Dreamers (The Dreamers Series)

by Brooklin Skye

  As I often do, I begin having a conversation with myself in the privacy of my own mind, jumping from one crazy place to another.

  Did I open the window?

  Hell no, I didn’t open that window!

  Why is she so damned fussy about it anyway? It’s not like I would have actually fallen out under normal circumstances—I was sleepwalking.

  When the hell did I start sleepwalking?

  Is it wrong to be this pissed at Heather when she saved my life?

  Tonight has turned out to be complete shit.

  Normal people don’t talk to themselves… I don’t think they do, anyway.

  I shake my thoughts loose as I walk toward the restroom. I observe my tired face in the mirror, noting the redness under my eyes. I rinse my face quickly, skipping my nightly ritual of a bath and teeth brushing. Sleep sounds way more attractive at this point.

  The curtains lie still, although I hear the wind kicking up outside, confirming that it remains firmly shut. With that in mind, I pull my covers up to my neck and sigh the day away, as my consciousness fades to black.

  ***

  “Sydney, I’m still here.” His velvety voice caresses my ears.

  ***

  Once again I’m torn from my sleep. I turn my face toward my night table, looking for the time. The clock flashes. We must have lost power.

  A small amount of light shines, accompanied by a crisp breeze. I shoot straight up from the bed. My heart skips—hard. Drumming throughout my ears. I move lethargically toward the window, fully aware even from halfway across the room—it’s open.

  2

  Q & A

  I had to have been sleepwalking again; that’s the only thing that makes sense.

  I’ve paced the floor for what must be hours, struggling to make sense of this situation. My nails are chewed to the quick, and the insides of my lips have been gnawed raw. I’ve gone back and forth, digging into the deepest ridges of my brain, trying to figure out how that window was open—again.

  I conclude that the only rational explanation is that I had to have opened it. I must have been sleepwalking. Nothing else matches up.

  I don’t suppose it could be that far-fetched of a conclusion; it’s certainly not unheard of to sleepwalk. It happens to people all the time. I’ve heard insane stories of these types of incidents. I watched a made-for-TV movie recently based on a true story: a man who had sleepwalked across town, murdering his in-laws. Could have simply been a ridiculous defense theory, perhaps. But what if?

  I feel better knowing there is a logical explanation, and I’m confident in my conclusion. The hard part is going to be deciding whether or not to tell Heather. I’ve somewhat made peace with her behavior—as rude as it was—last night. She meant well; she just handled it all wrong. I want to talk to her about it more, but right now all I can think about is how utterly exhausted I am. It’s nine thirty a.m. and I’ve had no sleep. I’m running on fumes, but I swallow it back, anxious to begin my day on a better note.

  My red pajama bottoms drag the floor as I walk into the bathroom, making a quiet swishing sound as I move. It creates a trail behind me, and prompts me to make a mental note to sweep the floor today. The dust must be an inch thick in here, as if the room had been taped off since Lana left. Heather must be mourning her pretty badly, to not even want to come in her room and clean it up before I moved in. That goes against Heather’s anal nature; she loathes dust, and messes even more. The furniture had all been moved out before I moved in, but there are a couple of boxes left in the closet, and some beauty products in the bathroom. It’s weird seeing her things, like I’m an intruder in her space. I need to ask Heather what she wants to do with it all.

  I quickly pull myself together, throwing on a robe, going over my teeth quickly with the toothbrush, and throwing my hair into a nappy ponytail. I take a quick peek in the mirror, and shrug casually. The green of my eyes pop against the sleep-deprived red rims, making them appear Crayola-bright and unnatural. I definitely look as tired as I feel, but it will simply have to do for now.

  I drag myself toward the kitchen in search of food, as my stomach thunders loudly. Coffee will be a necessity this morning. The bags under my eyes and slow responding muscles need a jump start before this day can go any further.

  I tune out the negative occurrences and try to appreciate beauty surrounding me, starting with this fabulous kitchen. This is the kind of kitchen I’ve always wanted: granite countertops, stainless appliances, mahogany hardwoods. It’s absolutely brilliant. Emeril Lagasse would definitely approve. Don’t get me wrong, I’m certainly no Emeril, but I can throw down a decent meal and put on a pretty good party too. I would love to host a housewarming shindig. My family and friends would absolutely adore this place.

  I begin scheming up a menu and cocktail list. A nice Italian spread would be great, paired with some Prosecco and an enormous antipasto platter. Relaxing music, soft lighting—it would be absolutely stunning. I’ll have to clear it with Heather first; she can be a bit of a recluse. A crowd might not sit well with her. However, it would be a great opportunity to introduce her to some new people. I have a few lesbian friends on the prowl who would just adore Heather’s good looks and breezy personality. One thing is for certain, she definitely wouldn’t be pleased with me playing matchmaker. I’ll have to keep that on the low and work my magic silently.

  Sometimes I think Heather prefers to be single, yet other times, she appears so lonely. I personally don’t understand why she chooses this for herself. If she would just stop waiting for some ridiculous fairytale to happen and have some fun while she’s still young, she would enjoy life so much more. It’s not like it would be difficult for her to score a date. She’s gorgeous, in a James Dean sort of way. She’s attentive, funny, financially secure, and—contrary to her male-ish tendencies—even manages to dress herself stylishly. A birthright of being gay, I hear. Almost makes me wish I were gay since we would make a great team.

  I blush, embarrassed to even be thinking of Heather in that way. I nervously fiddle with my ponytail, pulling it alongside my shoulder, and begin twisting it around my finger as I picture Heather’s face in my thoughts. I like how her grin pulls sideways when she flirts. She has arrogance about her, it’s…sexy.

  I shake her from my head, literally, loosening stray strands from my hair tie and begin speaking to myself aloud. “Stop it, Sydney.”

  Setting Heather up with one of my friends is one sure way of getting those thoughts erased from my mind.

  With that, it’s been decided: the party is an absolute must.

  I’ll worry about the party later. As for today, the first order of business is going to be getting Heather out of her funk from last night. I hate that our first night as roomies turned out so disastrous, but if I can explain I know she’ll understand.

  It’s then that I hear jingles coming down the hallway.

  I become a statue, freezing in place, deliberately facing away from her. I cringe inside as I’m quickly losing my confidence.

  What if she’s still pissed?

  My mouth feels too dry. I swallow hard. Hot breath stings the back of my throat as I inhale. Words form in my brain, yet catch in my throat before they can escape my lips. I can’t stand the thought of her being angry with me. I brace myself for another rant about the window.

  “Good morning,” she speaks softly.

  I turn to face her. She’s wearing dark jeans and a fitted white t-shirt. She’s already hit the shower this morning. Her signature spearmint scent fills the room. Short, messy black hair is wet under her backward facing baseball cap.

  A thin smile graces my lips, as I compose the thoughts swimming in my head.

  Damn. Just…damn.

  “Morning.” My to-the-point response and short tone instantly alters her facial expression.

  “You’re mad at me.” Her eyes lower to the floor.

  In the moment I had somehow forgotten how irritated I actually was last night. Now all I can thi
nk of is how hot she looks first thing in the morning. I swallow hard, trying not stare.

  “I don’t know about mad, but you were really rude last night, which I don’t appreciate.” I place my hands on my hips.

  “I would never be rude to you on purpose.”

  “Well, you were. I didn’t deserve that.”

  “I know.” Her shoulders slump slightly. “I’m sorry.”

  “You should be sorry. The whole window thing wasn’t my fault.”

  Her eyes quickly meet mine, slightly darkening with irritation. “Windows just don’t open themselves, Sydney. I thought you were going to—” She abruptly halts mid-sentence, then gestures waving a white flag in surrender. “Look, it doesn’t matter now. Can we please not do this? I don’t want to fight with you.”

  “I just want you to believe me. It wasn’t my fault.”

  “Fine, I believe you. Now, can we please move on?”

  “I don’t know,” I reply stubbornly, crossing my arms across my chest. Although, at this point she is already completely forgiven.

  “Let me make it up to you—please? We can go for a walk, get your camera out and snap some shots, maybe grab some lunch.” Her eyes soften again, smooth like molten caramel.

  “Did you say lunch, because I didn’t hear anything else?” I tease.

  “Indeed I did. In fact, there’s a new Greek restaurant a couple of blocks away—Athena’s Grill. I can treat you to one of those nasty Greek salads you love so much.” She gags.

  “Tempting, but I’m not so sure I should let you off the hook so easily. First you must agree to the following conditions.”

  “Name ‘em.” She perks up, lifting her eyebrow curiously.

  “One, you explain why you were so hateful last night, and no dancing around the subject. And two, I get extra feta on my salad, and you can’t complain about the upcharge.”

  “I don’t know, I might have to take out a second mortgage to cover the cost of that feta, but you’re worth it. I will meet the required conditions.” She smiles sweetly. “Now go get ready and I’ll throw some coffee on for when you come out. Heavy cream, a pound of sugar, with a splash of coffee?” She laughs.

  “Trying to win my heart?”

  “Maybe.” A bright smile paints her golden face.

  “But the neighbors might talk…”

  “A girl can dream, right?” Pink floods her cheeks and her eyes have suddenly taken interest in her Nike’s.

  “Yeah, okay.” I giggle, bouncing back to the bathroom to grab a quick shower. Last night’s events are erased, and I’m looking forward to a fun filled day with my best friend in the world.

  ***

  This bathroom is so much more than I ever hoped for in a two bedroom apartment, complete with a jetted garden tub, separate walk-in shower, and tiled top to bottom with beautiful clay colored ceramic. It’s gorgeous, just like the rest of the apartment. I imagine Heather must have laid some big money down for this place.

  I spot a basket on the vanity, something I know for certain was not there when I brushed my teeth this morning. I walk over, peering inside to explore the contents.

  “Pear Berry!” I excitedly pluck a bottle of my favorite body soap from the basket. It is accompanied by the matching lotion and body spray. This scent has been discontinued for at least three years and is virtually impossible to find. I dig the card from the bottom of the basket.

  I originally bought this as a welcome gift.

  It is now an “I’m sorry” gift.

  I know how much you love Pear Berry, so I searched until I found it.

  Sorry for being a douchebag.

  I hope this brings a smile to your beautiful face.

  I love you, Kid.

  -Heather

  An enormous smile infects my entire being, lighting me up from the inside out. I couldn’t think of a more thoughtful, beautiful person.

  ***

  Steam from the scalding water fills the bathroom, fogging the mirror from corner to corner. I undress slowly, taking the time to relax my muscles as the water heats to full temp. As I step in I momentarily pull back from the sting, wincing and enjoying the heat, simultaneously. I breathe the delicious mist into my lungs, exhaling slowly.

  Again, Heather pops into my head, standing there in her tight t-shirt, hair wet—so sexy.

  Until now I’ve never considered how she might be as a partner, like—romantically. I wonder if she’s sweet, or maybe she’s dominant and controlling. Funny enough, I can see both roles suiting her.

  I’ve wondered occasionally what it would be like to be with a girl. Personally, I imagine it would be an awkwardly unnatural experience, unless it was with Heather, of course. I don’t know, just to try it out once, live the experience—say I’ve been there and done that. Would I actually have the balls to kiss her, or possibly even more? I ponder the thought casually, as I pour creamy shampoo into my palm, lathering it through my long auburn hair.

  I inhale the beautiful gift of Pear Berry, as it absorbs into my skin, captured by the scalding waterfall pounding against my shoulders.

  I close my eyes and drift into an unexpected, but not entirely unwelcomed, daydream.

  ***

  The door opens; it’s Heather. I can’t see her, but I know.

  She stands outside the shower curtain, breathing heavily as she calls my name.

  The tone of her voice says she’s not calling me. She’s asking for permission.

  “Yes?” I whisper, unsure.

  The curtain parts slowly, unveiling her. She leans arrogantly against the wall, watching me with passionate eyes.

  I’ve never seen her this way before. She’s sexy, seductive—needy. There is no desperation or insecurity. She knows exactly what she wants.

  Her eyes close slowly as she is breathes me in, savoring the scent she so lovingly gifted to me. The magnetism pulls us closer. Her eyes are scorching, like liquefied chocolate. They scan upward slowly, then down, at an even more agonizingly slow pace. Whatever she sees, she likes. A look of need paints her bronze face, as she pulls closer. Her cheeks are hot red; her lips, wet and warm. I watch silently, as my own breathing quickens. I can’t break eye contact, and wouldn’t if I could. I’m captured in this moment—surrendered to this moment.

  “Closer,” I demand.

  Her face inches toward me teasingly, her lips so close to mine I can feel the desire in her shallow breaths.

  “What do you want?” I gently nibble my bottom lip, watching as her face twists in complete pleasurable pain.

  “Kiss me—hard,” she whispers.

  I wet my lips with my tongue, ready to give her what she needs—what I want.

  ***

  I’m suddenly torn from my daydream as the overhead bulbs flash with a buzz of electricity, smothering out any light like a dark blanket.

  I spring from the shower stall, clumsily slipping on wet feet in my hasty escape from the bathroom. My shoulder slams into the freezing tile as I hit the floor with all my weight, causing a rippling boom throughout the entire apartment.

  I peel myself off the floor, examining my aching shoulder by lifting and twirling my arm. It’s bruising already, but thankfully nothing feels broken—aside from my pride. I collapse on my bed, planting my face in my hands, laughing out loud.

  “A twenty-two year old—scared of the dark? Pathetic,” I speak to myself.

  A brisk knock at the door startles me.

  “Are you okay, Syd? It sounded like you knocked the bottom out of the floor,” Heather calls from outside the door.

  “Uh…yeah, I just slipped.”

  “Oh my god, are you sure you’re okay?” The door opens without warning and she rushes to the side of the bed. Her face goes white as she realizes there is nothing covering me, other than my skin.

  “Heather!” I screech, grasping for the comforter which is trapped halfway underneath my legs. I wrestle to cover the intimate parts that are exposed—essentially everything.

  “Shit!”
She turns and slamming the door behind her. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s fine. Really it’s…no big…um—I will be out in a sec, okay?” I stammer.

  I can feel the heat rising off her cheeks from here, easily assuming she must be even more mortified than I am.

  “Next time you try to save me from killing myself, you might try knocking.”

  “I don’t know what to say…damn it.” Her apologetic tone is dripping with horror. “If it makes you feel any better, I think I’m having heart palpitations.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure you are.”

  “In case you didn’t know, your door has a lock.”

  “Well, in case you didn’t know when a door is closed it usually for a reason,” I sass right back.

  “Noted.”

  ***

  The rest of the morning flies by as we walk the streets of Atlanta, enjoying the cool breeze and historic value of the city. Living in Atlantic Station certainly seems to have its advantages. Everything is within walking distance—food, shopping, art, and absolutely no shortage of entertainment. After a stroll around the shopping area, Heather takes me to the Bodies exhibit. She’s already seen it, but she thought I may enjoy it, and she was right, it’s great. I’ll admit it’s fascinating seeing the human body in its rawest form—literally. One might think that seeing human bodies beneath the skin might deter your appetite—certainly not the case for me. I was starving by the time the tour was over—even joking with Heather on how the muscle of the bodies was making my mouth water because it looked like ham. She scowled of course, but I thought it was pretty darn funny.

  “I’m ready for that Greek salad. How about you?” I ask as my stomach growls.

  “As long as there is feta cheese on that salad, I will never be ready for one; but I could definitely eat.”

  “What do you have against feta cheese? It’s good.”

  “It should be called feet-a cheese. It smells like dirty gym socks. Not my idea of delicious, sorry.”

  “To each his own, I suppose.”

  I realize that Athena’s Grill is literally a three minute walk from the apartment, which I love, since Greek is something I could eat absolutely every day.