All our lives

Chapter 10

There he was again, lying on a hotel bed, soaked in whiskey, hoping those little gestures involving that strange object on his wrist would work their magic again and allow him to manipulate that dream as he wished. Because now he did have a master plan, one that absolutely excited him and made him feel like he was about to go up on a stage after a long, long time. If he hadn't been lying on his back, he would have jumped on the balls of his feet, fueled by adrenaline and anticipation. Mentally, that was what he was doing. He took a deep breath, trying to lower his pulse. He had to calm himself down, otherwise he would not fall asleep soon. And he needed that. He needed to fall asleep fast and deep.

At 41000 feet up in the air, he had realized he would not change the outcome of that dream if he didn't leave some instructions for himself to follow later. He thought he had found out how he could do that and he was so eager to see if it worked that when the familiar darkness surrounded him, he couldn't wait for his senses to settle in.

"Come on, faster, faster!", he muttered impatiently.

"Man, stop waving your arms like that! You missed my face by an inch!"

He let his arms drop, or what he felt from his half-incarnated arms, and turned to where the voice had come from. A foot on his toes and a bump in his shoulder followed his move and then Richie's annoyed voice was heard once again.

"Why the hell did you stop in the middle of the hallway? And without any warning!"

"I..." he froze. Come on, how long did it take for his eyes to see already?

"Did you forget something?"

"No..." he whispered.

"Then move! I'm fucking tired and I really need to lie down."

Blurry shapes started to loom and he was able to go inside the room without further incidents. By the time Richie was plunging onto the bed, his vision was entirely in place.

"God, I can't wait to go..."

"Yeah, yeah, home," he said quickly. "You've said Hawaii wrong," he mumbled half-buried into the minibar. Weird. He had imagined that it was enough to wish for something to materialize, but as it turned out no bottle of vodka had miraculously appeared. He inventoried the contents of the minibar and decided it was insufficient for what he had in mind. "Don't go anywhere! I'll be right back!" he said to Rich and stormed out the door before the other man had the chance to say anything. He didn't know if this dream would collapse or not once he was outside the room, but he had to try. What did he have to lose anyway? He had seen the worst-case scenario twice already. What else could happen? Provoke his friend a more excruciating death? The result was the same in the end.

The surroundings didn't crumble once he was in the hallway, moreover, it seemed he was very good at building a realistic decor. He didn't know from what corner of his mind he had come up with all those details and he didn't care that much. The hotel looked real enough - maybe because he had seen so many in his life - the bar looked real and the bartender gave him a bottle of vodka that smelled and tasted more than authentic.

Could you get drunk in a dream? He was about to find out, although, to be fair, he was drunk since the moment he had lain on the bed. He didn't have time to question who was actually getting wasted that night, all he knew was that was the perfect excuse for that version of him to feel confused the next day when he would not remember a fucking thing from this night. He was sure those short moments on which he was gaining control over the past Jon provoked some kind of blackout for him, so his plan was to leave precious information about what to do in the future and give himself a reason for not having the slightest idea about it. If it came from himself, even a drunk himself, chances were he would follow the instructions.