Dreams of 18(28)

He takes another pause here like he’s digging out words from somewhere deep inside his soul. Words that he probably wanted to say for a long time but never got the chance to.

Words that I know are going to break apart what little heart I have left.

And then, he proves me right.

“You. A teenage girl who stunk of a thousand-dollar rum. You are my moment. A girl who ruined my life. That’s what I think about. I think about my lost peace of mind. The peace that you took from me. I think about the shitshow my life has become. I think about how the fuck to forget you. And I think about how no matter what I do, I never will. Because you’re a nightmare that’s goddamn unforgettable.”

I scrunch my eyes closed as his stare, his anger, his words burn me.

“So I don’t want your apology. I don’t want you to be here for me, understand? I want you to leave. I want you to get the fuck out of this town and never come back.”

He looks like a towering mountain right now, his shoulders stretched out in front of the window, his chest heaving, his thighs sprawled.

Or maybe a volcano that seems to be on the verge of exploding.

Because of me.

His nightmare.

“Okay,” I whisper, nodding.

I grab my bag, open the door and hop down, all in one breath, and I do what he says.

Shutting the door behind me, I walk to the sign and dump my hobo by it. With my back turned, I squat down and open the zipper.

I root around the hobo for a while, not sure what I’m looking for. Not sure what the fuck I’m even doing.

A few minutes later, I hear the rev of his truck, the screech of his tires as he probably backs up, turns around and leaves me.

All alone on the side of the road.

I wanna cry. I wanna cover my face with my hands and sob into them until I don’t have any tears left in me.

But I’m not gonna do that.

I’m not gonna cry over something I already knew in my heart of hearts.

I knew he hated me.

I knew he was angry and furious and seething.

I expected it.

What I didn’t expect was the fact that I’d become his nightmare.

In all the dreams I’ve had about Mr. Edwards, I never once thought that. I never thought I’d ruin his life and steal his peace.

But it’s okay.

I’m here to fix it. I’m here to make everything right. To pay for my crimes, and I’m not going to be defeated so easily.

I get up and I put on my disguise.

Cap, headphones and sunglasses. I also whip out some lollipops.

I stand up and heave the fat hobo over my shoulders. Turning around, I look at the dark, endless road made even darker by the tint of my shades.

At least he chose to leave me in a deserted area where there are no people around.

Unwrapping my candy, I shove it in my mouth and begin walking.

Not away from his town or him.

But toward him.

Because I’m not going anywhere.





Hallucinations.

Delusions. Illusions. Figments of the imagination.

All of the above are symptoms of a diseased mind. A broken mind. A sick mind. Maybe even a sick heart.

I never liked them, the hallucinations.

Definitely not the ones that are brought on by a sober brain.

Up until tonight, I wanted them to go away. I wanted them to leave me alone and fuck off.

In fact, I’d drink and drink until I made sure they left me alone. I made sure that my brain was shut off and my heart was numb.

I’m doing the same thing right now. I’m sitting here, in my darkened truck, gulping down Jack Daniels like water.

Right now, I’d give anything, anything at all, for this to be a bad dream.

A nightmare, like I told her.

I’d give anything for her to not be here.

I’d give anything for me to be seeing things. To be imagining, hallucinating, daydreaming like I’ve been doing for the past ten months.

Hallucinating her pale face. Imagining her smell, her voice. Her red as fuck lips.

But it’s not a dream.

If it were, my truck wouldn’t be hiding in the woods by the road that I abandoned her on like the goddamn asshole that I am, waiting for her to walk by like some criminal.

Just to make sure that… no one is kidnapping her. Apparently, I have a conscience when it comes to her.

Jesus Fucking Christ.

What the fuck is she doing here? Why the hell won’t she leave me alone?

It was a stupid drunken mistake…

So it was a mistake.

She made a fucking mistake. Because she was drunk. Because she thought she could do whatever the hell she wanted.

Because she’s this terrible thing that I can’t seem to forget.

The most terrible thing that’s ever happened to me.

I strangle the bottle with my fingers and take a deep, deep pull and bark out a harsh laugh.

Fucking teenager.

I lied.

I told her that my life changed that night, the night she kissed me, the night of her stupid drunken mistake.

My life changed the moment I moved into that house over two years ago.

I never should’ve done that. I never should’ve moved to Connecticut in the first place. It was a mistake.

The only reason I did it was for Brian.

It was a good school for him. When they contacted me out of the blue and offered me a job, I was hesitant. We were happy in Denver. We were settled. I had a good job. We lived in a good neighborhood. Brian had life-long friends.