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47. First Aid

Was this real? I couldn't seem to decipher between my imagination and reality for the past few hours. Everything I saw faded into one image and I can't divide the pictures into different things. I flipped over couches and tables in my rage and stopped at the cabinet holding the liquors.

When I heard Paige's voice say my name, I was sure that this was a dream, a sick, torturous dream. When she stepped closer to me and I heard glass crack under her shoes, I was sure that my mind was playing tricks on me. She said something and I mumbled out the only string of words I could manage.

My sling got in the way of my destructive actions so I tore if off of my body hours ago. I gripped the sides of this damned thing that held all of his drinks and tipped it over on it's side. I hated this thing. It was a stopping point for my father before he went and got the belt- top off the drink before I beat my son.

This was a dream anyways right? I could break anything that I wanted and wake up in a few hours and nothing would be wrong. I sighed in relief at the sight of the broken furniture all around me. The Paige in my dream had backed up now, standing near the kitchen with fear on her face.

Why couldn't I remember? It was there somewhere, the memory of the drugs coming at me through a syringe. I just couldn't find it. My mind filled with all sorts of images of that night, all except the one I want to see.

Paige reached out a hand towards me and I pulled back, entirely sure that I was in a dream and I would wake up at any moment, and I didn't want to feel any lonelier when I did.

I dropped to my knees without knowing it, I only realized it when I felt the glass cut through my jeans and slice my skin. I can't fucking remember and it's driving me insane. I hear her coming towards me, her shoes break more glass and I whine some more into my hands.

"What don't you remember?" Her soft, soothing voice cuts through all the images in my head. Through my fingers I can see her thighs in loose jeans and I think, to hell with it. Her comfort, even in a dream, is worth waking up in the morning craving her touch even more.

My hands outstretch and I tug her legs closer to me, wrapping my arms around the back of her thighs. I feel her cool fingers touch my scalp and untangle my hair, tugging gently. I rest my cheek against her legs, praying that I don't wake up anytime soon.

I hear her say something about blacking out and then her fingers get caught in a knot. This isn't a dream. Paige's actual warm body is tucked inside my arms, her actual fingers are coursing through my hair. I mutter words that I don't actually recognize as my own as I stand.

Paige's cheeks are wet and I step forward again, entangling her body in my arms and pushing her against the wall where the pictures used to be. She smells like me and like vanilla and like reality. I drop my forehead to her shoulder and try to calm myself down.

If Paige isn't a dream, that means that I actually broke all of my furniture. Paige's soft fingers run up and down my spine over my shirt. I can hear her hiccup every few minutes and tighten my grip around her waist when she does. My shoulder burns like hell now, as does my head and my chest, my knees sting.

"Why don't I remember?" I mutter into Paige's neck and she places a hand flat against my lower back.

"Shhh," I feel her other hand lift from her side and it lands on my hip, kneading and rubbing all the way up my back and to my neck, and then back down again.

She rubs my back for minutes, hours maybe, I don't even try to keep track of the time. My eyes have shut and I'm resting all of my weight against Paige, she's completely wedged between me and the wall behind her.

"Come on," Paige whispers into my ear and I feel her tug at the corner of my shirt. I take a deep breath and detach myself from her slightly. Paige wraps my good arm around her shoulders and looks to me before taking cautious steps around the couch, pushing glass away with the tip of her shoe to make a path for me.