Guilty Conscience

JAMES!!!

I sit straight up, huffing and puffing to try and catch my breath. I'm covered in a cold sweat, which is ironic since it's the middle of A cold front and I'm only covered with a thin silk sheet. I shake the echo of her scream from my head. I look over to my right, still breathing heavily. 3:50. I don't know why I'm surprised. It's the same time I've been waking up every night for the last three weeks. The same recurring dream I've had since we left on not the most mutual of terms. We're walking on a sidewalk on the way home. Her arm in mine and we're laughing at the people we saw falling at the ice rink at Rockefeller. We're discussing what to have for a late midnight snack when someone comes up from behind us and holds us at gunpoint. The robber always does the same thing. He asks for my money, my watch, and anything else I have on me or he'll hurt Charlie. In the dream, I always freeze. I want to give him all my money, the keys to my apartment, my truck, my house. I want to give him my watch and the money clip my father passed down to me when I got the gig at SNL. But I cant. I cant move. I cant breathe. I cant even think. Charlie is begging with the man, pleading with him. She hands him her purse, her necklace her mother got her for graduating college, she even offers her engagement ring that I had given her a mere few hours before but it doesn't work. And I'm not moving. I'm yelling at myself on the inside MOVE YOU IDIOT! GIVE HIM WHAT HE WANTS! But I don't and the dream always ends the same way. With a gunshot and Charlie's blood curdling scream calling out for me. That's when I wake up. Every single time.
I take in a shaky breath and take in my surroundings. I'm at home. I'm safe. I'm whole. Well, relatively whole. The right side of the bed is cold and empty, the house is dead silent and half of it looks lived in while the other half is barren, just like my love life. I run my hands over my face to try and wake up and that's when I feel the mixture of sweat and tears. I wipe under my eyes and look down at my bare chest to see the splattering of teardrops scattered on my torso. I picked the sheet and wiped myself off before standing up on shaky legs. I bend down and grab my briefs and slip them up my legs before walking into the master bathroom. I absentmindedly splash water over my face to try and recover from yet another sleepless night in what has become a long line of them. I reach for a hand towel that is no longer there on the side of the vanity that is no longer full. I let out a rather forceful sigh as I clutch the counter in my hands and lean over the sink. I slowly look up at myself in the mirror and watch as the water slides down my face. I look like hell. My eyes are red and bloodshot, with dark bags under them. My face is drained of all color and I feel as if I have ran a marathon my heart is threatening to beat out of my chest. "It's just a dream." I repeat to myself over and over again until I have convinced myself that it wont happen again. Even though I know it will. This has become a nightly routine and I don't see it ending anytime soon.

I walk back into my bedroom and debate crawling back in bed and giving it one more try but to be honest, if I have to watch Charlie writhing in pain and screaming for me one more time, I might go insane. I reach into a nearly empty closet and grab my Yankees hoodie and pull it over my head, reaching up to ruffle my hair into place. I reach for some sweats and pull those over my briefs and head for the living room. But not before grabbing my phone to finish my nightly ritual. I click on Charlie's name and type out the message.

I know this is getting ridiculous but it happened again and I wont be able to calm down until I know you're okay. Or at least alive. Please be okay, Charlie. Please.

I hit send and settle down into my oversized leather chair, throwing my legs over the arm of chair and resting my elbow on the other while laying my head on my palm waiting for a response. I wait a few moments before turning the tv on and zoning into some infomercial. Finally, I felt my phone buzz against my thigh. I looked down and saw her quick and sleepy response.

I'm fine, Jimmy. I promise. No bullet holes. No wounds. I'm alive. I'm tired but I'm alive. Please try to calm down and maybe take some of that melatonin I told you to get. You need to sleep. Or at least try.