Land Of Confusion

Chapter 1: Picture Perfect

Carol spreads a blanket down on the near-new wood floor of the living room in the house she has decided to stay in for the night. The house is nice, cozy, a two-story meant for a family of four and their beloved pets to make a life in; the epitome of the American dream. This is the kind of house Carol had always wanted, and maybe that's why she had decided to camp here for the night.

Often times in the past she would dream about a house just like this, one with a white exterior and soft red trim, the front door a vibrant scarlet to ensure passion and luck, every room a different color. She always pictured Sophia's room in lavender rather than pink, maybe even baby blue like the child's eyes; her own room she would want in dandelion yellow, something that matched the sunlight and reflected it back, that made the space seem open and warm and inviting.

She thinks about these things now as she settles down for the night, because she can't bear to think about why she is here in the first place. In her mind's eye she is with Sophia and Daryl, a dog running around the backyard after a ball, a cat perched on the window sill she can still see from where she lays on the floor. Sophia is working on homework at the kitchen table, eating a peanut butter and strawberry jelly sandwich, maybe toying with a lock of hair. Daryl is in the garage, working on his bike, maybe checking on the family car while he's out there. And she is sitting on the sofa in the living room, a glass of iced tea cupped between her palms as she flips through the TV channels aimlessly, paying more attention to the cat and shining light of the sun outside than to the television.

In Carol's imagination she is married to Daryl, not Ed, because over the course of their time together she has come to love him more than she has ever loved anyone else, aside from Sophia. Ed was a monster, was someone not even worthy of the title of "man", but Daryl is an angel, a hero, a man of honor and valor and virtue; and the fact that he's devilishly handsome is just a bonus. She misses him more than anyone else back at that prison, misses him so much a dull ache has begun to grow in her chest and she must clutch at her torso and curl in on herself to keep the tears and the pain at bay.

Her head slips off of its perch on her pack, thudding dully against the floor, and that somehow snaps her back to reality, back to the gravity of her situation. She blinks open her eyes and scans what she can easily see from her position. Darkness is all that greets her, along with the moon's gentle white light filtering in from the windows. However, the light of the moon isn't much to see by, and she is stuck grasping at shadows.

She turns onto her back, trying to spread out, and vaguely wonders why she didn't just sleep on the couch or in the beds upstairs. She thinks it has something to do with not wanting to ruin the pristine mirage this house has presented, the fantasy it is allowing her to wallow in. But her back is sore, and her head needs a real pillow, so she gathers up her things and clumsily makes her way up the stairs to the master bedroom.

The bed is a little dusty, and she opts to cover it with her own large blanket, but its cushiness is the best thing she's felt against her body in a long time. She quickly falls asleep, sinking deeper into the mattress with every slow and steady breath.

In her dreams she sees the same scene that her imagination had created, but now it is allowed to fully play out.

Daryl comes in from the garage, wiping his hands on a spare rag, his hair falling into his face. Every time he walks into a room he takes Carol's breath away, even though she has seen him a hundred times before this; now is no exception, and she nearly leaps up from the couch and runs to his side. She calms herself, forces herself to behave normally, and lithely walks over to him.

"How's the bike?" She asks, reaching up with her free hand to brush his bangs out of his eyes.

Daryl smiles at her touch, damn near leaning into it now that he is so used to it, used to her, used to them being together. "Still kickin', just like always."

There is nothing left to say, but they are not uncomfortable with the silence. They stand there a moment, simply staring at each other like they're the ninth and tenth wonders of the world, their eyes locked in their own silent communication that needs no words or sounds to still be understood.

And then Carol pushes up on her toes and lightly presses her lips to Daryl's. He responds immediately, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her close as he parts his lips. He presses back against her, in every way possible, and their mouths mold together, one fluid being born of love and adoration and maybe just a little bit of lust.

"Ew, guys, do that somewhere else!" Sophia's playful, high-pitched squeal breaks the couple apart, both of them laughing at her distaste for their displays of affection.

Daryl walks over and ruffles her hair. "Sorry 'bout that, kiddo."

"How about you go finish your homework in your room, sweetie? I want to talk to Daryl about something." Carol places a kind hand on her daughter's shoulder, gives her a smile, and the child obeys without complaint.

As soon as Sophia's bedroom door closes the couple move together again, slowly undoing buttons and removing clothes and kissing each other tenderly. Carol sighs and Daryl groans, and before long those sounds turn into quiet whimpers and muffled moans and murmured words of love.

Carol wakes in the morning with tear-filled eyes and a small smile on her face, glad that she could dream of something so beautiful, depressed because it will never be real.