I dreamed it was you. Years had past since we'd last seen or talked and yet you were here; in this house. One you spoke no claim to, never having stepped through the door before, yet there you were.
I was splayed across my sheets in bed upstairs when I heard bustling in the kitchen. I begin to make my way down the steps and notice a discoloration on the walls. Yellow-brown mold, like a spotted fungus of some sort... yet I walk down those stairs, paying no mind to the cancer growing there.
You are in the kitchen, nonchalantly flinging pots, pans, and groceries around as if this were the most ordinary task; just another in your to-do list for the day. I notice grease on the floors and cabinets and attempt to scrape up and remove this mess. I run the hot water at the sink to drown out and break down the oil.
I'm questioning my sanity. Why are you here? Why are you acting like you didn't ruin me?
Before I can draw any conclusions for myself, I feel your hands set down on the counters around me and sense your body behind me. You sweep my hair from my back and kiss my neck insidiously while I feel your body press into my own. Is the tightening in my stomach from excitement? Fear? I don't have time to decide before your hands move from the counter to my waist then from my waist to my hips as you press that evil gift against me.
Lacking judgement and craving something or someone to make me feel, I acquiesce to the moment. The warm steam from the faucet seeps into my skin and I can feel all my muscles unfurl as you caress every curve of my silhouette. I surrender myself to you as I've always done.
As you turn me about-face I notice more spots of suspicious yellow-brown mold peppering my walls and ceilings. I break away from your hold to investigate and sense a hint of your petulance in my peripherals. You cross your arms and tighten your face into that fixed position that seems to says, I can't believe you think there is something more pressing than my presence.
You then proceed to speak the first words I've heard you say in all this time, "Everyone will be over in a bit", like this is common knowledge and that I'm not trapped in this suffocating fever dream. On a surface level it would appear you dismiss me completely as you continue to jostle with bags in the kitchen, but I can feel you watching me scrutinously.
I go to inspect the various spottings on the walls around me and see one in particular that looks exacerbated to the right of the bookcase. I touch it lightly and the paint and drywall instantaneous give way, exposing a hint of flames. As quickly as I sharply inhale in surprise, I exhale to put it out and it is smothered. I can't help but surmise that this fire is not alone, it has company; secretly and silently invading this home. My mind is racing as fast as my body from spot to spot confirming that my suspicions are correct as I press in on each yellow spotting to reveal each new kindling.
I'm screaming at you to help as I try to put them out one by one. As I extinguish a new spot I look back to see the previous has re-ignited. We're slowly being engulfed in the flames all around us. You laugh. You don't make a move to help but laugh at my efforts with that devilish smile plastered across your face.
I wake up. I'm splayed across my sheets in bed upstairs. I hear bustling down in the kitchen and my stomach tightens at the possibility that it might still be you. I get out of my sweat stained sheets, walk slowly down the stairs, carefully inspecting the white walls and ceilings for signs of trouble, only to feel the rush of relief when I realize I'm okay. I throw the kettle on, pour a cup of tea, and walk outside to meet the cool summer evening air. I light a candle to dance with the fireflies as I swing and sip. I feel free, no longer gasping for fresh air, but cherishing each breath.
