The Mysterious Case of Beverly O'Sullivan

August 15, 2011, 3:17 A.M.

My flat was dark, even with the stained glass lamp I had near my old green and blue-striped couch didn't give off much light. I turned on the ceiling fan light that hung in the center of the ceiling, and I set my grocery sack of dirty clothes by the closet that had a washer and dryer inside it. My flat still smelled like sweat, knock-out roses, and honey. The same sent that Beverly had. In my dreams, a strong smell of honey would come over me, and I would see Beverly standing either at the foot of my bed or sitting on my bed next to me. I'd gotten home later than I wanted, but it was only 2:45 once I'd taken my clothes off to shower as my Hi-Fi radio from 2008 played whatever CD was inside it. As I showered, I noticed something on my left leg. It was black and smelled like tar, but it was sleek like water. I then noticed it on my right hand as well as my left one. I rubbed my fingers with soap and asked myself, "What in the hell is this shit?" as I quickly turned off the water and reached for my towel once the substance came off my hands and leg. I almost fell out of the shower from the slick floor, but I noticed that some of it had dried under my fingernails. My nails were a little long, mostly because I didn't have any decent nail clippers (and I'm a lazy piece of shit), so I scraped whatever it was out of my nails and sniffed it. It was dried paint, spray paint. I didn't know how it got on me since I wore a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved, thick red jacket. I should've felt something, but nothing. I just shrugged it off and thought that it was from the fresh paint from the lamp posts that were being repainted. 

I dried off and put on my boxers as I tried to towel-dry my thick hair. But of course, the ends and top never dry, and I can't afford a nice hair dryer so I just make do with whatever. I turned off my bathroom light and went to my room to try and sleep. But the minute my head hit the pillow, I felt a strong aroma of honey fill the room. But the smell of earth and dust made my lungs struggle to exhale. I shot up in bed and saw the time; 3:17 A.M. "Shit, she's here," I said to myself as I looked around my room. But surprisingly, Beverly wasn't anywhere to be found. Until a dirty, pale, freckled, and slender hand grabbed onto my bathroom doorway and out walked Beverly. And she looked absolutely, fucking, awful. 

"B- Beverly? Are you okay?" I asked as I sat straight up to face her. The first thing I noticed was that she was missing her tank top, and her jean shorts were ripped on the hems and the bottom. Her legs were scarred and bruised, her arms were filthy with whatever shit was on them, but her face, her angelic face was what almost made me cry. And I never cry, not in my dreams at least. Beverly just simply looked up at me and said, "He did it again, but worse." "WHO!" I demanded as I jolted out of bed and ran to her. I lightly felt her left cheek and a few tear stains were under her long dark eyelashes. She looked at me with large, depressed and traumatized eyes, and said, "You have to find that out for yourself." Beverly's hair was growing out and upwards, so her hair was more fluffy and thick than the last time I'd seen her. I just stood in shock as she crossed her arms and tried to keep her pearl white bra from losing it's grip because one of the straps looked to be torn the hell apart. "Beverly, why did you show up?" I asked as I put my hands on her shoulders to draw her close to me. Beverly sighed and said, "Follow me and put some damn pants on, I can tell that you're into what I'm wearing, and yes, I have slight curves, but please, I was just beaten and nearly crushed. So stop being hard over my fucking bra straps." Embarrassed, I blushed and backed away from her and put on an old pair of flannel pants I had, and followed her outside as I grabbed my suede jacket from my couch. 

"So... that was awkward, and uh, sorry," I said. "What? You didn't expect me to be in a bra? My shirt was torn off of me, literally, Kristofferson," Beverly scorned as we walked down an alleyway. She only had on her white socks that had holes in them, and the cloth looked dirty on the bottom, so I felt bad for her. "Hey, uh, you want me to carry you? This is a dream after all," I offered as I took my hands out of my jackets pockets. Beverly shrugged and said, "I guess, just be gentle because I'm very sore all over." I nodded my head and picked her up as carefully as I could, but she ended up crying out in pain as I placed my hand on her left shoulder to hold her up. "Oh god, I'm sorry, Bev, how badly are you in pain right now?" I asked as I placed my hand on her left arm to keep her from falling. She looked up at me with tears of pain and agony in her teal eyes and said, "Kristofferson, if you thought your shoulder was pulled would you be crying in pain? I get that you're a sociopath but... don't you feel pain, at all?" I nodded as I carried her down the street and she directed me to where we were going. "I have," I said. "Heartbreak, my second girlfriends was my everything, but she was a junior and I was a senior. I was going off to college and she had one more year left. But you remind me of her sometimes. Your haircut was similar to hers, your style was similar, and you both had the same moon choker. But the things I have felt that I enjoyed was: buying clothes that I could feel comfortable in, not dealing with my mom, high school sex, and going to school, high. My friend Kenny was a pot smoker, he had a huge stash and let us use some as long as we paid him back."