My eyes slide shut, the blackness taking me under. I am relaxed and ready for sleep. I am ready to dream. But what, I wonder, do you dream about, when your dream has come true?
*
I dream of buttercream and cupcakes.
I dream of my tongue moving through the soft folds at the top of Carrie’s thighs. I dream of spreading her wide and taking her again and again and again…and then I wake up to find I am coming in my own hand, the hot spray of semen marking the sheets and dampening my chest.
I flush hot, feeling embarrassed and praying that she is still asleep. I look over to where she should be, but she’s not there.
“Carrie?” I whisper into the darkness, but she doesn’t answer me. I sit up, and I use the duvet to wipe my semen off myself. I throw back the cover and I climb out of bed. I stagger to the wall, still drunk on sleep but hungover on fear. I flick the switch and see that I am alone.
“Carrie?” I say her name again, but she doesn’t come. I open the bedroom door.Did I shut it earlier?The hallway and landing are dark, like Dracula’s robes. The house is silent, barring my raging heart. I move to the stairs and I go down them as silently as I can.
If she is down here, I will be mad, and I don’t know what I will do. I don’t know if I will survive if she breaks me again. Downstairs is just as silent. I check the front door and see that it is still locked. Carrie’s bag has been tipped out onto the floor. I mentally list what was in it when I had previously looked.
Cell phone.
Keys.
Purse.
Mints.
Lipstick.
Condoms.
Hairbrush.
Everything is there but the cell phone and the keys.
The keys were lost at the hospital and the cell phone I put down somewhere in the living room.
I go to the living room and I push the door open.
She’s there, but she doesn’t see me. Not at first. She’s sitting cross-legged facing the other way. The room is in total blackness, but I can see that she is still naked.
I ponder, silently, on what she could be doing. What would make her leave my arms, her bed, to come downstairs in the middle of the night, still naked, and sit in the dark living room that still smells faintly of her piss?
I open my mouth to say her name, but I can’t do it. Because deep down I know that she’s still a fake. That she’s still a fraud. That once more she has used me, and now she is done with me. She is ready to break me again.
Because that’s what she does. This woman who is so beautiful on the outside but is so ugly on the inside. She uses people.Me.She uses them,me, and when she is done with them,me,she throws them,me, away like yesterday’s garbage. No, not like yesterday’s garbage, because she doesn’t actually throw her garbage away!
My heart is beating so hard in my chest that I have to touch a hand to it to make sure it’s not ripping free from my body. Because that’s what it feels like. It feels like my heart is trying to escape before the ultimate carnage happens. Before she vomits out her lies and deceit once more.
And she’s still just sitting there, andmaybe I’m wrong, I think.If she was tricking me, she wouldn’t just be sitting there. She would have gone.She can’t get out the front door because it’s locked with a key and we don’t have the key anymore, the hospital does, but she could find a window. The window that I came in through. Twice!
But she hasn’t gone anywhere; she’s just sitting there quietly in the dark. And I’m calming down andIt’s okay,I think.It’s not what I thought at all.
Perhaps she just needed some time to herself to think about our future. That would make sense. I can understand that. Now that she knows what she wants, she’s thinking about our future. About all the things we will do together.
Perhaps she’s thinking about if I’ll ask her to marry me.I will.
Perhaps she’s wondering how many children we’ll have.Three.
Perhaps she’s wondering what I do for a living and how I will provide for our family.I’ll figure something out.
Perhaps she’s wondering if we’ll go to my parents’ for Thanksgiving and Christmas.We won’t, Carrie, they don’t talk to me anymore because of what you made me do. They haven’t for a long time. But it’s okay; I only need you. I only ever needed you.
And I smile even harder as I realize the truth in that statement.
Fuck you, Mom. Fuck you, Dad. I don’t need you because I have Carrie. She’s not a bad influence. She never was. She was a good influence. Better than good—perfect.And my angry thoughts are all mixed up with hope and anger.
“Carrie,” I say her name softly, gently, a smile on my lips so as not to startle her, but it does startle her.
She turns to me, her features lighting up as her cell phone in her hand finally comes to life.
