You Feel Like a Dream (18+)

Shambles

Oh, I was raging mad. My sleeves were wet, my arms covered with a burning sensation. That I headed into the bathroom, put down the cup, pushed up my sleeves gently to avoid discomfort anymore. I ran my arms under cold water. It lessens the sensation. But that was just the icing on the cake; I felt like everything could go wrong did. It didn't help that he was just Mr. Toughguy sitting on the couch. Pretending I wasn't here. I guess if I stayed upstairs and out of his view. He could go without my presence becoming annoying—the obnoxious school girl I was being treated like. I go into the wardrobe and see a cloth hamper filled with some of his clothes. I take everything in my luggage and shove it all too into the hamper. I carry it out into the hall down to the laundry room of a bathroom upstairs. I throw in the dirty clothes; I don't bother to sort. I turn the setting on cold, and I head back to the bedroom. I can hear him carrying on a conversation on his cell phone. I listen to him to mention Rafael several times. Then he was possibly speaking in French. And the rest was low, deep, and muttered. I stopped eavesdropping and carried my heart heavy in my hand, along with my soul; it felt like it had been crushed. What a stupid, moronic fucking bitch I am.

The bedroom drapery was all opened. Gray, darker gray, and low lighting whites filled the room. It's dreary, it's dark, and it's cold looking, but something about it is so cozy, so comfortable. I feel my heart getting heavy again. I lay on the bed, just exhausted, edgy, and cranky. There was going to be no reasoning with me either way. I gave into my anger; I took deep inhaling breaths. I let them out even more in-depth; I just concentrated on how my chest was squeezing. How lonely I felt, but alas, I fell sound asleep.

I woke up to Tom sitting on the lower end of the bed. I was drowsy and had a bit of a headache. When I saw him, I was instantly relieved, then it hit me. We had never resolved our issues. Fuck! I think to myself and bounce my head on the pillow. I lean up with my cheek on the palm of my hand, my elbow into the mattress. " What's up? What do you want?" I say to him with a bit of rudeness in my voice. I am a certifiably nasty, and he doesn't deserve it, but I didn't care at that moment.

  Along with him, there were a few black shopping bags near his feet. " I put the laundry in the dryer, any of your delicates I hung to dry." Is he serious? I thought to myself." Thank you," I said, still leaning my head on my palm. " Charlie's wife owns an elite clothing design company; she put somethings together with my request. She told me to tell you it's all mostly luxurious loungewear. Since she's survived many of these blizzards, I thought perhaps you'd enjoy them. Keep them, donate them, whatever you see fit. I forgot to give them to you last night."

  " What! How long have you been sitting there to tell me this? To shower me now with gifts, this seriously has to be a joke." I say with a kind of sociopathic laugh. " A bit, " He says in his joggers still, but now with a navy T-shirt. His arms look so sexy; his profile is gorgeous. I just want to lick his face, from the neck, chin to his cheekbones. Then I want to bite him cause I'm still so fucking confused. He places the bags 7, to be exact, on the bed in front of me. He says nothing, just watching me like I was a character in a Broadway show. Each item I took out of the bag wrapped creatively, and with care, how everything seemed to be my favorite colors, it felt like more of a coincidence then him remembering any or knowing this information about me. Any article of clothing was demure, dainty, and even sexy. There were warm clothing pieces, gorgeous thigh-high cable knit socks, slippers to match. I tried them on, and they were all perfect fit. A sensational robe, so soft to the touch it felt like a cotton ball. I rubbed it on my face—all these delicate fabrics. I always try to buy myself lovely and unique clothing. But these pieces were magnificent. A whole wardrobe of couture loungewear given to me by yours truly. He watched me intently as I opened each box, through the tissue paper that adorned the item inside. He never said a word. He was so serious and seemed preoccupied in thought. As if he wanted to say something mean or sarcastic and kept it to himself.