by Kari Chaplin
“Oh, call it a gift.” He smiled wickedly. “It is slow tonight. I bet your boss will grant you a break.”
After about fifteen minutes of working, I found time to sit with Noah. I was regretting my decision to volunteer for this. I sat in the chair across from his.
“Oh,” he said. “I was beginning to wonder.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I’m glad that you can join me. Now, these dreams…”
“I always dream about this girl with blonde hair and the brightest green eyes that I have ever seen. It’s like her soul is shining through them or something. She is beautiful. The weird thing is that, somehow, I know she’s supposed to be me. I don’t know her name. She is always with a guy. He’s tall, dark hair and muscles. I very rarely see his face. It’s just a dark spot where his face should be.” Noah just nodded his head as I spoke. “Though, sometimes I have seen his face. He looks an awful lot like this guy, Demien, which I’ve recently met. It’s so strange. I can’t quite explain it.”
Noah choked on his Merlot.
“Are you okay?” I asked, handing him a napkin.
“Yeah, it just went down wrong,” he said between uncontrolled coughing. “So Demien? What does this Demien look like?”
“He has these freaky eyes that are clear gray but sometimes turn black or even amber. I think I’ve seen sparks of purple and orange. His eyes are like a freaking sunset sometimes. I guess it depends on his mood. He probably has colored contacts like the rest of these lame people ‘round here.” I threw in that last assumption just so I didn’t sound so dumb.
“Probably,” Noah agreed, laughing. “What else can you say about this guy?”
“He is, without a doubt, well built, dark hair, high cheekbones, tall. His skin is wonderful.” I allowed my thoughts to wonder a little.
“I see. ‘His skin is wonderful’, I’m not sure what that means but I’ll take your word for it.”
“That’s my description of him. Except for his eyes, he doesn’t sound like anything unique, I guess. He is unique, though.”
“How do you feel about him?”
“To be honest, I really don’t like him,” I cleared my throat to keep from adding how much I absolutely love him.
Noah kept nodding his head.
I sat across from Noah staring off into the distance. I wasn’t sure what he wanted to talk about. There were so many topics that I didn’t want to discuss. I pondered on what I did feel comfortable talking about.
“What do you guys do in your dreams?” he said, interrupting my thoughts.
“What do you mean?” I wasn’t comfortable revealing it all. I didn’t want to reveal our most intimate moments.
“What happens in your dreams? Do you perform magic or frolic through fields?”
I thought about what to say for a few seconds. Since I volunteered, I felt I should tell him something. “Sometimes they’re just enjoying each other’s company, having a picnic or whatnot. Other times, she's crying. I’m not sure why. I get the feeling that she’s mourning. Not that he’s dead, but I’ve lost him in a more devastating way. I feel like she's mourning his soul or something. I know that doesn’t make much sense, but that’s the best way I can explain it.” I paused and exhaled.
Noah nodded his head, “Okay, sure, go on.”
“Recently, in my dreams, he has been violent. His eyes are black orbs with large, black orbs in place of his eyes.”
“Oh?” Noah questioned as his eyes widened. “Really? You said ‘recently.’ When did this change happen?”
“The first time he stepped into this bar. He sat at a table in my section and ordered a drink. He came in acting like he knew me already, then left before I could deliver his beer. That night the dreams turned to nightmares.”
“Hm,” he pondered as he scratched his chin. “That is very interesting. Go on.”
“He’s always surrounded by azaleas, although they aren’t like any I’ve seen before. They’re deep purple, almost black, trailing like vines along the ground, rather than as a single flower. I know that doesn’t make sense. Anyway, that’s beside the point. It’s just a dream. It’s like the flowers call to me, making it impossible to deny the pull toward Demien. I seem to have no choice but to go to him, like a magnet. Purple seems to always be his dominating theme.”
He nodded his head periodically as I spoke.
“I have dreamt that he was in my room. He was standing in the corner watching me sleep. I wasn’t scared. I would have expected to be scared that a stranger was in my room watching me sleep, but I was actually comforted by his presence. We talked a little; he came to lie with me on the bed as I fell back to sleep. He had brought me Queen of the Night Orchids, which are my all-time favorite. The weird thing is that the species of flower is white, but in my dreams, they sometimes appear purple. I’m usually standing in a field of these particular orchids. When we are together, the flowers in the field are a mix of both flowers. His flowers are deep purple and my orchids are white, as they should be. These dreams feel very real like I’m there living it.” My body chilled thinking about it.
“Well, it’s definitely interesting. I’m sure you realize that in dreams normal emotions are often interpreted differently. For example, you feel you should be scared that he was in your room. In the dream, your brain will interrupt that situation in an entirely different light to serve the purpose of the, um,” he paused, “storytelling, if you will.”
I nodded my head.
“Let me start with the flowers. Queen of the Night orchids are obvious because they’re your favorite. Mystery solved.” He added that last part as a side note, providing a self-satisfied smile. “The azaleas are very interesting. Did you know they are extremely poisonous flowers.” He took a drink. “Deadly.”
A lump rose in my throat. “No.”
“In history,” he continued, “many people used the rhodium family as weapons to kill. Some still do. They are a big part of black magic.. Symbolically, these flowers represent danger, a warning to beware or, most importantly for you, ‘I am danger.’ Usually the appearance of flowers, with such strong meaning, is your subconscious talking to you.”
I straightened my posture. “Oh?”
His smile deepened. “Purple is either a color you like... or hate. I have a feeling that isn’t quite the explanation in your case.”
“What do you mean?”
“Perhaps your dreams are in purple because, throughout history, it has been considered a mournful or bad luck color. People used to be extremely superstitious of purple, and as such they stayed away from it. I was considered to be the black cat of color.”
“Really? I just thought black was bad luck.” My voice cracked.
“You would be incorrect.” He took a deep breath followed by a drink. “Faceless usually symbolizes a fear you may be harboring. Perhaps you already know this person or the situation he represents isn't ideal.”
“Humph.”
“Seeing the face of this person who as you put it “has these freaking eyes” means you have probably seen him in passing before and associated him with these fears. Perhaps you’re attracted to him, which will cause conflicting dreams. These are only educated assumptions of possibilities. Of course, maybe you should stay away from him. That is an overview of the symbolism. If you want to go more into detail, just let me know. I’ll be around.” He dropped a hundred-dollar bill for his twelve-dollar glass of wine as he stood up. “Seriously, if I were you, I’d stay away from Demien. He’s not good. You obviously know this as well.” He turned and walked toward the door. “I’ll be in touch,” he said just as he stepped out of the bar.
I stood in his wake, flabbergasted. He didn’t know Demien, did he? Nevertheless, his assumption regarding Demien was not wrong. Demien was incredibly dangerous, and I knew it.
Ten minutes after Noah left, Demien strolled that fine ass into the bar. Every warning melted away as I was too relieved to see him. He sent me a head nod and smile, lifting only the left side of his lips
.
Oh, those lips, those sweet, moist lips. I could still feel them on mine. The memory of how perfect our lips fit together was still fresh in my mind. Our lips were made to entwine like peices of a puzzle. I collapsed, using the closest table to catch my fall. He was making it hard to get him out of my head. “Oh, Demien, what are you doing to me?” I asked under my breath.
“What do you want me to do to you?” He whispered seductively into my ear from across the bar. I lifted my head to view his face. I noticed his left eyebrow lift as if to answer the question that had been on my mind of late—how does he do that? A question that lingered long after I’d left for the evening.
Sixteen
I ran through the sheeting rain and squeezed into my car, trying to let the least amount of rain soak my interior as possible. Of course, the plan was doomed from the get go. The rain poured in as soon as I cracked the car door. I turned the key to start; nothing happened. “What!” I turned the key again. “Come on start.” Nothing.
Screaming, I hit the steering wheel. “Great. What now?” Then, I remembered I had roadside assistance. I pulled out my cell phone to call for help, but my phone was dead. I knew I charged it earlier in the day. I hadn’t used it much. I threw it in the passenger’s seat and decided to head back into the store to use their phone.
Gage, the clerk in the gas station, handed me the phone by the register. There was no dial tone. His cell phone had no service either, so I headed back to my car. I began to weigh my options of walking home or not when I saw headlights to a vehicle high off the ground pull up behind me. I locked my doors just in case. I knew they weren’t there to get gas because the entire building had lost electricity after I got back into my car, leaving me barely visible through the pitch-black downpour. I was really hoping they didn’t notice me
A few moments later, I heard a tap on my window. I looked up to see Demien standing in the rain. How did he find me? I thought. I cracked my window and felt a rush of rain hit my face. He quickly positioned a raincoat to shield some of the rain from rushing into my window.
“Need a ride?” He sounded cool, calm, and maybe even expectant.
I really didn’t want a ride from him. “No thanks,” I grumbled.
“Really, Zanj? Well, I’m not leaving you here by yourself. It’s three in the morning. It’s too dangerous to be stuck at some gas station in the middle of nowhere; with no electricity, may I add. I can look at your car when we have some lights. For tonight, consider your car dead. Your choice is to let me drive you home, or I can wait with you.”
“I’ll take my chances. And don’t call me that,” I retorted. I really hated his confidence.
“Have it your way.” He folded his arms across his chest and turned his back to me. “I’ll wait here with you.”
“Go home,” I demanded.
“You made your choice,” he replied. I could hear a hint of satisfaction in his voice. “Really, I’m not leaving you here by yourself.” He turned his back to me and leaned against my car door.
I let him stand outside for a minute before convincing myself to let him take me home.
“Fine, you win, but only because I don’t want a guilty conscience when you get sick or something.”
I glared at him as I unlocked my door. I’m sure I heard a snicker.
My glare continued, saying nothing in return.
“I think I can handle a little cold. Besides, I do not get sick. So, what do you say? Can I give you a ride home?” He offered his hand to me.
I reluctantly cracked my car door and accepted his offer. He helped me out and placed the raincoat over me.
“I can’t reach the edge of this truck,” I yelled loud enough for him to hear me over the pouring, thunderous storm.
He lifted me into his oversized, off-road thing. The tires were taller than me. I severely underestimated the size of this thing. Since it was too dark to see anything, I couldn’t tell what type of vehicle it was. It was nice and warm inside.
He jumped into the driver’s seat. “See, this isn’t so bad, now is it?” he asked, without looking at me as he pulled onto the road.
“It’s still under review,” I sourly replied. “Do you have a big enough vehicle?”
“No, I don’t.”
I hoped his answer was sarcastic.
“Hmm… What is this thing?” I rolled my eyes, not that he could see.
“H2,” he stated, lacking any hint of emotion.
“A Hummer, no wonder. How did you manage to make, like, the biggest vehicle available even bigger? This thing is ginormous.” My tone was bitter, angry.
“I could tell you, but you wouldn’t understand anyway.”
“Whatever.” He was right. I wouldn’t understand. I shouldn’t take my anger out on him. I worked on changing my tone. “What are you doin’ all the way out here?” I wasn’t sure I really wanted an answer to that question.
He took his eyes off the road to give me the same crooked, cocky smile I witnessed the other day. “I was on my way from the city.”
“The city, huh?” I stared straight ahead at the road, trying to act uninterested. My blood boiled for so many conflicting reasons. He drove me crazy in every way imaginable. I needed him.
From my peripheral vision, I saw his expression. It all but said he was omitting anything that happened to be true. “The city” didn’t narrow it down any! We had three cities within an hour of our rural town. Springdale, Oklahoma City and Tulsa were all right up the turnpike in either direction. Not that I really cared which city he was coming from but his lack of information drove me crazy. If I were being truthful, I really yearned for him to let me into his world. I really craved his... everything.
He didn’t respond other than scratching his eyebrow with his thumb.
The air was thick with angst and my irritation. Neither of us said anything for a few minutes. Outwardly, I hated him. At least, I tried to convince myself I hated him. The truth was... I didn’t. I was attracted to him. No, it was deeper than that. When he was around, my world felt whole. That scared me. I didn’t know this person next to me. I knew he was toxic, possibly deadly. For some stupid reason, I couldn’t seem to walk away.
Finally, I broke the uncomfortable silence which seemed to linger between us. “Did you come by my house the other day?” I asked, hoping to sound nonchalant.
“Yes,” he replied, coolly.
“Okay?” Elaborate was what I was really thinking. I was obviously going to have to ask since he has never offered any information. “Why?”
“To see if you needed a ride to work?” He glanced my way through the corner of his eye.
“I have a car,” I replied.
“Yes, but your car is stranded now, isn’t it?” His chuckle was low and seductive.
“It was working perfectly fine until tonight,” I reminded him.
“Sure, sure.” His tone showed no interest or emotion.
I wasn’t sure what his reaction meant, but I didn’t bother dragging any more answers out of him. Demien certainly didn’t offer, either.
“Well, here’s a question that you might answer.”
“Oh, yeah? I’m intrigued.” One eyebrow lifted as the left corner of his lips slowly moved upward.
“What is the word you call me?”
“It’s pronounced ‘zansha.’ That’s the closest pronunciation to English that I can get for you. It is spelled Z-a-n-j.” His tone was playful but guarded.
“Okay? First off, it’s a simple question, so why the attitude? Second, I’ve heard the pronunciation. It was in the note that you left me, so I’ve already seen how it’s spelled. Why do you call me that? What does it mean? What language is it?”
“What note?”
“The one you left for me several nights ago. Don’t avoid the real questions.”
“I didn’t leave you a note.” His voice hardened.
“I swear I found a note. It said, ‘Please forgive me Zanj.’”
“It wasn’t from me.�
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“Oh,” I said solemnly. “Maybe I dreamt it.”
His eyes squinted as they turned cold. In a mechanical tone, he said, “Yes, maybe you did.”
“What does Zanj mean? What language is it from?” I asked, again.
He looked at me but didn’t offer any answer.
I guess I shouldn’t have asked so many questions at one time. The rest of the ride was quiet. He sang to the radio under his breath.
I lost myself in my thoughts. I mainly wondered what I was going to do about my car. I didn’t have money to fix it. I’d fix it myself except I didn’t have a clue about cars.
“Rest your mind, I’ll have your car fixed and sitting in your drive soon.” His voice was still mechanical and dry.
My vision was drawn to the darkness that surrounded us as my thoughts wandered off in a million different directions. I wish he would offer more information with any answer. It drove me crazy that he was so vague. The Hummer came to a slowed stop. I knew exactly where we were. We were at my house. I didn’t want the ride to end. I needed more of him.
I exhaled, dreading the loneliness that follows. “Well, thanks for the ride. See you tomorrow at work?” I slowly reached for the door handle.
Demien appeared at the passenger’s side door as I pushed the door open. “Let me help you out.”
“Thanks.” He shouldn’t have been on my side so quickly.
Demien slid me down in one smooth, tight motion. I felt his warm, wet body as mine slowly slid down past his. It felt nice; it felt right. As my feet felt the ground beneath them, he pressed me closer to his body. His eyes burned with desire. His hands slid down the curve of my waist to my hips, sending burning flames of ecstasy soaring through my veins. Our foreheads met in the middle.
Our breathing quickened as his lips found mine. His breath was warm and inviting. He smelled of cinnamon and woodsy, damp, dark, rich earth. It was the kind of essence that screamed all-man, pulling my body closer as he staked his claim to me. His aroma was sexy and rugged, overpoweringly intense. His kiss was extraordinarily controlled, but all consuming, which made my dreams feel much, much too real.