A Dream

This is a dream I had... two weekends ago, when my world fell apart then put itself back together again. The beginning of my three consecutive horrible weekends.

I'm moving along with the pounding of the music that fills the air around me. In the mass of so many writhing bodies, I've lost her. I always feel very lost in this place without her dancing beside me so I leave the floor to find her. I push through people rubbing up against one another, my ass being not so subtly grabbed by at least three different strangers on the way. I make out her face in a dark corner, with the flashing of the strobe lights my only way of identifying her. As I move closer, I see her, drink in hand, giving mouth to mouth to some blond broad with a huge chest. Soon, there's not a wall of people in my way, I cant tell if my five foot body leveled them all or not. My hand bats the glass from her hand and I feel it two seconds late. She looks up at me with surprise and guilt. Like catching your brother masturbating to gay porn in the bathroom. I scream at her twice as loud as the music, telling her to go home. She doesn't say anything, nor does she move. Just gives me that look that tells me that I have no right coming over here and ruining her good time. blond bitch sees this as her chance to get all up in MY face. I go silent, hate pouring from my retinas. I've hit her right across the cheek, my hand feeling it again too late. I get a handful of razor sharp salon nails clawed across my skin as a rebuttal. My two second time limit has come and gone and I still don't feel anything but warmth which must be the blood running down my face. I throw my loving girlfriend the most resentful look that could ever be created and walk out onto the hot humid streets of Des Moines.
I've stormed down a block and a half when I hear the doors open, pouring the dance music out onto the streets. I don't have to look back to know it's her. Her quick steps turn into running feet as she catches up to me. She's yelling something like "I'm sorry, slow down." but I cant concentrate on her words. I feel her hand on my shoulder and I try to not let her turn me around. But I've always been not as strong as she was.
I see a look in her eyes when she sees my cheek. It must be worse than I thought. She slowly reaches up to touch it and I wince. She pulls her hand away and I see blood on her finger tips. This makes me even more angry.
"Why do we always have to do this?! Why do you always have to do this?!" I yell at her, even though she's inches away from me. I turn away, ripping myself from her grip and run the rest of the two blocks to our apartment. I skip the elevator and go up five flights of stairs. Fumbling for my keys as I get to the door, I'm cursing under my breath that I'm still doing this. Once the door's unlocked I shove it open, sending it slamming into the wall inside. The force of it swings it back towards the frame, it still having enough gusto to slam shut. On my way to the kitchen, I grab her cigarettes from the coffee table. I tear at the box and rip them all up, leaving them scattered on the floor. I open the cupboard and throw every bottle of whiskey, vodka, and tequila that we have onto the floor, creating a sea of glass shards and multicolored liquid.
Suddenly, all energy I have gives out and I collapse into a heap on the kitchen floor, on top of the broken glass. I can feel it piercing my skin and ripping holes in my clothes as I lay crying. Over top my racket I'm making I hear footsteps on the stairs and the door opening. Then she runs in, calling my name. She must see me so pathetically laying on the floor because she stops. Her movement and her yelling. Her shoes crunch across the linoleum, and through my tear filled eyes I see a blurry figure of her.
I hear her telling me she's sorry, that she wont do it again. I've heard it so many times before. Almost like an echo now. I know she's sorry. But I know it will happen again. I don't understand why I keep going. I'm trying to rationalize it all in my mind and she lifts me from the ground, carrying me, dripping with blood, alcohol, and sweat, into the bathroom. I'm standing in front of her, and she's taking off my clothes slowly so it doesn't hurt as much. She inspects my wounds for extra bits of glass and runs hot water in our shower. She does it all without looking at me. I know it's because she's blaming it all on herself. It's tearing her up inside. I don't know if my tears have stopped but she puts me in the shower and I have no way to tell. Seconds later I'm joined, her arms wrapping gently around me. She waits for the blood to rinse off my body, watching the red streams flow down my porcelain skin. She lightly places her finger tips on my cheek, using her thumb to wipe away the blood that's still there. I wait for her eyes to find mine and when they do, I see it there, in her eyes. The same look I see when she tells me she loves me. The look that assures me that she does.
My mind tells me that this is why I don't give up. Because I love this girl. No matter how many times she'll hurt me I always will. Because she loves me. I kiss her, just as I do every time she's made a mistake. In that kiss, I let her know that I forgive her. When the water has washed away all of the reminders of the night, we make our way to our bedroom and climb into the clean sheets. And we make love like it's the first time, leaving our wounds forgotten until tomorrow.


That's all I have for tonight. It's off to bed without a phone call from her, again. I miss her.