REM // Van McCann

41. She's Got Quite the Personality

Art made by the lovely callmebymym! She's the sweetest for making this. 😭

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I was in a sterile room with white floors, walls, and ceilings. The fluorescent light was harsh, causing me to squint in order to see but then I got used to it. There was a lone table in the center of the room with a body on it covered with a white sheet. A stand full of medical supplies and equipment was placed next to the table. Despite being afraid, I was drawn towards the body and wanted to know who was under the sheet.

I took a step forward. My feet were heavy and took a lot of effort to move but eventually, I made it. Surprisingly, there was no stench from the body. I grabbed a fistful of the sheet and right when I was about to pull, I heard a voice.

"Are you sure you want to do that?"

I turned around to see Florence in the corner dressed in all white but there were blood stains on her shirt. She was holding a sharp knife, running her fingers along the edge as if it wasn't sharp. The knife was like what you'd find in the kitchen, a sign that I was dreaming but I stayed put, curious where this dream would lead. There was something eerie about Florence being so calm. She took a step towards me which made me uneasy.

"What if it's her? What will you do then?" she asked. I looked at the body and saw the sheet was now soaked with blood. The smell of blood overwhelmed my senses and I felt sick to my stomach.

"Did you do this to her?" I shouted. There was so much blood, I put my hands on the sheet to try to stop it but couldn't find the source.

"I didn't do anything." She was now right behind me and I froze. "You did this to her."

"I didn't do anything, I didn't—"

I sat up in bed breathing heavily, placing my head in my hands. And then I remembered the blood. I flicked on the light and held my hands out before me, looking for blood but I couldn't find any. I could still smell the blood.

"Fucking hell," I muttered, pushing my duvet aside so I could go to the bathroom. I had broken out into a sweat and my hands were clammy so I washed my face with cold water hoping it'd make me feel better.

Ever since I saw Clara's body, I haven't stopped thinking about it. It's obvious that I blame myself for her death; my dream keeps reminding me of it but Florence making an appearance in my dream is new. The last thing I wanted was for her to see that I dream about her. I started analyzing my dream. Florence is my subconscious talking.

"What if it's her? What will you do then?"

"You did this to her."

When I looked in the mirror at my haggard appearance, I could see the toll of the weight I carried. My fear was that Florence would see I'm the reason why Clara is dead and judge me for it.

It's not too late to bail out. I can stop anytime, I reminded myself.

The next session won't be as bad. I'll be going under Florence's dream and I want to know why she's adamant about going under my dream. But I worried about Florence making an appearance in my dreams and what she'd think if she saw herself. It's normal to dream about the people you interact with. Your brain is processing your memories and we've interacted enough times that it shouldn't be a surprise we appear in each other's dreams, even if we don't remember it. I just don't want Florence to misinterpret it.

I tried to go back to sleep but decided against it. It was only 6 AM—still too early to wake up for work but I spent my morning in silence flipping through the sketches I made. They started with life in her new home and eventually made it to the water. I used the last letter she sent me as a bookmark. The envelope was slightly yellow from age and I enjoyed looking at the Portuguese stamps. I flipped the envelope over and could see where my nails dug in in an attempt to open it but I changed my mind each time. Some day I'll have the courage to read it. I sighed and got ready for work, making my way towards the bathroom.