There is nothing to say about my dreams. And that, is the greatest lie I can tell.
The truth is, they're not dreams. They're nightmares. But they're good nightmares. Last night, we were whole again. Who's we, now that's the question, isn't it, Hamlet? I want to say that they terrify me, but that wouldn't be entirely true. No. They creep me out, and they make me happy at the same time, which of course means I get more crept out by the happy, and here I go on a dark Ferris wheel of stoned madness.
Nik says I can't try drugs, since we don't know what they would do to me, but sometimes, I wish I could. Maybe it'd give me a rest. Maybe for one night, I wouldn't thrash around like a fucking spinning dervish. Maybe for one night I'd be Cal, and just Cal.
In the dreams, I'm free. I don't have Nik to be my conscience. What scares me the most is that in the dreams, I'm glad of that. Truth is, I don't know what I'd do if something happened to Jiminny Cricket. I hope I never find out.
In the dreams, I walk into Tyffany's and hold them up. The clerk hurries about to give me all the diamonds he has, and the fat lady with the annoying mongrel of a pocket dog offers to write me a check. But in the dreams, I squash the little barking scratchy thing's head against a marble column, I shoot the begging and sputtering rich lady while the clerk pisses himself. And then I laugh, before I set the place on fire, and I don't even take the smallest little stone. It's glorious, and that's all I think as the place goes up in flames, but ten minutes later I'm bored again.
In the dreams, there's always a moment where steel comes along. It's not expected, it's not planned, but it's there and I know it's coming for me. In the dreams, the steel is like Damocles' sword, floating over me, but only I can see it. It's there and it's not there, and sometimes I think maybe I'm paranoid, because I did kill Nik, didn't I, and there's no one to stop me now, is there? I'm immortal and no-one can kill me, and I'll just have the run of the town until Kingdom come. Except for how I don't really give a shit about human gods. Lies and fairy tales, all of it.
And then it all comes spiraling, there's something about my stomach that hurts, so much, like a burning churning thing that tries to eat out my entrails, and I scream, I scream and I shake... and I open my eyes.
"Hey, hey, Grasshopper," he's shaking me, gently enough, and I open my eyes with horror and terror.
"Oh god, Nik." And then I break a little inside, because he's there, he's alive, and all I can think of is how I was happy that he was dead in the dream, and how I'm such a fucking monster.
"You were having a nightmare, Cal. This one sounded worse than the others."
"Caliban," I whispered, correcting him. Don't, don't, don't call me Cal. I'm a fucking monster.
He ignores that and goes to make breakfast, or something, I don't really care what it is, because all I know is that I want to be someone else, but I can't help looking at him, because oh, Christ, thank God Nik is alive.
"There was something in the park last night," Nik tells me. "We're leaving in two hours. Eat."
And I squirt a deep, red heap of ketchup on my eggs, and just look at them. Is it me, or does it look like blood dripping? But then Nik stares at me disapprovingly, and it's tomato sauce again, and I go on with my life.