The Ill-fated Lovers

Chapter 1

The room smelled of antiseptic liquids and paper. Julia sat across from me with a note pad atop her crossed legs. Her glasses rested at the tip of her nose as she looked at me from above them.

She massaged her temples with her middle and index fingers. Her mouth opening and closing indicating that she was at a loss for words. I've been through this so many times. People giving me the 'you belong in a mental institution look'. "So it's the same nightmare over and over?" She inquired, putting her pencil to the notepad. For all, I could have known she was busy writing down her grocery list.

"Not precisely the same dream but the theme is one that remains. I'm always being killed whether it be by poison, strangulation, suffocation," Julia arched an eyebrow at my morbidness and I smiled sheepishly.

"Well you get it," I said tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

"Do you have any traumatic childhood experiences?"

"No. My childhood was perfect. Great parents. White picket fence, siblings, and a best friend next door."

"Hmm," she scrunched her eyebrows. The corner of her lip dropping. "And in this dream do you have an idea of who the person in the dream murdering you is?"

"I don't know," I put my face in my hands. "There is someone else. I never see his face or maybe I do and can't remember in the morning-"

"Yes we can't remember everything we dream about," she interrupted. "Sorry continue." She went back to writing in her notepad.

"Whenever this man appears in the dream I die. He's not the one killing me but he's always there just before I die and I feel somehow connected to him... like he is important to me." I wasn't about to admit that I was in love with some man from my dreams then I'd sound like a total loon and not just half a loon.

The dreams were getting to me and becoming more vivid as the days went by. The first time I got the dream I googled what it could have meant and got an answer like it's the old me dying and change. But it's still me nothing changed.

The dreams started coming in my first year of university. It's been plaguing me for four years. Every time I fall asleep whether it be a nap or deep sleep.

"I would suggest you keep a dream journal from now on. I can provide you with some medication but I would prefer if you tried meditation or stress-relieving exercises before you sleep. Also, limit your screen time." She tore the page of her notepad and handed it to me.

I already had a dream journal. I was a writer so of course, I was crazy enough to write down my horrific dreams. I stood up and slung my backpack over my shoulder as I read over the notes.

Drink water before bed.
Avoid sugary treats before bed.
Limit screen time.
Keep a dream journal.

"Thank you, Doctor." I exited the office and took the elevator down to the building's ground floor. This had been my sixth therapist in three years. At least she wasn't eager to stuff some pills down my throat.

The security guard opened the door for me and I walked out of the building. I needed to look for a job. Being a college graduate sucked. No one wanted to take a chance on a rookie.

If only it were possible to live without Doritos and coke.

I walked past a clothing store and saw a sign in the window. I got close to the window to read the requirements and then I suddenly felt something wet hit my dry scalp. I looked up to see a pigeon's ass sticking off the building. "Ah, come on!" I shouted and the thing flew away. "Thanks, thanks a lot. Damn asshole."