my drink. Some kind of martini, I guessed from the glass. He dipped the glass into orange sugar and then poured a bright blue cocktail into the glass. He seemed to drop something into it that steamed, a fog rising from the glass as he slipped it across the bar toward me. I picked it up and turned away, sipping the drink as I looked around the club.
It wasn’t like other times I had consumed food in a dream. The things didn’t simply exist. No, I could taste the bright orange flavouring in the sugar, feel the light burn of the alcohol and the aftertaste of blue curacao. I swore that the noise in the club dimmed as I sipped my drink. The dancers began melting into one being, moving and dancing and almost appearing real before they sunk back into the shadow group of dancers.
As that music lowered to a dull thrum, I looked around, bringing the glass back up to my lips.
Off on the side, sitting in a booth was Sam. He was in a white suit with a golden tie and a pocket square to match. The three-piece suit had the jacket unbuttoned, but the vest was done up. His arms were on the back of the booth, dark eyes on me as he smiled just slightly.
The lips tugged upwards, but barely. The smile reached his eyes as he lifted his right hand just off the back of the booth, and motioned for me to come over.
There was something different about him, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.
Pushing off the bar, I walked toward him, drink still in hand. At the edge of the round table of the booth, I stopped and set the drink down.
“Fancy meeting you here,” I said with a smile of my own.
His hand lifted again, beckoning me closer. I slipped into the booth, settling beside him as his smile widened.
He’s scruffy.
That was the difference. Sam had been cleanly shaven when I had seen him at dinner.
His arm drifted down, wrapping around my shoulders and drawing me close. His other hand slipped down and picked my drink up from the table. He sipped it and seemed to contemplate the flavour before he turned and held it out to me. I leaned forward and took a sip as he bent the glass just slightly. The blue drink slipped across my tongue.
This time, I swore I tasted the fog that the bartender had added to the drink. In the fog, there was lightning. I heard a thundering in the distance as I swallowed.
After just the one sip, Sam set the drink on the table. He seemed to edge closer. Our bodies pressed tight together, and I could feel his heat along my side. Along with that heat, there was an unfurling of need in my gut.
Sam stared at me with longing as he reached out and caressed my cheek with his fingers. Every nerve in my body lit up in response. I needed more of that touch to stay sane. His fingers paused on my chin, burning into my flesh as he continued to stare at me.
It seemed we sat there forever as the music throbbed around us quicker. The atmosphere of the club became closer and more comfortable. As if the dancers melted away and all that remained was Sam and me, and that booth.
When our lips finally touched, I could hardly believe the sparks that rode along my nerves. The fiery need that thrummed through me in time to the music wove its way around us. Our lips touching was the first roiling feeling through my body, a wave of euphoria that rode through me and then abandoned me high and dry. I shuddered against his lips, breaking off the kiss because I couldn’t take that feeling again.
I tried to wake myself up, feeling the real world for a moment before I slipped deeper into it. Sam brought the glass to my lips again, the blue liquid brightening and almost glowing from the inside. I sipped the drink once more, its light draining into my mouth as I swallowed. Sam pulled the glass away from my lips and drained the remainder of the blue liquid. He swallowed and smiled again, looking at me out the corner of his eye.
He reached out and slipped his fingers down my shoulder, around my chest, then down my side to settle on my thigh. His fingers were hot through the fabric of my thin dress. Those fingers trailed down my skirt, to the very edge and touched the skin just above my knee. Fingertips on my knee, he met my eyes as he leaned forward and captured my lips once more. Those fingers slipped upward, teasingly caressing me under the fabric along the hem of my skirt.
His tongue traced my upper lip before delving into my mouth, taunting me with an action I couldn’t feel in that dream state. He felt real, and solid, under my fingers, but I didn’t doubt for a moment that the sensation would stop just as it was getting good.
Sam pushed me downward, toward the seat of the booth. He pressed tight against me, keeping to my side as I tried to wrap my leg around him, to invite him closer.
This is a bad idea.
But everything he did to me was so good. That nattering little voice at the back of my head was silenced after its little protest. I wanted to pull away and hide, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Sam was a guilty pleasure that I wanted to imbibe all night long.
I don’t dream about real people.
So what? I might not be that girl, but Sam was worth exploring that side of myself for.
Sam said something to me, but it was caught in the music or the state of the dream. The words were nothing more than a rumble like spoken through water. He grazed his scruffy cheek against my chin as he turned his head and spoke again.
We kissed, his hands roaming up and down my side. Those hot fingers hesitated just above my hip, then trailed across my stomach and back again, grabbing me firmly.
Flies.
The presence of something else flashed through me.
I turned my head, writhing as Sam kissed my neck and shoulder. He slipped the strap off my shoulder, dragging his teeth over the skin.
The dancers on the floor had merged into one shadowy being. Their arms were rising toward the ceiling as if reaching for the lights. Their arms and fingers stretched long, waving in time with the music. They swayed as one, this way and that. More like some kind of creature from a coral reef that actual people. Stretching for the light, s
earching for food to draw into the group to make more of themselves.
A waitress walking toward us with a bright orange drink on her tray was touched by one of the dancers, and a bit of her was pulled into the dancing group. She continued toward us, setting the glass on the table as Sam paused.
He looked over at the glass, then to her. Something dangerous flashed over his face as she turned and wobbled away.
Sam’s hand set on my face, trying to draw me toward him, but I kept my eyes on the waitress as she approached the dancers. She and her tray were pulled into the dancers.
His hand on my face turned hard as stone, pulling me toward him as he bent and captured my lips with his. His lips were no longer warm. His tongue was forceful as it thrust its way into my mouth.
He held me down as he turned his attention away from my lips, and bit my neck painfully.
Despite the pain, I writhed against him, moaning as he bit my neck again. His hand slipped down my stomach, fingers grazing over the skirt and finally up, under it. I gasped as his fingernails dragged over my skin, moving ever upward, slowly, teasing me as it travelled up to that place I had wanted him to touch more than anything else.
I gasped and sat up on the couch as Lily bent over me, a hand on the back of the couch and another on the armrest where I had set my head. I pressed my body into the back of the couch, my legs coming together in a vice-like grip as Lilly sighed out and straightened.
“Thank, God,” she said. “You were having some kind of nightmare, girl.”
“Why did you wake me?” I demanded.
“Because that was a nightmare.”
“Uh, no,” I said.
And then I remembered that I was awake, Lilly was real, and none of this was a dream. I clamped my mouth shut, then put a hand over it for good measure. As I did, I winced at the pain in my thighs and shoulder.
I must have pulled something in my sleep. Though the blanket was still right across me, and the pillow was behind my head. Leave it to me to pull muscles while not even moving.
“Uh, yes,” Lilly snapped, crossing her arms and looking furious. “You kept saying ‘no,’ I don’t care if you’re into rape fantasies, you don’t say no during a wet dream. Especially not in that desperate tone. Sit up. You need to clear your head. I’ll get tea.”
I sat up, groaning as I did.
“Head hurting?” Lilly called from the kitchen.
There was a throbbing, pounding sound between my ears, one of those high-pitched things that happen when you do something stupid. Except Lilly’s water after alcohol trick always worked. She wouldn’t have let me go to bed if I hadn’t had enough water.
Groaning again, I stood.
And then I was running for the bathroom. I barely made it to the toilet in time, puking as I tried to breathe. Choking on my vomit, I kept my eyes closed as I coughed the rest of it out and then flushed the toilet. I couldn’t look at it without being sick again.
Sitting back, I put my hand over my lips and whimpered.
Why do I feel this way?
Lilly swore from the doorway. She came into the bathroom and flushed the toilet again.
“I’m sorry,” I said, wiping my mouth as tears filled my eyes.
“It’s not you, you’re fine,” she said, sinking down beside me and wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “Something came back up, must have. Flies in here, damn it. Oh, sweetie, you’re okay. Come on, the water should be boiling, the tea will help.”
“You don’t have like, an antacid?” I asked.
“This tea will work better,” she said.
“All natural, alternative health medicines don’t work,” I grumbled as she helped me to my feet.
“If you still feel bad after the tea, I’ll visit the pharmacist down the hall and get you something,” she said, pulling me out of the bathroom and to the kitchen table.
I dropped ungratefully into the chair she motioned to, in front of a cup of leaves.
“This isn’t tea,” I said.
“No, not yet,” Lilly responded, returning with the kettle to dump boiling water over the leaves. “Breathe in the steam.”
“Did you say you like, is this the-the,” I struggled to remember.
“Closest translation would be wiccanism,” Lilly said. “Or, whatever the wiccans call their style of thing. Magic to dispel demons associated with bad dreams. Breathe in the steam.”
“Then can I have an antacid?” I groaned.
“I’ll do better, I’ve got one of those things that stops you from puking, please?”
Grumbling, I bent over the cup and breathed in the minty fumes. The throbbing between my ears was finally beginning to diminish. I had to give her that. Breathing in again, I looked up at Lilly.
“Got anything for good dreams?” I asked.
“I don’t like abusing the magic. There’s always a balance to things,” Lilly said.
“What’s the balance for this?” I asked.
“Replacing the victim with the server,” Lilly said, sitting across from me.
I pushed the mug away from me.
“You don’t want this dream, Lilly. It wasn’t exactly the style that, you know.”
“One, I’ve yet to meet a woman who got to have actual sex in her dreams. It’s like this giant cock block. Two, I can dream walk, anyone can do it. Become aware in a dream and you can do things, it becomes your own fantasy world. Not that big of a deal.”
“Lilly…”
“You don’t believe in it anyway. Why does it matter?” she asked.
“You believe it. That’s why it matters,” I said.
She made a little sound. “How are you feeling now?”
I considered everything. Frowning, I straightened in the chair and looked around. My stomach had settled down, and the throbbing between my ears was almost gone.
As I thought about that throb, I saw a flash of the dancers on the floor. I groaned and put my head into my hands for a moment before I sat up again and gave myself a light shake. The disgusted feeling came over me as my neck throbbed painfully, but then faded away completely.
“Did your dream involve a chalice?” Lilly asked.
“A what? A chalice, like an old time cup?”
“Did it involve a cup?” she asked. “A glass, a mug, anything that you might drink out of?”
“Yes, there was a drink, or two,” I said.
“Did your dream guy drink from your chalice?”
“How do I know if it was my chalice?”
“It was given to you in the dream.”
“Yes, dream Sam drank of my chalice. Is that, like, code for oral or something?”
“A chalice is a representation of the person. An embodiment of the soul. Next time, don’t let him drink of your chalice, and you’ll avoid a lot of pain later on.”
“It’s probably a good thing that I didn’t drink the orange drink.”
“What?”
“A waitress brought a second drink and put it on the table. Mine was bright blue, the one she brought was orange. So weird. But I didn’t have any of the second drink.”
“That’s probably a good thing.”
“But I still don’t feel well. Ugh, and I still have to work tomorrow.”
“Just think, in,” Lilly looked over at the stove, checking the time, then looked back to me, “nine hours you’ll be having coffee with Sam.”
“Yeah? I’ve heard you tell your girls to, ‘climb up on that,’ in reference to dates,” I said.
“It’s coffee, not drinks,” she said. “And, to be fair, with the way you two basically climbed on one another at dinner, I don’t think I have to give you that advice. It’ll just happen. Just, please, try not to get arrested for indecent exposure.”
“What do you mean, you didn’t reach Grace?” I asked a nervous Gabriel.
To know if Gabe was nervous, one simply had to watch for where he was looking. He was focused on his feet. Normally he would meet my eyes. Even if he knew that I was angry, he would
meet my eyes. We all owed each other that respect.
“I couldn’t do it,” he said to his feet.
My cellphone alarm went off. I stood and snatched it off the desk as Gabe continued to stare at his feet. He was that nervous about my reaction to what he had to tell me.
Gabriel saying that he couldn’t do something wasn’t the same as him saying that his conscience got in the way.
He meant his words in a literal fashion.
“Know why?” I asked.
Moving around the desk, I stopped in front of him.
“Look at me,” I said, waiting as he looked up. “You need to find out why. You need to do it now.”
“I may need to call Lilly,” Gabe said.
“If it’s that kind of a couldn’t, then call her,” I said. “I’ll have to do what I have to do.”
“Coffee means no sex,” he said sternly.
“I know the rules, Ralph and Mike filled me in,” I muttered, slipping my phone into my pocket. “I may not have had to do this kind of work in a while, but I haven’t lost my edge, Gabe. Who was that woman in the fifteenth century?”
“The queen,” Gabe said, smiling just slightly. He rubbed at his lower lip with the back of his hand. “It has been a while since you served in the field. You know she’s not one of your sluts, right? She’s not into that vain bullshit.”
“I know, which is why I spoke with Ralph and Mike.”
“Then again, your queen wasn’t a slut either.”
“I believe she was a virgin,” I said. “Kept her demons at bay.”
“You telling Mary where you’re going?” Gabe asked.
“And risk that whole thing? No, tell her that I went to the gym again. Do not tell her that Lillith is in town. She’ll think I’ve gone and done something stupid.”
“Even if you did, Lilly would know better.”
“Shut up, Gabe.”
“Love you too, Sam,” he said with a chuckle as I left my office.
Mary was out on an errand. Her desk was empty. I didn’t stop for anything or to check messages, because I didn’t want to risk her catching me slipping out. It wasn’t that I didn’t love her dearly, but that I was concerned what she would say, how she would react to hearing that I was working the field once more.
