Dreaming

Chapter Two

I wake up dizzy. It is night time to my relief, which meant I still had a few hours to sober up before my shift at work. I pat the bedside table in search of my phone to confirm the time, then sigh in frustration when I recall that I'd left it on the sofa.

I shove the blanket from myself and stand up, leaning on to the bedside table for support while I retrieve my balance. "Where are you going?" a voice calls from behind me.
"I left my phone in the-" I began.
Slowly, I release the bedside table, my eyes fixed on the door. I was not asleep. I was not paralysed. I was very much awake.
"What's wrong?" the voice whispers. It's a voice I know very well, stained with the same sweetness that had comforted me on many occasions.
I can feel my eyes welling with tears as past experience has told me not to look; it's not him. But it was different this time, was it not?
I took a deep breath and turned to face the bed. There he was, lying beneath the covers with his features lightly illuminated by the moon outside. He blinked slowly, as if fighting the urge to fall back to sleep. "Everything okay?" Will asks.
I nod.
He pats the bed beside him. "Then come back to bed."

Hesitantly, I clambered back beneath the covers with my eyes fixed on him as I stared in disbelief. This is a dream. Perhaps it was my subconscious' way of apologising for the torturous nightmares.
Regardless, I rested my head on the pillow. He was inches away from me, his eyes closing tiredly.
He patted the inches of space between us and outstretched his arm. It renders a heavy sob to form in my chest as I realise how much I had missed the smallest, most normal of gestures that I had barely acknowledged when he was here.
I shuffle closer to him and place my hand on his chest, half expecting to him disappear. I feel a deep warmth radiating from his skin, as if he had just stepped out of hot shower. "Go back to sleep," Will insists as he drapes an arm over me.
"I don't want to sleep," I whisper back.
"You have work tomorrow."
"Will, is this -"
"Shh," he interrupts with a soft squeeze. I can see the sky outside beginning to lighten; casting a soft blue haze through the room.
I attempt to fight back the sleep – or should I say the possibility of a transitioning dream, by forcing my eyes to stay open. Sadly, my determination was no match for his comfort and reluctantly, I began to drift.

~

I woke up hungover and alone. I was halfway decent for work when I took a seat on the bathroom floor and rolled myself into a ball. I lied down and stared at the grey tiles, playing over the dream again and again. I lied still, lifelessly; the pain beyond even crying. It was as if my body had reached its threshold and thought best to not respond at all.
I checked for any sign that it had been real, hoping by some miracle that it was. The pillow he had lied on showed no signs of caressing his head only hours ago. No stray hairs were left behind on the white sheets. And my phone was on charge on the bedside table, despite that I could have sworn I had left it in the living room.
Regardless of the hangover, I was relieved to have work that day. My hours were cut down to part time after Will's passing; my parent's idea. The three shifts a week were a welcomed distraction. My fingers, reacting from my excessive bleach use, were thankful for the break too.
But it seemed that day the distraction did not work, for there was a bigger distraction at play in my mind. I clicked through emails, barely scanning them, in a complete daze. Of course, the hangover did nothing to assist my productivity. On several occasions colleagues asked me if had completed a task for them.
"I'm just doing it now," I lied. Hours later and no confirmation of a completed task, I saw their disapproving glances over the cubicles. I ignored them, knowing they wouldn't say anything either. I thought I may as well take advantage of the perks that came with being a widow. So instead of completing my to-do list, I spent a significant time using the office computer for personal research.

'Dreams of dead husband meaning'

'Can my deceased husband be haunting me?'

I was surprised to find entire forums on the subject. Many other people claimed to have seen their dead spouses in their home. One woman wrote about seeing her husband who had passed away in his early thirties and to do this day, will frequently knock down the photographs of her current husband.
One man discusses his late wife appearing on the porch of their homestead beside a pile of folded laundry he had yet to take down.

Hours were spent reading through forums and videos. I had delved so deep into the topic that it wasn't until my manager had asked me if I was coming that I realised the entire office was gone. The time read quarter to seven in the evening.
"You can stay if you want, but you'll have to lock up."
"Oh, I'll just be a sec."
My manager nodded and gestured to the corridor where he would wait for me. I closed down the computer, gathered my things and followed him outside.
"Things are getting a bit busier around here," my manager commented as we made our way to the car park.
"Mhm," I hummed, my mind still in disbelief over the time.
As we approached our cars, I clicked unlock with the keys, illuminating the car park a bright red for two brief beats. My manager came to a halt and turned to me. "Have you considered returning to full time?"
I stopped and considered. It had been months and if it were up to me, I would have returned to full time work sooner. Yet I found myself unable to answer. Returning to normal seemed like a form of infidelity to Will. It would be like proving that I never needed him; that it was easy to leave him in my past and carry on as if nothing happened.
"I don't mean to make you uncomfortable or to push you. I can't imagine what you have been going through. Just something to think about." He gave me a half smile and turned away with a polite wave as he headed to his own car which sat alone several rows away.

Within minutes of my drive home, I had already forgotten about our conversation. Instead, my mind was occupied with today's findings. My hands were shaking and I was sure it was from excitement. For once, in a very long time, I was looking forward to going to sleep in the hopes I would hold Will again.

The stories shared online only led to me to believe that it really could be a possibility. Perhaps he had been trying to contact me this entire time? Perhaps I had been afraid of nothing?

I heated up a microwavable meal and scoffed it down. After showering, I immediately went to bed without bothering to dry my hair. It was only half past eight by this time, but I didn't care. The sooner I fall asleep, the better.

Unfortunately, my brain had yet to come on board with the plan. I lied still with my eyes closed, but sleep refused to take me. I checked the time and my heart sunk when I saw it to be nearly midnight. Defeated, I got up and went into the kitchen. Warm milk had a reputation of being able to induce sleep so I made a mug full, sculled it and returned to bed, ready to try again.

I lied on my back and stared up at the ceiling fan. I focussed on the transparent static that danced around the air in colour, making faint patterns in the dark. The longer I watched, the more prominent they appeared. They made trails around the fan blades in colours of red and green and blue. I followed them with my eyes as they danced across the ceiling, fluttering to the bedroom door and creating the shape of a figure. Then my eyes lost the static streams as my gaze remained on the dark figure behind the bedroom door.

"Will?" I whispered. I checked my fingers and then my limbs and felt relieved when they did in fact move. I sat up on the bed and watched the figure that was hidden in the shadow of the door. Slowly, the figure stepped closer and its silhouette was clear. I recognised the build, the shoulders and dishevelled hair. I gasped. "Will."
He took a step towards me so that he was towering over me beside the bed, centimetres away. I looked up at him and could only faintly see the glimmer of his eyes. Desperate to see him, I began to reach for the lamp on my bedside table when I felt his hand around mine. "Don't."
"I want to see you."
Will took my hand in both his hands, holding it in his palms while he stroked my skin. He felt warm. He felt alive. How could this be?
"I might disappear in the light," he whispered. "I waited so long for you to see me."
"I saw you last night," I whimper, bending my neck so I could kiss his hands.
Will sat beside me, tightening his hands around mine. "I know," he smiles. "Lie with me."
While holding my hands, Will adjusted himself so that he lied on his side, his gaze on mine. I follow suit, positioning myself on the pillow so that I could see him.
I feel his finger touch my cheek and brush away a tear that I hadn't noticed had fallen. "I'm sorry, Will. I'm so sorry."
"It's not your fault."
"It is. I could have tried harder."
He inhales deeply, as if my words carried a truth that he knew too. "So could have I."

Will releases my hands and takes me in his arms. He pulls me against his chest and I wrap my arms around his waist, pulling him as close to me as possible. I instantly feel a wave tiredness, as if the warm milk was coming in to affect and despite my reluctance to fall asleep now, slumber drags me.