Jumped in the river
Black-eyed angels swam with me
The moon pushed out an astral cloud
Of all the figures I used to see
All my loves were there with me
All the past, the future
We all went in a little ball
There was nothing to fear, nothing at all.
There was nothing to fear, nothing at all.
RADIOHEAD
Chapter 2November
19, 1997
4:13 am
I can't go back to sleep.
My stomach hurts, and I've got a migraine from hell, but I can't stop
smiling. I had a dream tonight.
It's ridiculous. I can't believe how ecstatic I am. It's just that
I haven't had a dream for four years. So I have to write it down. I
don't want it to be like so many other things that have been forgotten. I
don't trust my brain to keep it, but I doubt that I'll ever completely erase
the images, either. Still, while it's fresh…
I feel like I could burst. There's an odd humming, beneath my skin, in my
head. A pressure on my chest. I don't want to get my hopes up, but
maybe Missy was right all along. Maybe it will just come.
All this because of one dull dream.
And it really was dull. All black, blurry, as though I was underwater, with no
sounds. But there was this guy. I can't imagine that he could be someone
I had known; I've never seen someone so totally captivating. He looked so
familiar though, and I know this sounds weird, but he felt familiar,
too. It was like…almost like I was in his head, and he was in mine.
I heard a voice, but his mouth wasn't moving. He was saying my
name. The funny thing was that I knew his, too. And just like
everything about him, it was beautiful, because it was familiar.
Damon.
****
What a day.
Bonnie eased herself into the bathroom, gently pushing the door closed with her
weight. She didn't bother flipping on the light for the first minute,
allowing herself the time needed to let some of the tension that had been
building all evening melt away. Hearing the bouts of laughter mingled
with muffled good-byes coming from the living room wasn't helping.
She didn't know what was wrong with her, or why all her efforts to enjoy the
evening had been in vain. She had been genuinely looking forward to it,
knowing that Melissa had worked hard to ensure their last Thanksgiving together
would be special. She'd even convinced Stella Shapiro, who would rather die
than break a nail, to help her with dinner. Amazingly, the bubbly blonde
had a knack for baking.
She drew herself up, searching blindly for the light switch and squinting at
the sudden fluorescent glow that illuminated her surroundings. She
avoided looking in the stylish oval mirror situated over the sink, instead
turning on the faucet and plugging the drain. Quickly, she cupped her
hands under the cool stream, splashing her face and taking a few deep
breaths. Watching the bowl slowly fill, she noted the subtle twitching of
her hands and cursed quietly, clutching the rim of the sink until her knuckles
were white.
"Get a grip, Bonnie," she muttered, ignoring the droplets of water
falling from her chin as she lifted her gaze to her reflection.
She felt like she was losing her mind. It had only been a week since the
dream, since she'd first woke with images still floating in front of her, but
it felt like an eternity. And now, it was like everything was a dream;
she found herself hearing things, seeing things that weren't there, feeling as
though someone was watching her…and she wondered whether she was doing the
right thing.
Staring back the image that greeted her, she was surprised to see how
completely normal she looked, her long loose curls piled high upon her head and
held with a clip, her complexion fair and dotted with faint freckles, her big
brown eyes a little dazed, but lacking the dark circles that she was used to
seeing. She moved her head from side to side, as though looking for something
that wasn't there, supporting her weight on the edge of the sink as she leaned
in closer, until her nose was nearly touching the glass, tiny mists forming
with every exhale.
"You know what you need?" she whispered conspiratorially to the
fragile girl staring back at her. "A drink."
A sadness crept into those eyes, a fleeting smile, and she sighed. Never
again, she admonished silently, losing herself in the depths of her own gaze,
the sounds of the water running slowly fading away. She became aware of a
low hum, drowning out everything else, her vision blurring and filling with a
blackness that crept in from the periphery, and in that instant, she had the
oddest sensation that she was staring back at someone else, someone who had the
darkest eyes she'd ever seen…
"Earth to Bonnie…."
She blinked, the voice of one of her roommates drawing her from her trance, and
she was suddenly aware that the water was still running, tiny rivulets spilling
over the porcelain bowl and dripping onto the floor, forming puddles on the
checkered tiles.
"Oh, shit," she muttered, reflexively turning off the tap
before fetching a towel from the rack over the toilet. Balancing her
weight on her heels, she began mopping up the mess, somewhat flustered by her
behavior. She sensed someone kneeling beside her, and cringed, already
formulating an adequate white lie to explain everything away.
"Bonnie, are you okay?"
Definitely the $64,000 question of late. Even she didn't know the
answer. She cast a reassuring glance in Rachel's direction, offering a
small smile as she stood, busying herself with tidying the mess she'd made.
"I mean," the taller girl added hastily, her blue eyes widening
somewhat, her Southern drawl tainting every word, "you seemed kinda out of
it during dinner."
Bonnie sighed, her shoulders falling slightly as she watched the last of the
water swirl and disappear down the drain. She wondered then why she'd
never been a closer friend with Rachel Summers, with her mellow personality and
dry wit that never failed to get a laugh. Bonnie had always admired her
beauty, so different from anyone else, with her cropped, spiky black hair, fair
skin, intimidating height and bright blue eyes. It would be so easy to
open up to her, to tell her the truth for once, but she also knew that the
fewer people who knew about her history, the better. The last thing she
wanted was pity.
"I'm fine, Rae. Just a little tired," she replied, keeping her
back turned. She'd always been a rotten liar, in spite of all the
practice she was getting.
She sensed Rachel's hesitation and awaited another pointed question, but was
instead saved by the sound of Melissa's voice calling from somewhere in the
apartment.
"Rachel, you're supposed to help with the dishes, since you didn't
cook."
The dark-haired girl groaned, and Bonnie smiled, more from relief than
amusement, as Rachel slinked from the doorway, peeking around the jamb to add,
"You know, if you need anything…"
Bonnie shook her head, waving her away dismissively as she tossed the towel
she'd used into the hamper by the sink. "I know. Really,
Rae. I'm fine."
Rachel smiled amiably, apparently satisfied, and backed into the hallway.
It wasn't a minute later that Melissa made an appearance, a knowing frown upon
her face, dark brown eyes summing her up from beneath long lashes.
Leaning upon the doorframe, she brushed chestnut tresses behind her ear before
crossing her arms stoically. Bonnie knew that look all too well.
She wouldn't be as easy to put off as Rachel. Then again, Melissa knew
too much to be had.
With a sigh of resignation, Bonnie plopped down on the toilet seat, propping
her elbows on her knees and cradling her chin in her hands. Melissa took
that as a silent cue, stepping into the bathroom and closing the door softly
behind her.
"Alright, chick. Spill. You've been acting funny all
week." She pulled the hamper over so that she could sit facing
Bonnie, straddling the whicker accessory while she spoke. "And
what's the deal, giving Jack the cold shoulder? You know he's got it bad
for you."
Jack was Melissa's twin brother, and just as gorgeous as Melissa was
rambunctious. Both had the same color hair and eyes, but while Melissa
was delicate in frame and countenance, Jack was the complete opposite, with
strong, chiseled features, broad shoulders, and a body that was all long, lean
muscle. Both Rachel and Stella had practically begged to be hooked up,
but it was Bonnie who had unknowingly caught his eye during their sophomore
year, when she'd tutored him in calculus. In spite of his best efforts,
she'd managed to avoid a date since then.
Bonnie didn't bother with skirting the issue, knowing all too well where
Melissa's prodding would eventually lead. She opened her mouth to speak,
but was interrupted by Melissa's voice, calm and quiet.
"I'm just gonna ask, straight out, because I just really need to know,
Bon."
Bonnie's gaze flickered upwards, the seriousness of her friend's tone piquing
her curiosity. Melissa wasn't looking at her, but at the lid of the
hamper, one finger tracing the weave vaguely.
"You haven't started again, have you?"
Bonnie frowned, sitting up slightly, uncertain of her implications.
"Started? Started what?"
The words had left her mouth before she realized exactly what Melissa was asking.
Suddenly all too aware, she scoffed, cursing under her breath and turning her
head away, the initial hurt giving way to anger. From behind, she heard
Melissa shift uneasily on the hamper.
"Bonnie, can you blame me? You've been a thousand miles away today,
and you were shaking so bad at dinner, even Rachel noticed-"
"Shut up, Missy."
Melissa fell silent at the sound of Bonnie's voice, an angry hiss that left no
room for argument. She bowed her head, instantly regretting having voiced
her assumptions, regardless of whether she'd had good reason.
"You know, you haven't exactly been the poster child for sobriety. Dammit."
Bonnie stood, pressing her palms against her eyes in agitation, keeping her
back to Melissa. "I can't fucking believe this."
"Bonnie--"
She spun, glaring down on Melissa, her fists balling at her sides to hide the
fact that she was indeed shaking, although it was for an entirely different
reason. "So that's what this was all about?" she demanded,
gesturing with a jerky sweep of her arm. "The Thanksgiving dinner,
all the sentimental bullshit, inviting Jack and his friends over…"
Melissa was shaking her head, holding her hands up defensively, her eyes
pleading. "Bonnie, God, no, it was nothing like that…I-"
"You know, why the hell should I tell you anything? You're just
going to assume the worst anyway. Bonnie didn't feel like flirting with
Jack for once, so she's just got to be on something…"
"Bon, stop, please," Melissa interrupted, her voice small and
tremulous. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"She fell silent
under the weight of Bonnie's scrutiny, tears stinging the backs of her eyes.
Bonnie suppressed the urge to say anything more, again turning away, this time
to lean against the wall, her forehead touching the cool plaster. She
took a few deep breaths, having surprised herself by her outburst, but not
rueful in the least. She was tired of being treated like a child instead
of a friend, though she knew, in her case, drawing a line between the two was
sometimes hard.
For nearly a year, Bonnie had been slowly destroying herself with alcohol,
along with various other party "favors". She'd been feeling
vulnerable, isolated, unable to withstand the self-inflicted loneliness from
being too ashamed to tell anyone else about her amnesia. It had been
Melissa who'd been the only one to play witness to the hazards of her excesses,
covering for her when she was too blitzed to go to class, making excuses when
her behavior got out of hand. A bad experience with ecstasy over the
summer had finally forced Bonnie to take control. She'd told Melissa
everything, and in the process, had acquired an invaluable ally in her efforts
to remain hopeful--and clean.
She was faintly aware of shuffling, opening her eyes to glance sidelong at
Melissa, who had replaced the hamper and was turning to leave. Sighing
resolutely, she cleared her throat, causing Melissa to pause in her retreat.
"I stopped taking my meds."
The silence that followed was almost palpable. Neither one moved for
countless moments, until, at last, Melissa canted her head to the side,
speaking over her shoulder softly.
"Why? Are you…Do you think that's a good idea?"
Though she knew Melissa couldn't see it, she shrugged, pushing away from the
wall and reclaiming her seat on the edge of the toilet seat. "I had
a dream the other night. The first I've had in a very long time.
I'd forgotten to take my medication before going to bed."
Melissa turned a little more, looking down at Bonnie curiously. "And
you thought that it had something to do with your dream?"
Again, another shrug. "I've never forgotten them before. I
don't like…forgetting things." There was a distinctive pause before
she continued. "So, I decided to go without them for a day. To
see if I had another dream."
Running a hand through her hair, Melissa squatted down, one hand on the sink to
steady her. "And?"
"I did. A longer one. Clearer."
"I don't understand, Bon. What's so great about these dreams to make
you stop taking your meds?" Melissa leaned forward, attempting to
look Bonnie in the eye. "Isn't that a little, I don't
know…dangerous?"
Bonnie rolled her eyes, a wry smirk lifting the corners of her mouth, covering
her insecurity with nonchalance. "God, Missy, I don't even know what the
hell those things are really for, anyway. I'm only taking them because my
parents told me I had to. I never thought to question their judgment, you
know, given the circumstances."
Melissa found that revelation somewhat disturbing, but deciding against
commenting on it. She'd already crossed the line once that evening.
"Still, what's with these dreams?"
Bonnie sat up slowly, reclining against the back of the toilet, her trembling
hands fidgeting in her lap. She was somewhat uneasy about divulging
anything more, but knew what suffering in silence had done to her in the
past. Still, some things were better left unsaid, at least until she was
a little more certain, so she decided against telling her about her
"visions".
Taking a break from biting on her bottom lip, she murmured, "I don't think
they're dreams."
She shifted her gaze to Melissa's, the solemnity in her gaze punctuating
the gravity of her words. Her friend tilted her head slightly, as though
trying to predict the current train of thought without much success. When
she didn't say anything, Bonnie averted her focus to her denim-clad lap,
splaying her unsteady hands upon her thighs.
"I think they're memories."
****
November 30, 1997
2:27 am
He tells me not to be afraid. That I'm strong, stronger than I think I
am. I can tell he's happy, though I'm not entirely sure why. He
reached out to me tonight, but I couldn't move, even though I wanted to touch
him so badly. "In time," he said. If only I knew what
that meant.
He's part of what I've been missing. The buzzing in the back of my mind,
the dark shadow lingering. I still haven't figured out who he is, or how
I know him, or why it is that he's so important. I've looked through all
the pictures that Mom sent me, through my yearbook…he's not there. But
that doesn't matter.
I know he's real. Even more real to me than all those other faces in my
head. He seems so close in my dreams. Sometimes, when I wake up, I
can still smell him.
The semester will be over in two weeks. Maybe I'll find something out
when I go home. Somehow…I have this strange feeling Mom and Dad won't be
as happy as I am. It makes me wonder.
I don't know. I'm tired. For once, that's a good thing.
