At least twenty minutes have gone by and Jameson still has not come to bed. My eyes are getting heavy. I’m not going to be able to stay up much longer. I recount the moment again in my head – 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1… HAPPY NEW YEAR! I turn and she pulls him away. Devastation fills my heart.
I continue to toss and turn in bed for what feels like forever. My head is throbbing with pain from replaying the night over in my head, wondering where Jameson is and what he’s doing but I’m too chicken shit to venture out of the bedroom to find him for fear of running in to Marcie. It would be messy if I did. I would scream at her. I would yell at her. I might even slap her across the face; but I won’t. I don’t want to add any more frustration to what Jameson already has to deal with.
Maybe if I close my eyes the pain in my head will lessen. Maybe it will lessen the pain in my heart too. I can only hope.
I’m feeling sleepy now.
MY CHEST FEELS TIGHT. I can’t breathe. There’s something tight around my neck. I open my eyes and its Marcie. She’s choking me. Her eyes are small and beady. Her eyebrows are furrowed with rage. Her lips are tight, thin with magenta lipstick. I can barely see the whites of her teeth. She has me pushed up against a wall. My feet are dangling and kicking back and forth. My hands are on her arms trying to pull her hands off of me. Where is her strength coming from? How can she be lifting me up off of the ground like that? Her arms are shaking. Her breathing is coming in short strong bursts now to the point that she is almost spitting on me. I can feel the wet speckles on my face. Before I can attempt to wipe my face of she lets go. I’m falling – and falling – and falling…
I dart up from the bed, my hands at my sides holding me in place. My chest is rising and falling at an insane speed. It was just a dream.
“Babe, you okay? Did you have a nightmare?” He’s right. A nightmare, not a dream.
There’s sweat on my face. That’s what I thought was Marcie’s spit. I could feel it. In a knee jerk reaction, I hop out of the bed and go to his bureau mirror and look at my neck. There’s no bruising or redness. Phew! It was just a dream. No, a nightmare. This whole situation is a nightmare.
“Babe. What the hell happened?” He asks again.
I walk back to the bed, climbing back in – cautious not to sit too close to him. Why? I’m not sure.
“Jameson, what took you so long coming to bed last night? I tossed and turned for what felt like forever waiting for you. I had a headache. I closed my eyes for comfort but ended up falling asleep.”
He reaches out and pulls me close to him and lays us back down on to the bed. The feeling of his body close to mine immediately soothes me. The tingles that run through me as he runs his fingers up and down my arms bring peace to my mind.
“I’m sorry. I had a lot to think about. The whole thing with my mom hugging me at midnight – I didn’t even realize it was happening until it was too late. I feel horrible. Bevan pretty much slapped me upside the head. Told me I need to put my mom in check or else I’m only going to have myself to blame if you walk out on me.”
I snap my head to him knowing I never said that. He can see in my eyes what I’m thinking.
“Relax. I know you didn’t say that. And he didn’t say that either. He was just insinuating that things are just going to get worse. He reminded me of all my other failed relationships and what the cause of them were. Your nightmare. Was it about last night?”
I want to tell him but I’m scared. Scared he’ll be mad at me. Scared he’ll think it will push me to leave him. Scared of the unknown.
“Yes.” I say quietly, not able to make eye contact.
He lets out a huge sigh, rolls me out of our embrace on to his back, staring blankly at the ceiling. I immediately get pissed at myself for telling the truth. Look at him, I tell myself. He just woke up and is already irritated. I did that. I opened my big fucking mouth. I roll away from him so he can’t see the tears starting to burn my eyes. My chest is tightening again. I squeeze my eyes shut to stop the burn of the tears coming.
“Hey, get back over here. That wasn’t me being mad at you, rolling over like that. That was me being mad at myself.”
I’m confused. Why is he mad at himself? He didn’t do anything wrong.
“I had a dream… a nightmare… whatever you want to call it. Your mom was strangling me.”
He lets out another huge sigh. I feel one hundred times worse admitting it out loud. I’m not sure why, probably my guilt for adding shit to his plate he doesn’t need. We lay in bed for about forty-five minutes nodding off and on, cuddling and holding each other tight but no words spoken. I heard a door close and a then a lock. I turn around to look at Jameson.