The Dream Is Not Over

Nothing Ever Changes

Lindsey climbs into bed beside me, fully clothed. His jeans scratch my thighs as he presses himself to my back. I turn on the bedside lamp and look at him. He's barely conscious and obviously drunk by the smell of him.

"Linds"

"Hey, baby..." He gropes my thighs, grinding himself into me.

"Linds!"

"Not so fast...it's worth the wait." I sit up, pulling myself away from him. "You don't want it?"

"No, Lindsey, I don't want it." I throw my legs over the side of the bed and get up, grabbing my robe from the bed post. I storm out of the room, a mix of anger, sadness and disgust coursing through my body.

"Come back, baby!" he shouts after me but I can't imagine turning around right now. He clambers out of bed, following after me to the best of his ability. I make it down to the living room before I hear his voice. "Stephanie!"

"Don't. I'm not in the mood." I tell him, feeling him grow closer. I can almost feel his hands before he even touches me, turning me to face him. He's rough and I hate it.

"No shit. I've never seen you bolt from the bed so fast."

"You reek of stale booze, Lindsey! It's..." I look at the clock on the wall. "Four in the morning and you come to bed, touching me after you left me earlier. What would ever make you think that's okay?"

"You're my wife!"

"That doesn't give you the right to, to violate me!"

"Oh, bullshit, Stevie!" he shouts. "No one was fucking violated here." His eyes scan my body. He's seething, his chest rising and falling as he fails to calm himself down. My heart is pounding and I want to tell him exactly how I feel but I don't.

"There's no use fighting. You're drunk and you probably won't even remember this after you get some sleep." I sigh, knowing nothing I say will make a difference. "I'll go make up the couch."

I hurry off to the closet and grab him a spare blanket and pillow. "Not even a bed, the couch?!"

"Do you really want to try to make it up the stairs again? You're already here, just sleep." When I finish laying the blanket out for him, I help him take his jacket off. I lower my hands to help him take his jeans off but I stop when he begins making sickening kissing sounds. "Good night, Lindsey."

I grab the railing and pull myself up the stairs. I'm exhausted and emotional, and I just want to forget for a while. The moment I get back to my room, I shed my robe and crawl back into bed. I turn over to face his side and smell his cologne. The scent used to be a comfort but now, it's just a reminder of all that I'm losing. I feel the tears stinging my eyes and I close them tightly, as if I can force them not to come.

I cry for my son, who is going to be given to someone else. He will have a wife and children of his own someday, when just a few hours before, I still thought of him as a little boy. I remember holding him when he would wake up for a late night feeding and dreaming of what he would accomplish, all he would be. I never thought he would be a getting married at almost twenty years old, but then again, neither did I.

I cry for my Lindsey, and how incredible he used to be. I still see glimmers now, I still see exactly who I met all those years ago. I cry for all that has changed and what will never be again. I cry over possibly losing my very best friend in the world. I wonder if he knows that's what he is to me? I wonder if he realizes what all of this has done to me. We almost broke up once, when we joined Fleetwood Mac. The money and fame was too much for both of us and we took it out on each other. We were the closest to divorce that I had ever imagined we would be and still, we made it. And thank god our son never saw it. River never remembers a time where Lindsey and I weren't madly in love. He used to joke that he couldn't bring his friends over to our house because he was always afraid we would be making out in the kitchen and embarrass him. I smile sadly. Where was that spark now? Where was that passion now?

I drift off to sleep for a few hours, waking up to find Lindsey laying on the floor next to the bed. I hang myself over the edge and reach down to poke him. He stirs and I giggle quietly to myself as he swats at my hand. His eyes eventually flutter open due to my incessant pestering and he smiles. "Hey, good morning."

"Good morning. What are you doing down there?"

"I haven't slept without you for twenty years, Steph." He sits up, knees to his chest. "I guess I was lonely. After my stunt, I didn't think you'd let me in the bed again. I also didn't want to risk physical harm, so I laid on the floor, hoping you wouldn't notice."

"But I did."

"Are you mad?" he asks, the boyish sparkle of his blue eyes hitting me somewhere deep inside.

"No" I say, swallowing tears. I pull myself back onto the safety of my bed and sit very much how he is.

He can hear the sadness is my voice, I can tell by the way he looks at me. Years ago, he would have kissed me and a part of me wanted him to do it. A part of me wanted to feel his lips brushing gently over mine. Maybe something would have changed, but he didn't. "Would you like breakfast?" he asks.

"No thanks, I'm not hungry." He gets up, as he always does when he's unsure what will come if he asks how I am, or how I'm feeling. It's too much for him and I know that. I hear his feet padding softly on the floorboards. He's gone.