The Dream Is Not Over

Long Night

Mick drops me off at home and I breathe a sigh of relief as I pass through the familiar arched doorway. He tells me he will make sure River and Olivia are informed of my departure. He even offers to make arrangements for them to stay at a nice hotel and personally bring them their luggage. He makes sure I'm alright and leaves me to de-stress. I take a bath and soak my aching muscles, candles and incense burning. I put on some music as I go through my skincare routine and apply body oil to my breasts, thighs and belly to try to prevent stretch marks. I pull on a pair of cotton pajama shorts and the matching short sleeved button down top, wincing as I twist my shoulder a certain way. Thick socks and slippers adorn my feet as I go downstairs to make myself a cup of tea. I catch my reflection in the mirror in the hall and gasp. Deep blue and purple bruises are already present on my neck that I hadn't noticed when I was applying moisturizer. I frown, knowing these reminders won't go away any time soon when I would rather just try to forget.

I'm hungry and I know I have to eat so while my special pregnancy tea is steeping, I slice up some cheese and fruit, arranging it on my plate. Finally, I carry my snacks into the living room and kick back in front of the tv. I flip through the channels, settling on some made for TV movie. I flick my fingernail over a thin slice of cheese and lift it to my lips, quickly immersing myself in the film. I eat and drink mindlessly, unable to take my eyes from the screen. It's dark outside and the glow of the television seems to become brighter. When it's time for a commercial, I huff, getting up to use the bathroom as quickly as possible, cursing when I hear the theme music starting. I sprint to the couch and plop down just in time to hear the lead female character's response to the shocking cliffhanger.

"Tell him, just tell him." I chant then I chuckle to myself. "As if I'm any better." I feel for the food on my plate only to realize it's empty. Up again, and I'm leaning out the kitchen doorway as I make myself another snack, unwilling to miss a second of the story. Just as I'm about to get comfy and finish my movie, I hear a terrible sound outside, followed by incessant loud banging on my door. I jump, looking out the peep hole before opening the door. Before me stands a disheveled and obviously plastered Lindsey. He leans on the door frame, reeking of alcohol and his once pristine suit is now battered, torn and soaked.

"Linds?"

"Hm, pretty lady?"

"Why are you wet?" He motions drunkenly behind him and my jaw drops. He hit the fire hydrant and water is shooting up into the air. The front of his car is a mess, possibly totaling the vehicle. I look back at him and blood is dripping from his hairline, down his face. He doesn't register it right away and it makes me a little queasy. "Do you remember how much you had to drink?"

"Two drinks" he slurs, holding up all five fingers. He pulls a sopping wet joint from his breast pocket and fumbles with his lighter. I roll my eyes as he shoves his prized possession in my face. "Take a hit."

"It won't light, Linds, and even if it did..."

"Take a little one." I shake my head and he becomes even more adamant about it. "Aww, come on, baby. Be cool."

"I will not 'be cool'. I'm not doing drugs with you while I'm pregnant with our child!"

"What child? I'm not a child!" he argues. "Kids aren't even allowed to smoke pot anymore. Nancy Reagan put a stop to that." He chuckles, trying to light his joint again and I sigh heavily.

"Jesus, Lindsey..." I stare at him, unable to let him bleed on my doorstep much longer. "Come inside. Let me brew you some coffee."

"I don't want coffee." he complains.

"That's alright. You don't have to want it but you have to drink it." I shut the door behind us and turn lights on as I move through the house, pushing him down to sit in a chair at the kitchen table.

"You know what, Stevie?" he asks and I hum, getting first aid supplies out of the cupboard. "You say you're pregnant but you don't even look it. Pregnant ladies have big, round bellies and you...you're not pregnant at all."

"It takes time, Linds, you know that. We have a son, or did you bang your noggin a little bit too hard?" Finally, I find what I'm looking for and wet a wash cloth to clean the blood off. He winces when I apply a little pressure to the small cut that's causing all the trouble.

"Shit, Stevie!" He tries to shove my hand away but I persist, twisting the cap off the antibiotic ointment with my teeth and applying it with a q tip. I rifle through a box of bandaids and try to find a tiny one to fit this area. I size up the wound then find just what I've been searching for. I pull the tabs off and place the bandage on the cut.

"All done, you big baby."

"I'm not a baby" he protests and I chuckle, getting up to start the coffee pot. He's watching me and I look over my shoulder at him.

"What?" He shrugs and I pull the big mugs down in preparation for the French Roast to be finished brewing. I stand beside him, looking out into the living room to see the credits rolling at the end of my movie. "Dammit. I gotta check the TV guide to see when that's on again." I bite my fingernail and I feel my top raise. I smooth a hand over it and it drops. The moment I move my hand, it lifts again and I look down, watching Lindsey take the hem between his thumb and index fingers and tug upward, more violently this time. "What the hell are you doing, Lindsey?"

"They say seeing is believing, Steph. I want a peek."

"A peek of what?" I feel disgusted and violated.

"My baby. You say it's under there and I want to see."

"There's nothing to see." I tell him and he sits back in his chair.

"I knew you were lying."

"If you think I'm lying, fine." I cross my arms over my swollen chest.

"Take a test."

"Excuse me?"

"Pee on a stick. They have those neat ones that only take like ten minutes now."

"I will not."

"Then let me see."

I draw in a breath then exhale, lifting my pajama top for him. "There! Satisfied?" I toss it back down but he stops me.

"Oh my god! It's true, isn't it?"

"I told you."

"Can I...touch?"

"Have at it." I clasp my hands over the fabric, holding it up under my bust. He pokes my flesh at first and I wince. "Ow!"

"Sorry" I watch his eyes grow wide, his touch becoming more gentle. The coffee pot beeps and I move away from him, pouring him a generous cup. I don't bother with cream or sugar, hoping it will sober him up. If I could inject it directly into his veins, I would. He takes a sip automatically and curses as he burns himself. I smirk, getting some sort of sick enjoyment out of his injury. It's going to be a long night.