The cool autumn breeze traveled over her body while the sun shone down on her. A perfect combination, making her not too hot nor too cold. Opening her eyes, Gretchen smiled. She lay in a grassy meadow. Her dream meadow: Friendly, comfortable, relaxing. It was about time she was back in her meadow. And it wasn't night. That was pleasant.
"I've missed you," she whispered.
She let out a sigh, stretching out. She never liked the city. Moving to Chicago wasn't exactly planned. It was just the first city that popped into her head when she said she was moving out. But, she always planned on moving to the country eventually.
Now, in a strange sort of way, she was living out in the country. Or so, she assumed. The brief glimpses she got of the outside didn't show any houses or even a road.
She stretched her hand up, pointing her fingers towards the sky. How could she convince Michael to let her out? Even if it was under his supervision. She snorted. Supervision? Gods, she needed to start being more assertive with him. But, each time he was around her she lost herself. All her plans disappeared from her mind as she waited to see what he would do.
Her heart picked up its beat. She felt giddy, excited, and a little bit horny. She groaned, cupping her face with her hands; horny for a serial killer. That thought would probably never go away, or the guilt of the whole situation, for that matter. With a little sigh of annoyance, she ran her hand down her dress, rubbing her vulva over the fabric.
Fuck it. He decided to be an asshole, kiss her so sweetly only to leave her hanging. She'd take care of herself. She hummed, rubbing her legs together while closing her eyes. Relax, enjoy the meadow and breeze. For once, no nightmare. She took in a deep breath and let it out.
A hand brushed across her cheek, startling her. Her eyes snapped open and she jerked her hand off her vulva. Her cheeks felt red as the blood rushed up to them. She shouldn't have been embarrassed, she was in a dream after all, but she felt it.
"I," she stammered, turning her body to face the man. Piercing blue eyes, brown hair, and a face that only her dream brain knew. "Michael," she whispered, reaching her hand out to stroke his face. She loved the feel of his rough stubble on her fingertips.
He lay on his side, gazing at her. One hand propped up his head, while the other moved along her body. The good kind of chills ran through her. Clearly, her mind was frustrated with the way real Michael had left things and decided to dream up something steamy and fun.
He quirked an amused smile at her and pushed her back onto the soft grass. She giggled, wrapping her arms around his neck while he leaned in to kiss her, maneuvering his body between her legs.
One of his hands went under her dress, pushing the skirt up as he moved his palm along her leg. She moaned. Her skin raised in anticipation. Moving her hands from his neck, she felt his bare firm chest, running her fingers through his chest hair. He was only wearing pants, but they weren't going to stay on long.
"Michael," she breathed before his mouth was on hers again. His body grinded against hers and she couldn't help but do the same, enjoying the feeling of their bodies connecting. A gasp escaped her lips when she felt his hard-on press against her. She needed to get naked, she needed him in her. Screw the rest of the foreplay.
He bent his head down, raining kisses down her cheek to her neck. She hummed in delight, closing her eyes, enjoying the moment, the feeling of his weight on her, his bare skin pressing against the parts of hers that were revealed; the ability to actually be able to touch him and explore him without him flipping her onto her stomach. His hand trailed up her leg, grabbing her ass a little too rough, while he sucked her neck.
"Ouch," she yelped, letting out an awkward laugh. "Gentle, please." It was her dream after all, and she was well aware of that. Which meant, she had control over how rough he got to be.
He snorted. His other hand gripped one breast, squeezing a little too hard.
"Whoa, not so hard," she said, pushing his shoulders back. Her brow furrowed and she placed her elbows under her to raise herself up. "Brandon?"
Her former-would-be-lover was over her. How had she mistaken him for Michael? They were both so different. Brandon wasn't as tall as Michael and he had short curly brown hair and dark brown eyes.
"Oh, baby," he said, leaning up and kissing her lips. "I've missed you so much."
She didn't kiss him back.
"What's wrong, babe?" he asked, grinding against her still.
Instead of answering him, she scooted out from under him.
"Gretchen?"
"I need to go," she said. She felt his fingers brush her skirt in an attempt to stop her, but she somehow managed to get on her feet and away from him.
Wake up. Wake up. Wake up!
Her heart thudded harder in her chest. She rubbed her forehead with one hand as a small headache started to press on her. She was scared. There was no reason to be. She should have been happy to see him, should have been excited to once again be in his arms. But instead, she just wanted to wake up. Get out of her dream.
Her eyes lit up, the forest only a few feet away. She could hide in there. His hand grabbed her wrist, bending her arm so that she'd look at him.
"Gretchen!" he said. His dark brown eyes demanded her attention.
"I'm sorry, Brandon," she replied as calmly as she could. She placed one hand on his chest, pushing him back while twisting her arm out from his grasp. "You're dead."
It was weird. It was her dream. It shouldn't matter if he were dead or not. She should have been elated that it was him instead. They were meant to be, after all. But, she didn't want to have sex with Brandon. She wanted Michael. Oh, gods. Even in her dream, she preferred Michael. There was something wrong with her.
His hands grabbed her, pushing her back onto a tree. She let out a little cry, her head hitting the trunk hard, causing her vision to blur.
"Ow! You're hurting me, you dick!" she yelled, struggling against his strength. Her heart pounded as her senses screamed at her to get away.
He gave her his charming smile, tilting his head so that some of his hair covered one eye. He looked as handsome as ever. Before she could react, he grabbed her wrists and pinned them over her head.
"The gods really did smile upon me, didn't they?" he asked, mirroring one of the last things she said to him. "I know what you like, baby." His mouth was on hers, desperate. Again he pressed his body against her, his free hand roaming down to lift up her skirt.
She tore her lips away, turning her head from him. "Stop. Let me go! You're hurting me," she said, wiggling to get free. The rough bark scraped her arms and back as she struggled.
"Stop struggling, baby," he said sweetly, pausing his kisses and groping to look at her. "You're hurting yourself."
Her eyes widened in surprise then narrowed as she glared at him. "I mean it. Let me go," she demanded. "Now. Bran-"
His lips smashed against her as he desperately kissed her and his hand cupped her vulva, rubbing her. As if that would make her change her tune. Somehow, she managed to slip one arm from his grasp. She let out a little grunt as sparks shot up her body and his fingers weren't even touching her skin yet. He snorted, and leaned back, his handsome smile plastered on his face with eyes to match his emotions of caring and joy. Her dreaming mind clearly was trying to show him in the light that made her fall for him in the first place. But, he wasn't listening to her.
"Your mouth says no, but your body says yes, baby," he murmured.
The world went silent but for the sound of a loud slap. Gretchen's hand stung and her eyes widened in surprise. She'd slapped him. Brandon's head was slanted to one side, his cheek a little red.
An apology pressed against the tip of her tongue, but a cough and gasp came out instead. His free hand wrapped around her throat, and the other clasped her still trapped wrist painfully.
"That's how you treat me, baby?" he asked, pushing up against her. The bark of the tree dug further into her skin, piercing it. "Your boyfriend? The man who loves you? Who gave his life for you?"
"Brandon," she managed to wheeze, placing her free hand on his wrist. "I… can't… breathe."
His grip tightened. She dug her nails into his hand, but he didn't seem bothered in the least.
"I love you so much, baby," he said, leaning in close. The way his face and smile were it seemed as if he were looking at her in a loving, caring way. But it was his eyes. There was something maniacal about them. He let her other hand go and brushed his fingers along her hair. Like a statue, he stood there, unmoving, unflinching towards her feeble attacks. Her fingers ached as she clawed at his hand, piercing his skin and drawing blood.
It's just a dream. Just a dream. Wake up. Wake up.
But her brain trapped her in her developing nightmare. Black shards pierced her visions, as unconsciousness threatened her. Her heart thumped loudly in her ears. She couldn't seem to breathe.
"You look so beautiful."
The sky rumbled, making him look up and he loosened his grip, giving her a little bit of extra air. She took that moment of distraction to bring up her knee and press against his chest.
"Let me go," she demanded, using her precious newfound oxygen to speak, but she didn't care. She pushed even harder.
He cried out as blood poured from the wound that Michael had made. It dramatically soaked her leg, but the pain caused him to let her go, freeing her. She crumpled to the ground as he dropped to his knees. He clutched his hand to his chest in an attempt to stop the bleeding. Meanwhile, she gasped for air, rubbing her bruised throat.
"Gretchen," he groaned. "Why?"
The question baffled her. "Why? You... you just tried to fucking kill me!"
He didn't immediately reply back, his breathing came out partly rattled and gurgly from the blood.
"He killed me, Gretchen," Brandon's voice was soft and in pain, trying to elicit her sympathy. His right hand clutched his chest. Blood streamed out from between his fingers. He struggled, choking on more blood that was probably in his lungs as well.
"I know. I'm sorry," she said softly. She was sorry, in a way. Sorry that the real version of him was murdered. It was her fault after all. Had she not followed her vision then he would have been alive. But she wasn't sorry that the dream version her mind had made up was hurting. He had assaulted her.
"You're not sorry," he snapped back, then moaned, dropping onto one hand. "Gretchen," he wheezed. "My love. Help me."
She slowly scooted back, her right hand hovered protectively over her throat. He raised his eyebrows, pleading with her for help, his other hand reached out to her.
"I can't. You died. You're dead, Brandon," she said softly. Her chest heaved with deep breathing and her heart continued to pound hard in her chest. She was ready to wake up.
Pressure applied to her shoulders for a moment, before she felt an invisible force brush her throat. But there was something about it, something comforting, that made her want to lean into whatever it was.
A hand grabbed her ankles, pulling her away, making her scream. Brandon quickly straddled her, covering her mouth with one hand while wrapping his other around her throat.
"It's time to join me, my love," he said. His eyes were wide and blazing with an emotion that made him look slightly insane.
She screamed into his hand, shaking her head and kicking out her legs, but she was trapped.
"Wake up. Wake up. Wake up," she desperately cried out. Her words were muffled by his hand. Brandon leaned in, pressing more weight on her chest, forcing more of her precious air out of her lungs.
"Shhh, Gretchen," he said softly, applying pressure on her throat. He pressed his lips on the back of his hand as if to kiss her. "Time for you to shut up now."
She vigorously shook her head, digging her aching fingers into his skin again while tears streamed down her eyes. Why? He'd never been a violent person towards her.
She closed her eyes, trying to think of some way to escape her nightmare. Begging her dream mind to just let her go and wake up. Something or someone else tried to grab her, but she struggled against that too, losing what little oxygen she had left in her. Her meadow, her vision, her mind: Everything slowly embraced the darkness.
This was her curse, wasn't it? Her guilty brain finally manifesting and punishing her for getting Brandon killed by blindly following her vision. For even entertaining the thought of having enjoyable sex with Michael, his killer. It was using Brandon as its tool to dispense justice on her immoral soul.
If she died in her dream, did that mean she died in real life? Her thoughts and questions vanished as her body weakened. She felt her hands loosen their grip on his wrist.
"That's it, baby," she heard him say somewhere off in the distance.
A voice soft and distant echoed in the recesses of her mind, probing a memory long forgotten. "Don't do anything till I get there! Do you hear me, Sam?" Jethro? He sounded panicked, but his voice was tiny as if he was on the phone. Her limbs felt heavy. She couldn't move them. "I'm sorry," her father's voice whispered softly.
Sorry?
Wait. What was she doing? She didn't want to die. She wasn't going to die. She was going to survive. She was a fighter. Always had been. She fought to survive the accident that killed her parents. She fought Michael and so far survived him.
"Gretchen. Stop fighting," Brandon demanded. "Trust me, baby. You just need to let-"
Fuck you! I will not die this way! This was her dream. She could control it.
Get out of my head! Get out of my head!
Wake up!
Gretchen's eyes snapped open and she gasped for air as she quickly sat up. Her hands automatically reached out and she gripped fabric while she loudly took in big gulps of air. Her chest burned, her throat ached, and her body trembled. It was done. She was awake from her horrible nightmare. She slowly leaned forward, pressing her head against Michael's firm chest, taking in long deep breaths.
Michael.
Her eyes widened, and she quickly let him go. The shock that he was sitting on the side of her bed next to her brought on another round of coughs. She twisted away from him, planting her hands on the mattress to stabilize herself. What was he doing there? She felt the fingers of his right hand as he brushed the back of her neck.
"What are you doing here?" she managed to ask. Her voice came out raspy and hoarse. The intensity of her nightmare and the fact that he was there converged together into one ultimate answer.
Her eyes widened and she spun around, scooting back. Her movement caused his hand to rest on the front of her neck. "I'm sorry," she whispered, his grip tightened and his eyes narrowed. "Whatever… whatever I did. I'm sorry." Her heartbeat thumped in her ears. She pushed his hand away. "I… I won't ask to see your face again. I promise." Her voice pitched higher and her brain went into full panic mode. Out of the pot and into the fire. He'd tried to choke her and that had translated into her dream. It was the one thing that explained it all. He was on her bed, his hand on her neck.
Did he figure he could kill her while she was sleeping? She was a fool. An idiot. Craving the attention of a serial killer who clearly was just with her for sex. He must have been curious to see if he could kill her while she was sleeping. Get rid of her once and for all.
Her body pulsed, sending conflicting signals through her. She wanted to get away from him or curl up in a little ball and cry. And then there was that sick part of her that wanted to have him hold her close and promise her he wasn't trying to kill her. To comfort her from that nightmare. The nightmare he helped worsen.
It hurt to breathe, her chest rose and fell in a staggered rhythm while she sobbed. She couldn't escape him. She knew that. She wasn't even sure she could reason with him.
"I can't-" She gasped for air. The fight that filled up inside of her at the end of her nightmare completely evaporated. She was a mess, weak, unable to control her own thoughts as they wildly jumped around, from one explanation to another.
His left hand kept grabbing at her, while his right hand pressed on the back of her neck, trying to keep control. She desperately shook him off. "Please, don't. I don't know why you can't kill me! Just… just…"
His right hand rose and she stopped struggling, tensing in anticipation for the smack that was bound to happen. She'd finally done it. Pissed him off enough for him to get physically violent in a non-sexual manner.
His fingers lightly brushed against the skin of her cheek. She carefully opened her eyes to look at him. The dark room made it difficult for her to see his expression. Not that she could focus. Her mind kept contradicting itself. She was confused. She didn't know what was happening anymore.
He didn't move, just slowly breathed in and out. His left hand gripped her right shoulder, while his right hand caressed her cheek. His thumb, slowly but firmly moving back and forth. She placed her hands on his arms, tightening her grip on them. Her body trembled with each shaky breath.
In and out. His breathing was deep, loud, and somehow calming even with his mask on.
She swallowed back some saliva before nodding her head and following suit. Her nose was stuffy, forcing her to breathe out of her mouth.
The two just sat there for what felt like a long time. He kept his breaths steady and calm while hers came out uneven with little sniffles. She stared at him, trying to see his eyes. Was he literally calming her down? Impossible.
Finally, he moved his hands off her and got up. At least her heartbeat no longer pounded through her body like a drum and her breathing was almost back to normal.
The light switched on, causing her to blink and cover her eyes with her arm at the sudden brightness. The bed dipped again and she let out a little gasp. His warm fingers brushed her neck, making her stiffen.
"Don't," she said, trying not to panic as she quickly gripped his wrist.
His eyes narrowed when she looked at him. She swallowed a little bit of saliva back, not taking her hands off his wrist. His body remained still for a moment, his eyes moved as he searched her face. His eyes relaxed a little bit, but it was clear he wasn't going to stop.
"Okay," she said softly, relaxing her shoulders as best as she could.
He lowered his gaze to look at her neck and nimbly moved his fingers, examining it. She didn't take her eyes off his, waiting for that indication that he was going to choke her again so she could fight back. He slipped his hand into her shirt, feeling her back and shoulders then her chest. It was almost as if he were searching for something.
Was it possible? Her heartbeat thumped, but no longer in fear of him hurting her. "You… you weren't trying to choke me," she stated.
He didn't shake his head, but he did withdraw his hands, setting them on his lap. He tilted his head a little as if he were perplexed. She hesitated for a moment, then rubbed her throat with her hand. She'd never been choked before, but the soreness she felt was more in line with her crying than being choked. There didn't seem to be any physical evidence, although she would have to look in a mirror to be sure. Overall, she didn't feel bruised.
She met his eyes again, her cheeks grew hot and she swallowed. "I had a dream someone was choking me," she said softly. "I'm sorry. I just… when I woke up and you had your hand on my neck-"
He didn't wait for any more words to come out of her mouth. He stood, reached out, and picked up the knife that was set on her nightstand before walking out of her room. She stared after him for a moment. He was on his way out, leaving her alone in the house to deal with whatever she had to deal with.
She stared at her bed for a moment then quickly got off it. She wasn't going back to sleep. She couldn't risk dropping back into that nightmare. She gulped then cringed, realizing that her throat was very dry. She felt incredibly dehydrated. Considering she had a major panic attack and was crying hard it was understandable.
She rubbed her face as she made her way toward the stairs. She needed some water. She needed some cuddles, but she wasn't going to get that.
Passing the bathroom, she paused. She had to know. Stepping in, she switched on the light and leaned over the sink, examining her neck. It wasn't red. There were no marks or indications that a hand was wrapped around it. Closing her eyes, she placed her hands on the sink and bowed her head, blowing out a deep shaky breath through her mouth.
Poor Brandon. He'd been cruelly murdered, his young life cut short, his girlfriend taken, and yet instead of thinking of him in a positive light, her dream brain decided to paint him as a violent man wanting to kill her. Meanwhile, the real killer waltzed out of her room, knife in hand, about to go out into the world and kill more innocent people. And yet, that was the man her dream brain, hell even her fucking wake brain, wanted.
She was fucked up.