The Dream
"Kent," someone says, poking me in the shoulder. "Kent, wake up. You have to drive me home."
I groan and throw my arm over my head, trying to block out the sound of the girl's voice. I don't know why I feel so tired; even opening my eyes feels impossible.
The person laughs and for some reason my heart constricts painfully in my chest. The sound is beautiful, but it hurts me. I don't know why.
"Kent! I really need to get home. My parent's will worry."
The voice is so familiar, the sound flowing through me like it's always been a part of me, wrapping itself around me like a melody to my favorite song. Still...something about it makes me want to cry. I peel my eyes open and come face to face with Sam. But's its not really her. I fell asleep at my desk on top of my sketch pad again. The picture's not quite finished, but the image is a black and white sketch of her mid laugh, her hair cascading around her face and down her shoulders. I run my fingers over it, touching it with a reverence I can't quite comprehend. However, my fingers cause the lines to smudge and I stare at it in vexation for a few moments before fumbling around for my eraser and pencils so I can correct the error.
"Hey! Are you even listening to me? And why do you need a picture when you've got the real thing right in front of you?" Even though she sounds indignant, she keeps her voice teasing.
I whip around in my chair, banging my knee on the edge of the desk in the process. "Ow," I say, but I barely feel the pain.
That's when I see Sam, sitting on my bed, smiling at me. I can't form any words so I just stare. She's so beautiful, but I can't shake the feeling that somethings off.
"Are you alright?" she asks, tilting her head to the side just a bit causing more hair to fall over her shoulder.
"You're here," is the only thing I manage to say, surprising myself.
"Of course I'm here, silly. Just like I've been here every day this week," she replies and I notice how her eyebrows pull together a little bit with concern. "Are you sure you're okay? Maybe the stress from applying to that art school really has made you lose your mind."
"Art school?"
"Kent, come on it's not funny," Sam says, but she laughs and I smile. Her laughter is the most amazing sound I've ever heard.
She stands up and comes over to me, leaning over me in my desk chair. Her face is inches from mind and I can smell the subtle hint of her perfume and the unique smell of her skin. I close my eyes and then immediately open them again, I don't know why but I don't want to miss anything.
"You really need to take me home though, I can't be late for curfew again or my parents will ground me," she says, her breath tickling my skin her lips inches from mine.
"If you had to leave so soon, why did you let me fall asleep?" I ask not wanting to end the moment, but she pulls back and stands up straight.
"You've looked so exhausted lately and I know you're stressed over hearing from that art school - even though you'll definitely get in - so I thought I'd let you sleep for a bit. Besides, I haven't been getting much studying done on these "study" dates and I had some stuff to catch up on."
Suddenly, everything starts to make sense. A couple weeks ago I spent nearly all my time compiling a portfolio to send to art schools all over the country. Well, almost all over the country, mostly anywhere that was close to a school that Sam had applied too. Of course Sam's here now, because Sam's my girlfriend and we've been having these "study" dates for weeks. I blame the strange lapse of memory on my mind, fuzzy from sleep and keep my eyes locked on Sam.
"Oh, you mean I haven't been an effective study partner?" I say, standing and wrapping my arm around her waist, pulling her to me.
"I believe you may be the worst study partner ever, Kent McFuller."
"Well, I think I can remedy that, Ms. Kingston."
Our lips are inches apart and she's pressed so close to me that I can feel the warmth radiating from her body into mine. I tangle my free hand into her hair and press my lips hard against hers. I stifle a groan as her body responds to mine, her lips part and the kiss deepens as she leans into me. She pulls away first.
"I really do need to get home..." she starts, her voice trailing off uncertainly, desire lighting up her eyes.
"Studying is going to run a little late tonight, there's a test tomorrow," I say, lightly kissing along her neck and jawline.
She shivers and I tighten my grip around her. "Tomorrow's sunday," she says, her voice breathy.
"It doesn't matter," I say, and unable to wait anymore, I kiss her on the lips again closing my eyes because I can't help it.
She doesn't protest and I feel her hands run up my back and then tangle in my hair. Her body is warm against mine, the feel of her drowning all my senses until it's nothing but her and the way she make's me feel exist in the world. I tighten my arm around her again, but there's no room for her to get any closer. I wish there was nothing between at all between us. Even the thin layers of our clothes seem like too much.
The kiss is all consuming, but something starts to break through the haze. Something I can't understand and though my mind keeps fumbling to grasp it, something else is desperately trying to keep it hidden. A type of desperation starts to fill me and I kiss Sam harder, needing to feel her against me, but there's nothing sexual about the feeling. It's more of a feeling that at any moment, Sam will disappear and I'll regret not holding her tight enough to save her. My kisses start to get frantic and I can sense her shock at the change, but she doesn't pull away. I run my hand up her back, surprised when my hand doesn't slide but meets resistance from the fabric. I pull away slightly, startled.
"Why are you clothes so wet?" I ask, noticing now that she's completely drenched, her clothes are clinging to her slim frame and her hair is hanging in thick, damp curls around her face. She looks pale and I can feel her shivering with cold. I can't make sense of it, but I try to warm her with my body heat.
"It was raining pretty bad outside," Sam replies. I wait for her to elaborate, but she doesn't. Instead, she presses her lips to mine with such force that I almost stumble. I return her kiss instantly, feeling the cold water from her clothes soaking my front and chilling skin. I ignore the sensation as a feeling of terror starts to constrict my chest. Sam's still in my arms, but I feel like she's becoming more fragile each second. Like I can't feel her against, like she's not really solid and is fading against me until I'll only be grasping at air. Her body is so cold against mine that I've started shivering, but I don't stop kissing her. Instead, I back up so I'm leaning against my desk, letting her lean farther into me.
"Sam, I need you," I whisper between kisses. "I love you. Promise you won't ever leave."
"I don't have much time, Kent," Sam replies, and the desperation and terror starts to consume me. Her voice sounds strange.
"What are you talking about?" I ask, breaking the kiss and opening my eyes.
I bite back a gasp when I see Sam's face. She's incredibly pale and her eyes looks to big for her face which seems a bit sunken in, making her cheeks look like hollows.
"Are you okay? Maybe you should just get dry and rest," I say, the words sounding strained and weak. My hearts beating so fast it's making me dizzy.
Sam just smiles and I see a thin trickle of red slide from the corner of her mouth down her chin. Her body feels like ice against mine. "It's okay, Kent. It was meant to be this way."
"What way? Sam, something isn't right here. We've got to fix this!" I'm practically shouting now and I vaguely notice that even though my arms are around her I can't feel her in my arms.
"There is not fixing this," Sam replies and this time her voice sound hollow and it sends chills throughout my body. I feel something warm running over my hands against Sam's back and against the ice of her body, it's so strange I jerk my hands away from her. When I pull my hands from behind her back I see there covered in thick dark blood. For a moment, I can't comprehend anything and then I jerk my head up and back to Sam whose standing a few feet away from me.
Blood soaks her shirt and drips down to the floor below her. Her hair is matted with it and a thin red lines run from the corners of her mouth. I stare in horror, unable to do anything. That's when the truth strikes me with all the force of a Mack truck. Sam's dead.
"No!" I shout, reaching for her. I can still save her, she's here now. I was just kissing her, I felt her in my arms. I can stop this. I can be her hero.
Instead, I trip. I lunge for her and I trip over nothing, falling flat on my face into the carpet of my bedroom floor, my hand grasping only air. I'm stunned for only a moment, before I regain my senses and scramble to my hands and knees. My head whips around the room so fast that I can barely make out anything, but I know one thing for sure. Sam's not here. There's not blood on the floor and my clothes aren't wet from holding her against me. All that in front of me is my sketchbook, open to the same black and white drawing of Sam. However, when I pull the sketchbook to me the picture doesn't look the same. The lines are smeared and blurred like it was left out in the rain and only small bits are clear and distinguishable. A few strand of hair, part of an eye, the curve of a jaw. I frantically scramble upwards, nearly knocking my desk into the wall with the force of slamming into it. I need to find my pencils. I'm overwhelmed with the need to correct the picture immediately.
I forage through all the drawers, yanking them open and slamming them shut when I can't find what I'm looking for. Eventually, I find a pencil buried in the back of a drawer and I desperately clasp it, nearly breaking the point when I slam it against the page. However, once I'm ready to start drawing my mind goes blank. I hold the pencil against the page, my arm shaking, but my hand steady. The picture was so clear in my mind before. Sam's face was so clear in my mind just a second ago. Why can't I draw her again? Why can't I remember the details of her face?
I start to panic and desperately try to sketch the outline of her face. Even using the blurred lines on the page, it doesn't look right. I can't remember Sam's face. Suddenly, bright lights blind me, causing me to drop the pencil and hold my hand up in an attempt to protect my eyes. The sound of car horns blaring fills breaks the silence and I flinch at the sudden, blaring noise. Then, everything goes dark and a hear a faint whisper under the noise, "It's not her fault." Sam's voice. I try to hold on to it, to pinpoint where it is in all the chaos, but I can't. I feel myself slipping farther away each second.
I open my eyes.
The car bounces and swerves causing my head to slam into the window, pulling me into alertness. Horns blare around us for a second longer before silencing and I can't figure out what's going on.
"Some people have no respect," my dad mutters, and I realize we're pulling into the parking lot of the reception hall which already has a good number of cars in it despite us being an hour early.
My dad catches my eyes in the rearview mirror, "Sorry, Kent. I didn't mean to wake you like that. I underestimated the car's turning radius in comparison to the curb."
I almost smile at that, my dad's brilliant in almost everything he does, but when it comes to judging space and distance he's horrible. Sometime's I'm surprised he even got a license.
"It's okay," I say, absentmindedly rubbing my head where a small bump has formed from hitting it against the window.
"Did you hit your head?" my mom asks, turning in her seat to glance back at me.
"I'm fine," I say again, looking away from her and back out the window. I can't help that the obvious concern and sympathy in her eyes is starting to wear on my nerves. I know she means well, but it's getting hard to take the pity and the being looked at like I'm so fragile the smallest pressure will break me.
As my dad searches for a parking space that he can get into without side-swiping another car, I think back on the dream. It's strange how it dances at the edge of my conscious, so clear, but so indistinct at the same time. It's already slipping away, and I close my eyes again, trying to relive the good parts so I won't forget them. Sam's face. I saw Sam's face again. I heard her voice and her laugh like she was right next to me again. I try to recapture the feeling of my hands in her hair and my lips on hers but it gets harder and harder as the seconds tick by. Instead, my brain dredges up the end of the dream. Sam's body cold and dripping wet with rain. Sam's hollow voice and the blood on on my hands, soaking through her clothes. Trying to redraw her portrait and not remembering all of her face.
I'm trying to hold onto the dream like it's a memory, but it's not. None of it was real, the good and the bad, but it still hurts. I almost wish I didn't have it. It feels like losing Sam all over again, but not in the same way I've been dealing with all week. This is much worse. I had her right there in front of me. I was holding her. Holding her. She was talking about colleges and the future like she had one. It feels like I failed her again. Once again, I wasn't good enough to be her hero. I wasn't enough to save her even in my own dreams. I expect the sadness to settle in, but instead all I feel is a bone deep emptiness. Like a part of me has been ripped away. I let my body sag against the doorframe, the moment bringing a thought to the forefront of my mind.
I'll never be the same.
"Kent, we're about to head in," my mother says, and I open my eyes.
"Okay," I reply, my voice sounding empty to my ears. I pull myself up, restringing each of my limbs one by one and open the car door. I step out into the annoyingly bright sunshine, that seems so out of place compared to the somber mood in my mind and face the building. This is it. Just one more thing to get through, before I can go back home and sort through every emotion and detail without being scrutinized. Or maybe I'll just sleep.
I take a deep breath, brace myself, and follow my parents up to the entrance of the building.