Betrayal (3 page)

The cut was slightly open from one end to the other. The skin surrounding it was bright pink, and smeared with a thin layer of my blood which seeped from the slash. I touched it with the tip of my finger, and the sting was replaced with searing pain. I winced, gasped, and almost screamed.

I eyed the gash on my forearm suspiciously as if it knew something I didn't. This can't be possible. How could something like this happen? How could I get hurt in a dream, and have the wound when I woke up?

Am I
still dreaming
? Pause. No. I was fully awake. I knew this for sure.

Through my window, the dim moonlight flooded my bedroom, and stretched across my carpeted floor in one straight column. I got out of bed, and padded into the bathroom. I took great care in bandaging the gash with gauze using my one good arm, and my front teeth. This was by no way a simple task, but somehow I got the wound covered.

The last thing I wanted to do was wake my parents, so I tiptoed back into my room. I sunk back into my sheets, carefully maneuvering my injured arm so that it didn't touch anything, having a very low threshold for pain. I let out a sigh of relief and exhaustion, but I still couldn't fall asleep with these inconceivable thoughts in my head.

Why do I keep dreaming of werewolves hunting me, and this boy with super human strength, and the ability to pour a river out of his hand? Why do I feel unbridled love for him? Why was I so captivated by him when I could barely see his face, and only hear his mesmerizing voice?

I've had the same dream every night for the past two weeks since the thunderstorm. And now I have woken up with a wound to show for it. I analyzed my bandage, confused and afraid of the unknown answer. I was very apprehensive about falling back to sleep, yet I did before I could think of an answer to my questions, or make any sense of this nightmare.

Two

Souvenir

I woke up the next morning, forgetting the reality of my dream, until I suffered the sting of my souvenir. The slightly swollen gash throbbed like a heartbeat. I slid out of bed, and sauntered over to the bay window. The dry desert heat warmed my face. As I took in the beauty of the mountains, sparsely covered in dried sage bush and bordered by the pine tree forest I had dreamt about, I hoped that somewhere beyond my window I would find the explanation to what happened last night, and what happened on the night of the storm.

I read the time on the clock, and knew I needed to hurry, but dragged instead. I paused when I saw my reflection in the mirror, and stuck my tongue out at myself like a five year old. The uncharacteristic dark circles under my almond shaped eyes made my usually tan complexion appear sallow.

My heart shaped face looked angular and thin, and my full lips appeared dry and cracked. Today, the green in my eyes reminded me more of the moss you’d find at the root of a tree – dense with no vibrancy, than an emerald jewel – sparkling. I looked as though I hadn’t slept at all.

After flushing my face with cool water, I pinched my cheeks hoping for color, and sort of resembled myself a little more – somewhere between pretty and attractive.

I decided on a long sleeved button down shirt, even though the weather would undoubtedly be insufferable in a tank top. Today would be a typical Nevada day, a scorching, dry, ninety – plus degree day. But I didn't have a choice; my unexplainable wound had to stay hidden. I pulled on my favorite jeans, grabbed my messenger bag, and headed downstairs.

I found my mom in the kitchen, perched on a stool at our breakfast nook, having coffee with buttered wheat toast. She had the
Territorial
Enterprise
, our town’s only newspaper, opened in front of her to the sale pages. She started reading aloud the moment I entered the kitchen.

Between munching and sipping she said, “It says here, there’s a sale at Dillard's.” Her eyes smiled brighter than the sun ablaze beyond the kitchen window. “We should go to the Summit tomorrow. We can go when you get home from work.” I gave her a kiss on the cheek and she patted my hair which was still wet from the dream.

“Sure mom, maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“I mean I don’t know. I might meet up with Bethany.”

Her eyes darkened from their usual bright sky blue to cobalt as she turned her attention back to the sale ad. “Oh, ok, well you let me know what your plans are.”

My mom had one love that nearly superseded her love for me and dad. Shopping. She had Dillard's and Talbot’s, all she needed to make her day worthwhile, and both were located at the Summit Mall in Reno.

Mom put the paper down, and started eyeing the shadowy circles under my eyes. A frown formed on her lips. “Look at you honey. Did you sleep alright?” She said. “Maybe you should let me put some concealer under those eyes.”

I rolled my eyes at her, and said, “Mom, I slept fine and no, I don’t need any concealer.” I wasn’t a fan of makeup so I didn’t bother covering the circles up myself. I tried to smile so her feelings wouldn’t be hurt and winced instead from the soreness of my injured arm. She didn’t seem to notice my pained grimace. I snatched a piece of toast from her plate and listened for a horn blowing. I got a ride to school most mornings from my best friend Bethany, who had a car. She should’ve been here ten minutes ago, though.

I decided to change the subject to what plagued my mind. “Mom, can I ask you something?” I tried not to sound distressed because if I did, her parental instincts would pick up like radar and she'd begin to worry.

“Sure hon, what’s up?” She said, not tearing her eyes from the sale ads.

“What do you think it means when someone has the same dream, every night?” I held my breath and hoped she knew the answer and wouldn‘t pry any further.

“It’s the same every night?” She asked.

“Yeah.”

“I believe it's called a recurring dream,” she answered. Uh oh. One of her eye bows raised and she had a suspicious light in her eyes like she had just discovered a secret.

“Yeah, I know but...” I paused for a second or two. “Are recurring dreams normal?” I tried to sound calm, but needed her to confirm that I wasn't going nuts.

“Anyone could have them. I believe it's perfectly normal.” She set her coffee cup down on the counter top and went back to scanning the sale ads.

I’m pretty sure that mom wasn’t the authority on recurring dreams, and I wasn’t about to share my romantic, frightening, nightmarish reverie with her. The dream and my bandaged wound wouldn't make any more sense to her than it did to me and worse, the cut would scare her a hell of a lot more than it scared me. Though I was desperate to talk to someone, my mom couldn't handle this one.

I couldn't stop thinking about him, Evan, who I was almost sure I was falling in love with, I think. I went to bed with his beautiful face tattooed on my mind and woke up with the imprint still there. I couldn't escape him, and I wasn’t certain that I wanted to. I experienced things while I dreamt that I’d never known before, in all my seventeen years. It may have been just a kiss but there was an immeasurable intensity when our lips touched that I’ve only read or heard about, never actually experienced. I found myself, wanting to go to sleep to experience it all over again. I needed to be held by him, wrapped in his arms, and I wanted to drown in the sweet smell of him. His voice alone consumed me. Could this be love?

How pathetic.

Could my silly fear of talking to boys, due to my acute case of tonguetied syndrome, have caused me to manufacture a romance in my mind?

How could I fall in love with someone who's a figment of my imagination? The visions felt so incredible; his touch and his words of promise made me want to stay in the dream until we heard the howls of ravenous wolves and had to run for our lives. That part, I could do without – knowing my life was about to end. My heart always felt like it was going to explode. My teeth would chatter, and my blood ran ice cold with fear when the wolves came.

I got hurt in the dream and woke up injured. What would happen if I died in the dream? In reality, would I never wake up? Last night, I had gotten pretty damn close. Should I risk going to sleep tonight? I shuddered as the questions swirled in my head.

But it all had to mean something, the walking shadow, the lightning coming out of me, the dreams that started the night I came home from the hospital, and lastly the bleeding souvenir that I had to keep incognito. I still wanted to know. I needed to know. But how would I go about finding out? I wasn't sure that I could tell anyone about these occurrences.

My parents believed everything was back to normal but of course they were wrong. If my parents had an inkling of what I’d been through, they'd have me start seeing a shrink, and then I’d finally labeled a freak. I had the sudden urge to scream at the top of my lungs until all the windows and glass in the house shattered. But I didn't. That would only provide proof of my freak status. So I kept my anxiety tucked away deep within me along with my puzzling secret.

I jolted when I heard the sound of a horn blaring from the front of the house. I hopped of the stool and took my piece of toast with me.

“I have to go mom, I’m late.” I gave her a peck on the cheek, threw my messenger bag over my shoulder and headed for the front door.

“Okay, but what about your dream?” She asked.

I yelled over my shoulder as I grabbed the front door knob, “It’s not
my
dream, it was just a question.”

“Will you be working tonight?” Mom asked.

“Yeah, I’ll be home by nine. Love you. Bye.” I sighed.

The minute I stepped outside, I knew the temperature would hit over a hundred degrees on this late October day. It already felt like ninety.

Nevada, notorious for extreme desert heat, lived up to the hype. I'd be forced to enjoy the blaze in this insufferable long sleeved top, the price of avoiding intrusive questions. I stifled a groan.

Bethany honked the horn one last time as I shut the front door behind me, and smiled when she saw me in the driveway. Although her golden blond hair was piled high on the top of her head, some of the wisps that escaped the bun blew softly in the warm breeze like feathers, making her appear angelic.

“Sorry I’m late. I had trouble starting this thing again.” Bethany referred to her black Plymouth Neon. She looked in the rear view mirror and backed the car out of my driveway as I listened to the gravel sputter everywhere. She turned her gaze to me for a second before turning back to the road. “You look really tired Delia.” I sighed and rolled my eyes in her direction for pointing my dark circles out as my mom already had.

“Yeah,” I said. “I haven’t been sleeping well.”

Bethany kept her eyes glued to the road but her eyebrows were furrowed in the center of her face. “Is something bothering you?”

“No,” I lied. I wanted to tell her about the dreams so badly, but I wasn’t sure this was a good time to bring it up.

“You look like you're a trillion miles away,” Bethany said. I sighed again. Bethany knew me so well. She knew that I was preoccupied with something.

“I’m still here,” I said.

“I’ve been thinking. You should join me in the parade this Sunday.” Bethany said, throwing a quick glance at me.

“Who me? No way,” I laughed. The parade Bethany referred to was the ‘Living Legends’ Parade, a bizarre spectacle of the town’s folk dressed up in historical costumes dated back a hundred and fifty years or so. The parade always drew a large crowd. Bethany always participated and seemed to really enjoy dressing up in corsets and prairie dresses. I couldn’t be bothered with all the frilly outfits and the gawking tourists.

Bethany giggled. “The parade will be great fun.”

“I’ll pass if you don’t mind, Beth. Besides, I have to work all day Sunday.” We pulled into the senior parking lot. I closed the passenger side door and fell into step with her as we made our way through the lot. Her long, flowing, ankle length skirt whipped in the delicate breeze. I checked the time on my cell phone and groaned. We were twelve minutes late and Mrs. Biden, our History teacher, would have our heads.

Suddenly, something flashed in the corner of my eye, and I stopped where I stood. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Whatever I thought I saw disappeared the second I turned around. Although the hallway was empty, it felt like Bethany I weren’t alone as we stood in front of Mrs. Biden’s classroom door.

Bethany raised an eyebrow at me and said, “Is there something wrong?”

“It’s nothing… I mean we’ll talk at lunch, ok.” I didn't want to rush through my explanation of my sacred visions.

Bethany cocked her head to one side and said, “Are you sure?”

“Yep,” I said, stepping in front of her and twisting the door knob. We’d better get in there, or she’ll give us detention for sure.”

In History we reviewed the ways of life of women in America at the turn of the century. The subject usually held my attention because it caused quite a stir with the girls. We couldn’t see ourselves living in such an unprogressive time without a voice which equaled inequality. Today, I found concentrating on what Mrs. Biden discussed impossible. My mind was drawn to my arm. I couldn't get past the inconceivability of my injury. I peered at my hand resting on the opened page of my text, and realized that I was trembling. I jumped when Mrs. Biden called me by my full first name.

“Cordelia, if you're done daydreaming, would you please tell the class what the suffrage movement was about.” Mrs. Biden’s harsh tone brought me back into the classroom. I answered as best as I could and strategically avoided one of her humiliating and tactless rants.

For the rest of the morning I went from one class to the next reliving what I recollected from the night before. When it was lunch time, I made sure Bethany and I didn’t sit at our usual table of chatty classmates. If anyone overheard our conversation, I’m betting by the time the final bell rang, the entire student body would label me a freak. I decided to tell Bethany everything, the night of the storm and what I dreamt. Telling her would be a gamble.

I barely waited for Bethany to sit down with her lunch tray before I began blurting my suppressed emotions. I scooted my chair closer to the table and leaned in toward her. My heart was pounding against my ribs and I felt the perspiration pooling in my shirt. “I’ve had this disturbing dream every night for the past two weeks,” I whispered.