The rain pounded against her bedroom window while Blossom tossed and turned on tear-soaked pillowcases. Everyone was thriving, including her ex. Brick Jojo was the new head designer of her sister's wedding. He went to school to design uniforms and now here he is in bridal. While they were together, he was struggling to develop his own brand, denying company work for the sake of not wanting to jeopardize his "creative freedom." Now look at him, streetwear bridal. It was so different, yet still so him. Of course, he would be doing well for himself. She never once prayed for his downfall, she just never expected that they wouldn't be equally yoked. He was rising, and she was still so low.
In the year she had been unemployed, Blossom had tried her hand at everything to reignite her inner spark. She returned to crime fighting and then was told her services were no longer needed. She helped Professor in the lab, just to be kicked out by Dexter. He was an old geezer in a millennial's body, and truthfully just showed more passion about the subject than she did. It still stung to watch him fit in seamlessly with Professor and his study buddies. All of her job applications returned with rejection, even the positions she had personal references for. Now all she could do to spend her time was cook, clean, music, Netflix, and make sure the professor took his medication on time. He was pretty forgetful lately.
The only thing she could find in her to be at peace doing was writing. Her love of reading morphed over years, now only picking up a book on occasion and finding it difficult to connect with new, or redundant characters. She enjoyed the snippets of poetry she'd scroll through on Pinterest, Instagram writers, and TikToks of spoken word. She might spend too much time on her phone. But when night fell and she was able to find peace with her thoughts, she'd put them on the page. The Pages app of her MacBook seemed to be the only safe place for her feelings. Sometimes she felt like she described herself too exaggerated, too melodramatic in the imagery, but it was real and if she were being honest it was good writing. The only thing she could admit to crediting as "good" in her life.
She tossed in bed again and checked her phone for the time. 3:24 am. "Fuckkk," she groaned rubbing her eyes and sitting upright in the bed, just to flop back down. She didn't have to piss, and she didn't want to leave her room and risk running into someone. She missed when she lived alone. Just her and her own space, her thoughts, her energy, and clarity. She could just be silent and silence could just be.
I should write that down.
Blossom unlocked her phone and quickly opened her notes app before the thought could escape her. Sometimes if she thinks, says, or hears something that resonates, she'll transcribe it to her notes app for safekeeping. Some thoughts are long-winded, some no longer than a caption, and some find their way to her laptop in the not-poetry book that she is not writing. If she is being honest, she's on book two but doesn't know what to do with the mess of work and phrases that feel too personal and mediocre to share. But at least she has them, and at least they're hers. Safe from everyone's scrutiny. The only person who knows she writes is Bubbles. Nosy little sister couldn't help but stare into her phone while Blossom ferociously typed into her notes app.
"Damn, who are you texting like that?" She asked.
"I'm not," I answered dryly. The prose was on a roll and I couldn't let her mess up my flow.
"Okay, so what are you doing?" Bubs wouldn't let up and peered over my shoulder. "That's a fucking lot, who're we beefin' with? If they got a problem with you then they've got one with me, and my baby daddy knows-"
"Fucking Christ Bubs," I look up from my phone and shut the app in frustration. "There's no beef, and you can't use Boomer as a threat just because he paints album covers for some of the lesser-known musicians in pop culture…"
"That man needs to be good for something," Bubbles joked. "So again, what're you doing?"
I release a sigh and decide it is best to concede. Bubbles is so annoying when she's bored. "Writing."
"Ooouuu, lemme read something!" She launched for the phone.
"No, why the fuck can't just let me have my thing?" I struggled to keep the phone out of her grasp.
"Because you're all moody and well-spoken, I just know it's good! Gimme!" She yanks the phone from my clutches and puts in my passcode.
"Fine! But I'm picking what you get to read," I say snatching the phone back.
I still don't share my writing with her often, but when I compiled everything I had for the past few years into a printable proof I let her look through it. The collection was about 80 pages. On a good day a few months ago, I applied for a small business to publish my works under my pen name, The Bow Ltd.
"Why The Bow?" Bubbles asked looking at the cover of the proof.
"Everything looks perfect when you put a bow on it," I replied simply.
This leads me to my issue today, the book is finished, the social media account has been set up, self-publishing is simple, and tax-id received. Damn near everything is ready for me to launch this book… but I can't. I am afraid. In my eyes, it is far from perfect, even with a bow on it.
I didn't go to school for English or writing, they were electives. I had spent years writing and journaling but it was always a hobby. What gives me the right to say, 'I'm going to be an author'? I was ready for corporations, offices, client meetings, and feminine marketing campaigns centered around women's empowerment. What do I know about being a good writer? I'm not even sure if I want the world to know me this way. Selling sex is one thing, everyone has sex but no one shares your most intimate thoughts, feelings, and experiences. I'm not sure if I'm ready for the world to judge me for being naked, in this way.
I should write that down too.
Nah, I should go to bed. Sleep finally began to settle in Blossom's body as she checked the time again before locking her phone, 4:04 am. You're protected and your new beginnings are protected as well, have faith in your endeavors while moving toward stability. She mocked Princess's squeaky voice in her head. She was grateful her sister-in-law to be, took the time to teach her some numerology. Blossom had always liked numbers, and it came in handy with writing, even though spirit could sometimes be annoying.
The dream started fine with her waking up in a plush bed looking over the outskirts of the city. She stretched her arms and inhaled deeply before being struck with a wave of nostalgia of a familiar scent that clenched her chest. She was in Brick's old apartment. The cherry wood and amber candle was lit on his desk and his bedsheets were crumpled as if two bodies had slept in it. She looked down at her body and she was dressed in only his red, coca cola: Vegas t-shirt they got while on vacation. Her hair was still short and she quickly raced to the bathroom to inspect herself.
"You are dreaming," she began slapping her face but was nowhere near waking up. "No, you are having a nightmare."
His bathroom had one toothbrush, one towel, one of everything. This is definitely not when they were together and yet here she was in his old t-shirt. If she was in Brick's apartment, where the hell was Brick? She stormed out of his bedroom and into the living room where the smell of coffee was flooding her nose. He stood with his back to her broad shoulders in a grey custom-tailored suit with his signature red stitching. He swapped his red shoes for black leather, but since she knew him, she'd bet he had on red flame socks. It was rare to catch Brick in anything formal wear. He only dressed like this when they had events to do for the mayor.
He turned around, and before her stood a Brick she did not quite recognize. Her Brick was a light stubble, boyish featured, long wavy hair with an under-cut type. This Brick was pushing a beard, with a high fade, perfectly brushed flat with a clean line up making his bone structure even sharper. He looked even better than I imagined. Not that I had been imagining running into my ex or anything… I'm over him, right? Right.
"Pinky?" He said with a surprise. "Where did you come from? You cut your hair?"
My eyes were still bugging trying to grasp the situation before me. I shook my head and played with the hem of his shirt, for the first time wishing it were just a little bit longer.
"This is a dream," I informed him. "Probably yours considering I am here and in your shirt, but I would really like to be back in mine right now," I said with an eye roll.
"A dream?" He said glancing at his watch with a look of confusion. "But I'm literally getting ready for an interview right now?"
"An interview?" I scoffed at him. "What, suddenly too good to do bridal and my sister's campaign? I can't believe you're cutting out now when you've got it so good, unbelievable."
"What?!" It was his turn to be animated. "I got the job?"
"Fuck do you mean you got the job? You know you got the fucking job, we're all in this fucking campaign!" I'm yelling with more frustration than he likely deserves, but we aren't even supposed to be speaking right now. This. Is. A. Dream.
"No, Pinky," he says walking around the kitchen island putting his hands on my shoulders. "The interview I'm getting ready for is the Bridal campaign. I don't have the job, yet."
I blink a few times and feel how real his hands are on my shoulders. "Are you dreaming?" I couldn't help but ask.
"I woke up two hours ago to get ready," he admitted, "but I might be if you're in this shirt… I've always liked seeing you in it."
His hands trailed down my arms and his fingertips began to dance at the hem of the shirt. My breath hitched, and that familiar gravity he has began to pull me in. I hadn't felt his touch in years, breathed his air, shared his body… My eyes, which had apparently fluttered shut popped back open before his lips could reach mine. I broke away from his embrace and raced back to his bedroom door.
Just as I passed the threshold to his room I shot upright in bed gasping for air. What the fuck just happened?
I was dreaming of Brick. Not old Brick, but new Brick, future Brick, present Brick? The Brick I was going to have to see at some point sooner rather than later but after last night, let's aim for later… much, much later. Did I go back in time? No, there's no proof of that. Brick wasn't blocked on any of my socials, and if the dream was real he would've said something, right? So there's no point in worrying about something that is clearly, just a dream. A very real, very intense, very mind-fucked dream.
Despite the intensity of the dream I awoke feeling very well rested. More rested than I have in a while. I did a few morning exercises and padded my way to the bathroom to get ready for the day. Teeth brushed, skincare done, light mascara just for fun. Maybe having Dream Brick still attracted to me boosted my confidence a bit. I'm not complaining, I won't let a little dream sour my mood. I flew downstairs and was greeted with the pleasant smell of cranberry scones. Looks like BC did stay the night and was making up for her betrayal to me with my favorite breakfast pastry.
I walked into the kitchen just as she pulled another round of pastries out of the oven. Blueberry creme danishes. Looks like Bubbles was pissed at her too.
"Those better be fucking danishes," she grumbled from the top of the stairs carrying Bishop. Baron usually slept until the afternoon on weekends.
"Yes, please accept my apology pastries my sweet, amazing, intelligent, and incredible sisters." She passed Blossom her plate with a very sorry smile and began to prep Bubbles'.
"You forgot forgiving," I bumped her with my shoulder and returned her smile.
I sat at the table and tried not to think about how annoying it is that one person's presence, even in just a dream can improve my entire mood. Brick and I were a disaster. I had lost myself in him, or maybe we were in a period where we were both shedding an old version of ourselves. Princess says the Ego Death is an ugly, volatile process and there's no one really to blame. But how does one build an ego? Birth it? I don't want Brick to be the center of that process… but everything else seems to be rejecting me right now.
"What's got your brow so scrunched up, you love my scones?" BC questioned sitting down with her breakfast and coffee.
"Just a strange dream," I shrugged it off and took another bite.
"Ouu!" Princess yelped from the pull-out couch ready to rush into the kitchen. "Do tell," she said plopping into the seat next to her fiancee.
"Ummm, maybe later. I'm still trying to come to terms with it. It felt like I went back in time or something," I offered at least that detail to Princess.
"Hmm," she began while stealing a pastry off BC's plate. "Could be astral projecting? Butterfly effect and whatnot. Think it could be another power?" She asked.
The thought hadn't occurred to her. She had decided the dream was a fluke of nerves and restlessness, but another power? She did not want to put any time or energy into learning another "useful" skill. If it was another power, she was going to find a way to turn it off.
"I fucking hope not," she said earnestly.
"Okay, well since everyone's here do y'all wanna hear how we got the campaign?" BC grinned and bounced in her seat.
"Didn't you tell us last night?" Bubbles questioned back.
"Well yes, but I left out a lot of details…" BC gave me a shy look.
Honestly, it might be good to hear to see if there's any relation to my dream. "Go ahead, let's hear it."
"Okay so we were meeting with the owners of Concrete Rose Streetwear right, and they're talking about the White Rose campaign and what they said the designer was trying to do. They said he was super into stitching, raw materials, and fit so he wanted to tie this 'heart on your sleeve' ideal to the mix. I had this whole other portfolio planned, but that's the name of Princess's and I's Pinterest board for our wedding!" Buttercup pauses to take a sip of her coffee.
"This sounds exactly like what you told us yesterday," I say.
"I'm getting there! So I pull out my Pinterest board and project it on screen and the owners say a lot of our images match the reference photos their new designer sent them. Well, Brick sent them… anyway, they looped him in on a video call. Bloss you haven't seen him, but he def looks different, he's rocking the beard though," she takes a moment for another sip and Blossom nearly chokes on her scone.
"So he and I started talking about what we were envisioning, and I brought up my proposal and how 'Heart on your Sleeve' is about authenticity and raw emotions and materials in the campaign, and he said let's loop it all together. Real wedding, real emotions, real materials, and raw-cut fabrics! The owners were fucking sold! They asked him how the hell he came up with his side of the campaign, and do you know what the fuck he said?" Buttercup leaned over the table as if any of them would actually know what the fuck he said.
"He said it came to him in a dream! So spiritually on-brand for us, right babe?" Princess rolled her eyes but kissed her anyway.
Blossom swallowed the last of her scone with great effort. Her mouth had gone dry and the air was suddenly thick and uncomfortable around her. If he used her Pinterest board and insisted on Buttercup's company, and went with her wedding campaign all based off of a "dream," that'd be too coincidental. But she had already decided that the dream was not real, and she did not have a new superpower, so there was absolutely nothing to worry about.
"It must be fate," I heard myself tell the happy couple and quickly discarded my plate.
Ouuu, the plot thickens.