I stared into his eyes. The beads of sweat dripped down my forehead.
Is this how I will die?'
I thought to myself. Jake looked at me and grinned with a wicked smile. I checked my surroundings. In the distance, through the thick trees of the forest, I see a faint glowing of an old motel. The kind you would see in a horror movie. I stare back into my boyfriends eyes. This isn't him. This couldn't possibly be him. My Jake is sweet and kind. He brings me flowers for random occasions. He doesn't want to hurt me.
I see something else. Around his neck, almost like a necklace, is a dream catcher. I barely manage to mumble,
'Jake...'
'Oh Jake, PLEASE don't kill me'
He mocks in a high voice. He starts walking towards me, but I cannot run away. Something holds me in place. I hadn't noticed it before, but I am tied to a tree, tightly. I thrash and fight to get out of its tight grip, but I fail to. Jack grabs the back of my long, brown curls and grabs a diesel container I hadn't noticed by the tree. I scream harder, but it's no use. No one will hear me out here. I hear the gasoline splash in the container before he starts pouring it on me and the entire camp site. His grin becomes wider and he pulls out a bock of matches and lights them. He drops a single one right in front of him and the grass is immediately engulfed. I see him drive off in an unfamiliar car through the heavy smoke. I cough and gag on the smoke. He must have planned to not burn me immediately. He wanted my death to be long and painful. But, the areas that weren't drenched in the horrid smelling gasoline, began to ignite as well. It caught my shoe and ran up my jeans and all I see is fire. Still chocking on smoke, I inhale one last time before finally giving up.
I turn to my therapist who is jotting down note faster than I can talk.
'And then you woke up?' He asks, still writing. I can't find my choice, so I just nod. I've been having these type of dreams lately. All of them have me as a victim of a horrific murder with my boyfriend, Jake, as the killer. After the third dream, where I was stabbed maliciously, my parents decided I needed a therapist. He wasn't any help, but I did have someone to talk to. Dr. Wes has probably seen a lot worse than me, so I feel somewhat comfortable talking about my nightmares. Our first session was last week and, of course, his first question was if I'm afraid of Jake, and obviously I said no.
'Well Ms. Wood, I see it as you are either afraid of death, or Jake or possibly someone close to Jake, such as a friend of his' He states.
I shake my head. He has a sincere smile on his face.
'I thought you would say that. Well, when you are ready to open up, feel free to call the office and if im not available, leave a message. Here-' He hands me a note with a number and a date 'That is my home phone in case of emergency, and our next appointment'
'Ok. Thank you' I say as I walk out of the room. I fold the paper and put it in my back pocket. I walk out of the building an head towards the bus stop. As I wait for the bus I think about what my dreams might mean, but I come up short. I know they mean something, I just don't know what... Yet
