My Dearest Josephine

6: Nightmares

February 18, 1887

Ezra, Wallace, Eugene, Simon, Godfrey, Tristan and I found our way to a pub in Camberwell about a week ago. The memory is a drunken haze now, but there are some things I still cannot forget. We gathered around a table, gulping down drinks and exchanging stories. I recall Godfrey saying a single word that sent as all to our knees, grabbing our sides, and howling with laughter. It probably didn't make any sense at all. None of us really make sense when we're foxed.

We told more stories, and challenged each other to complete foolish dares. We caused such a row at one point that the man I believe to have been the owner of the establishment asked us to keep it down. The next thing I know, I was walking down the street along with the rest of them. I accepted a pipe to smoke from Ezra.

The memories of their snickering laughter still echoes in my mind as if they were in this room with me now. I proudly proclaimed something to all of them. I don't know what exactly it was, but everyone seemed to agree with what I said. They cheered and clapped for me and for a moment, I felt superior. I must have said something great. Wallace even took the time to pat me on the back.

We didn't know where our coach was parked, and didn't really care. Tristan challenged me to a race. I let him know that I was the fastest man alive. With that said, we all started running to nowhere in particular. We ran further and further into the darkness. Tristan stopped at the sight of a woman, the rogue.

"Well, well, well! Aren't just the finest looking gentleman?" She asked us, biting her lip.

We stopped then, and followed behind Tristan's lead. She called a few more women over while we stopped to catch our breaths.

"You needn't be shy." Said one of the women, a plump redhead with a bent nose, a large bosom, and wide lips. She was referring to Ezra, who felt more than a tad uncomfortable. I knew Ezra wanted to get as far away from them as possible. Whenever he saw a prostitute, all he could think of was filth and diseases.

Ezra actually stood behind me, afraid that she would try to seduce him, I think.

"Any of you men want to get a look?" The youngest one asked, looking straight at me. It was her straightforwardness that made me so attracted to her at that moment in time. She was, unlike any prostitute I had ever seen, pretty. Maybe it was her youth that made her glow. I didn't know. All I did know was that she was very pretty, the way one might say a doll is.

While I thought of a clever response, Ezra cleared his throat and shook his head politely.

"He's married, I'm afraid." He intervened.

I couldn't believe he could've said such a thing! He even had the nerve to attempt to pull me away from her. I called out his name in a scolding tone.

"You seem disappointed." Ezra noticed. "I'm shocked."

I suppose I was disappointed. Was it wrong to be disappointed that my best friend had almost ruined my chances with a pretty young woman? Who could have blamed me for wanting to curse the ground he walked on?

"His wife don't got to know nothing." The woman said, caressing my arm. Ezra glared at her. I could tell that he was biting his tongue to prevent himself from saying something nasty and probably degrading.

I asked her for her name and she grinned pleasantly. "Frances." She said.

Her name was Frances.

I can remember looking over at Ezra, who stood apart from the rest of us men looking disturbed. I released the arm of Frances and walked over to him.

"What's the problem?" I asked him.

Ezra didn't hesitate for a moment. "What about Josephine, Derek?" He snapped, then lowered his voice to a whisper. "Are you sure you're alright with this?"

"Relax!" I laughed. "It's not like you've never paid for a toffer before."

He turned away from me.

"Do what you will. I'm going home!" He spat.

We all yelled for him to come back and not be such a drag. Ezra mumbled something about me being an unfaithful pig, and if I really wanted him to stay, I wouldn't say one more word to the whore.

After seeing that I wasn't the least bit concerned about whether he was leaving or not, Ezra wished me a goodnight and went on his way.

The last thing I remember is collapsing on the floor as soon as I put my clothes back on. I believe it was Tristan and the lot of them who helped me back into the coach, for I have no recollection of awaking after that.

I strongly regret what I have done. Only a few minutes ago, I gave my wife a kiss and felt repulsed. I think I now know what Ezra feels when he speaks about being utterly disgusted by even the thought of a prostitute.

My wife is pure.

When my lips met hers, I could almost feel the impurity tainting her. I imagined diseases escaping my lips and invading her body. I was in such a state of shock, that when I blinked, we were all colors. I became the color black, and she the color white. As I kissed her, the darkness slowly began to overpower her. Before I knew it, there was no more white in the room, and we became the living embodiment of black standing by the door. I know that this was all purely psychological, but it felt as real as it could have been. I know that I should confess to her while I still can, before things get out of hand. But what difference would it really make? All she would do is get angry, threaten me, and yell at me. Knowing Josephine, she'd probably start throwing objects at me as well. I can't say I'd blame her; I just want to avoid a confrontation.

This won't happen again.

I don't think so, at least. I believe I shall forget this incident ever happened. I'll tell Ezra and Tristan never to mention it again and they will respect my wishes and tell the others. Then I will be able to move on with my life.

My uncle once told me that it's not good to carry guilt. He said it was unhealthy. My uncle died when I was a little boy. I always thought that it was the guilt that had gotten to him, though my father assured me that it was alcohol poisoning.

Needless to say, I am afraid of carrying guilt. Already, I feel a great weight on my chest and an even greater feeling of malaise whenever I think of what I have done and what I am keeping from my wife. Perhaps if I reassure myself that it was just a bad dream, I'll start to believe it. And like most dreams, I'll forget them eventually.

Whether I was foxed or sober, I still can't understand what possessed me to think that what I was doing was acceptable. She may have been a pretty young wench, but she was just as good as the next one in comparison to my wife. She wasn't free either! I am still baffled that I paid a prostitute for no good reason. I think Tristan is a bad influence on me. Yes, that must be it. My father had been right all those years ago, hadn't he?

Putting aside my guilt, shame, and disgust, I feel like an absolute fool. My best friend was only trying to remind me of my values, and I treated him poorly. I may have even embarrassed him. We still have not spoken to this day. If he doesn't visit me by tomorrow, as he usually does, I will go and pay him a visit myself.

I would apologize, but it was only a dream. I can't apologize for something that never really happened.