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She has the same dream
every night. It starts with
falling followed by water.
Eons of water soaking through
her pores and invading her
bloodstream, quickly overpowering
her. It burns her eyes, creating
acidic juices to replace her
irises. She doesn't panic yet.
For now she is floating, letting
her lithe figure be pulled and
pushed, tugged and released. She is
powerless and surprisingly
comfortable with it.
This is the part where she begins
to panic.
Something grabs her heel and
yanks her away from the surface.
She hears laughter and smiles
and happiness but realizes they
are fading and darkness is creeping
towards her, poking her sides with
its talons and misogynistic grins.
She tries to reach out and latch
onto something but
there is nothing but water and she's
not sure how much more she can take.
She looks at her attacker and gasps.
Waves of red tresses and blueberry
pupils greet her, paired with a flippant
tail which is increasing speed. No, no!
She wakes with a start, salt water
running from her forehead down
her neck over her heaving chest. The
water from her dream is escaping,
leaking from every possible pore,
including her eyes. She is panting,
gasping, grasping onto his arm, praying
to whatever demented deity in the cosmos
to let her husband awaken to calm her
fears. Alas, he is a heavy sleeper and
doesn't stir other than to tighten his
grip around her waist and hide away in
her mahogany strands. He is a comfort
in the day, despite his brash nature. Despite
their constant badgering she loves him,
she does. It is because she loves him she
does not tell him of her dreams, of the
girl with the red hair and scales. She does
not tell him of the tentacles
she left behind. It is safer that she stays a
mystery to him. Or so she tells herself.
She runs her hands over
his rippling pectorals and sighs softly,
calming her erratic heartbeat to a steady
thumping that rings in her ears like the
ocean waves. She loves him, she does.
She just doesn't know how long she
can keep up the charade before he realizes
she is not an immovable rock, that she
needs protection, reassurance. He sighs her
name, her mortal name,
in his sleep and she smiles briefly,
remembering her ocean name and how
it created tidal waves and destroyed dreams.
Such easy days they were.
She comes to a spontaneous, sensible decision.
Tomorrow she will tell him of her dreams.
Tomorrow she will confess her demons,
she will inform him of her wickedness and
her fears. Tomorrow she will prove herself
wrong. She will prove she can do something
right, starting with being honest
with the man she married.