Dreamland (BDSM)

Chapter One

Sometimes I wonder if our lives are meant to be.  Is there fate?  Are we destined to experience certain things, to meet certain people.  Is this random?

Today someone on the bus grabbed my arm to steady themselves and I immediately froze, every muscle in my body as his hand grasped around my bicep. His hand was gone almost as soon as it had arrived, but I couldn't stop my mind from flashing back, from reimagining the touch of his hand on me. His hand on my arm, my breast, around my throat. His finger prints as much a part of me as him, pressed into my skin so hard I will never be able to forget them. I turn the music feeding through my headphones up louder, to an almost deafening level. This makes it harder to think, harder to carry any train of thought. I close my eyes, rest my head back against the seat. Like this I can almost forget about all of the people around me.

I've stopped sleeping. My mind is plagued with him whenever I try to sleep. Instead, I run myself to the point of pure exhaustion, past the headaches and the blurry vision. I let myself get to the point where I think my entire body is going to cease to function. Only then do I allow myself to drift off, my mind so exhausted it doesn't have the energy to conjure up distorted memories of him. My mind punishes me more than he ever did. My mind plays me sweet shows of the two of us, happy. And then it takes all of that away once I wake up.

I sit outside of the therapist's office, impatiently tapping my fingers against the arm rest of the chair. It is mostly my fault, I arrived twenty minutes early, despite the fact I know his appointments tend to run long. I hear the door to his office open, a frail old woman exiting. Sirus stands in the doorway, his large frame taking up almost the entire doorway.

"Come on Grace, let's get this started."

I walk in, selecting my favorite arm chair in the corner of the room. I think I'm the only one that uses it. It is an awkward distance away from his chair, making it an odd choice for someone who wants to be within a socially respectable distance of the person they are talking to. It is settled in the corner of the room facing out, and it is just big enough that I can curl my entire body into it, feeling safe and secure in my own area. Si is used to this and he takes his typical spot and settles into his chair.

"Is there anything in particular you would like to talk about today?"

I shrug. I don't really feel like talking today, but I know that Si isn't going to let that pass.

"Fine, I can lead the conversation. How have you been sleeping? Any dreams lately."

I ponder his question, attempting to form an informed response.

"In the past week I have slept four times, and I only dreamt once."

I could him sigh at my answer, and I knew what he was going to say.

"Grace, we have talked about this before. You need to be getting better sleep. You said that the sedatives helped you before. Would you like to start using those again? I can write you a prescription."

I shook my head, adamant on this topic. I didn't want to be the zombie those pills transformed me into. They made my head foggy, making it hard for me to clearly think. They kept me from dreaming, but they also restricted me from living.

"They do help me sleep, but they are just temporary. The issue is that the dreams always seem to find a way in.  They make him seem so... perfect.  That is the part that I can't deal with, the part that I don't know if I will ever be able to deal with.  I can handle the fact that he hurt me, I can't handle the fact that I think he really truly loved me.  It's too fucked up for me to process.  I need to find a way to live with this, to live around everything that is in my head. I don't know how I am going to accomplish that, but drugging myself is just avoiding the issue."