You Feel Like a Dream (18+)

Banter

I come inside from the cold, snowy air. The snow is raging, and it's enveloping the area surrounding. The giant, to small trees, the bushes, everything is covered in snow.

I walk back into the bedroom suite. The dock station says it's 5:24 am. I pick up my cell phone to see if maybe he texted me. But to no avail. Everyone else has been texting, and I could care less. I just wanted to cut off the whole world while I am with him. But I'm not with him. I'm all alone; I'm awake; he knows I'm awake. Why is he staying downstairs? Why isn't he trying to comfort me, or tell me that everything is going to be ok? That maybe I could have a pass on my behavior that I partially blame my actions on the alcohol and my flirtatious nature. I was just having fun. That's what the night was supposed to be a good time, and it turned into a fucking nightmare. He's ready to send me home as if I'm some naughty school girl. Racing thoughts just fuel my anger. Even more, so that he's awake and he's done absolutely nothing to right this wrong.

I have on a short thermal red romper, underneath the robe I have on tied at my waist. I'm running out of clothes to wear; I have to do laundry. This is almost all I have left. I'm a bit chilly, so I find a pair of clean, knee-high socks. I put them on to keep my feet and legs warm. I sit on the edge of the bed for a few moments. Wondering what I should do. Do I leave?do I stay?do I go and talk to him? Do I just sit here and wait? The sun could come up and go down, and I don't think he gives a shit, that I'm sitting up here all by myself. Feeling sorry and upset. My eyes start to swell and fill up with tears that are streaming down my face. I have zero makeup left on, and I must look like such a dreamy bombshell at this point, after crying for what seems like every few minutes, hours. He just left me up here like some child sent to her room. I didn't like how I was being treated, and I was going to tell him so.

  Once I got up the courage to face him. His beautiful face, that's all I could think about. How just a day ago we were making love, he and I were one—thinking about how our bodies were made for each other. Every glance, every touch, every kiss was perfect with him. I had been in relationships before—non like this non like the way he made me feel weak with just the slightest look. I could almost read his mind as he could read mine. The way his fingers traced my body, I wipe the tears that are flooding down my cheeks—just going over in my mind every inch of him. The certain spots of his skin that have been scarred from the past, not thinking about his heart. How perhaps he had been hurt. I imagine for a man like him; it's challenging to find a woman who can handle what he does, let alone how ruggedly fucking insanely handsome he is. I watched as the minutes ticked by. I threw myself back on the bed; I was exhausted, I was upset, but I was still excited that I was here. That I was with him. That the weather outside was so horrific, I couldn't possibly go anywhere.

  
I pick myself up, lick my wounds, and feel I have to face him at some point. I can't stay up here locked away like some fairy tale character.  I open the bedroom suite door. The hallway is dimly lit. I quietly place my foot on one step down, and so on. I reach downstairs; it's still fairly dark with all the snow falling. I don't imagine there will be much sunshine at all today. I pass the pool and the unlit fireplace. I head past the kitchen, which has boxes of wine and sundries on the mid-island. Must be all the food that was packed up from Charlie last night. It looked as if a party was being catered. I opened the refrigerator to get something to drink. I was parched. I grab a bottle of water as I sort through all the fantastic foods that had been prepared for us. As if Tom knew all my favorite things to eat, everything and more was stored for us to get through what was being called the snowstorm of the century. I stood there, drinking the entire bottle of water. I was like a dried-up flower that was desperate to be watered; I was needing to be nurtured.