Shadows and Dreams (Dream Series Book 2)

by Braxton Hicks

  He perched himself up on his elbow, taking his hand and gently brushing my hair back off of my face. He leaned towards me and brushed his lips against mine gently. "How would you feel about my mother coming and spending some time here with us?”

  “Why?” I asked tentatively.

  “I just feel that maybe you need a break, baby. I know that you trust Mom with Preston, and she'd love to spend some time here with the baby and with us. That way, you could focus on getting the house ready for our move. Would you consider coming back to the firm for a few weeks?”

  “What?” I asked confused as to how the subject of his mother coming to stay for a while had morphed into my going back to work.

  “Leah has to have some surgery. You know Harmon’s office almost as well as she does. If you could help out there for me, Mom could take care of Preston. I really do think it would do you some good to be away from the baby a little bit. You need to know there's nothing at all to be frightened about, okay?”

  Trey really didn't get it. I could see that now. To argue or resist his suggestions would only reaffirm what he was already thinking, which was that I was paranoid or delusional or both. I wasn't prepared to argue this point with him because, the truth was, I had no argument. I was operating solely on maternal instinct and I knew that in Trey’s eyes it would never hold up in court.

  “I think that's a great idea," I lied, but aren’t your parents in Europe right now?”

  He raised my hand to his lips, lightly brushing them against it; his eyes never strayed from mine. “I talked to my mother earlier this evening; she'd absolutely love cutting their trip short in order to spend some time with us, as long as you're okay with it.”

  “Well of course I am,” I lied. “Preston needs some quality time with Grandma and you're probably right. I need to spend some quality time outside of this apartment and focusing on things other than the baby.”

  Trey pulled me to him, embracing me within his strong arms as I tried to swallow the lump of fear that was lodged within my throat.

  Chapter 7

  When I awoke, Preston was nuzzled against me. She must've awakened during the night. This seemed to be an every night occurrence nowadays. Trey must've brought her to me like always, since he'd banished her from our bedroom. That was his sole contribution to her feeding these days.

  Her head was bobbing as she gently nursed from me. It was odd that I hadn’t felt her latch on, but sometimes she nursed more gently than other times. I looked at the clock on our night stand. Shit! I needed to get up and be out and about on my business for the day. It seemed like all she ever wanted to do was eat! I pulled her from my breast so that I could rise up off of my side into a sitting position. Her milk-sopped mouth quivered with unhappiness. I threw my legs over the side of the bed and wiped the sleep from my eyes, still cradling her in my free arm.

  She started fussing immediately, kicking her chubby legs up in the air in anger, catching me in the face with her foot. Shit! That hurt! I wasn't in the mood for one of her notorious hissy fits at the moment that was for sure. I laid her down across the bed, and rubbed my temples. My head was pounding. Preston had seemed to turn into one fussy, demanding baby overnight. Right now, she was into full blown wailing. I was grinding my teeth in stress.

  I'd had enough. Fuck breast-feeding; screw motherhood! It seemed like I'd lived with this baby attached to one of my tits for the last several months. She'd sucked the life out of me. Her wailing was quickly grating on my nerves like fingernails raking down a chalkboard. I looked at her as she writhed and squirmed on the bed, her face scrunched up and red with anger. Her hands were clenched up in little fists.

  Something drove me to suddenly raise my hand back and slap it firmly against her cheek. I was desperate for something—anything to make her shut the fuck up. I just couldn’t handle it any longer!

  The feel of my skin slapping harshly against her soft, baby skin was new to me. It stunned her; I could tell.

  Her large blue eyes widened in surprise as she looked at me, crushed. I'd left a red handprint on her cheek. Perhaps it was time for her to realize that in life you don’t always get what you want when you want it.

  She wailed in response to the slap. Large droplets of tears streaked paths down her cheeks. Good God; Trey would probably be racing in here now to see what the hell was going on. He hovered over me constantly these days. I finally picked her up off of the bed to change her diaper and get her ready so I wouldn't be delayed in getting my start for the day. She was still sobbing and crying when I placed her on the changing table in her room and removed her soaked diaper; she was sucking on her fist.

  I clasped my hand around her ankles, raising her butt up in the air so that I could put a clean diaper underneath it with my free hand. She continued to whimper and pull her legs back from me. God, I was so not in the mood for this today. I finally allowed her to succeed in freeing her legs from my grasp. She was kicking and sobbing. Her little arms reached up to me. She wanted me to pick her up; she still wanted the tit.

  I flipped her over onto her belly, which now provided me full access to her bare bottom. I smacked my open hand against the bare flesh of her butt again and again. Listening to the sound of my skin slapping her skin reminded me of the sounds that I'd often heard as far back as I could remember. Sometimes pain followed the sound; other times only a feeling of fear and disgust. I looked down at the baby as my thoughts drifted back to the present. Her bottom was crimson red from my smacks. By this time, she was shrieking in pain; her chubby legs were squirming against the pad of her changing table trying to scoot away out of my reach. She was scared of me.

  There, there now…Perhaps I'd slapped that fucking rash right off of her butt. Trey wouldn't have a reason to bitch at me about it anymore! He couldn't accuse me of being a negligent mother. She continued kicking and screaming on her changing table. Fuck it! If she wanted to lay there diaper-less and pitch a fit, so be it. I was going to get dressed.

  I left her on the changing table in her room, and made a hasty retreat back to the master suite so that I could find something to wear in my closet. I searched for something sexy to wear. I wanted to look and feel sexy again, not like some wet-nurse with tits hanging down to my knees. I found a pair of tight jeans in my closet and pulled them up over my still-slim hips and flat stomach. I rummaged through my closet drawers and found a sexy black top with a built in push-up bra. With my larger breasts, it revealed a whole lot of cleavage.

  This would be perfect to wear out to the construction site this afternoon. I had to meet with the contractor about the flooring in the main hallway and he was ten shades of sexy. I'd noticed how he'd watched me whenever I went out to the site, as long as Trey wasn't with me.

  Once dressed, I scooted into the bathroom to put my make-up on and fix my hair. As I looked up into the mirror over the sink I was startled to see the face of my mother looking back at me from the reflection. I looked around the bathroom to see where she was lurking.

  What the…?

  I turned back to the mirror and blinked my eyes several times before I realized that the reflection in the mirror was me, but I now looked just like my MOTHER!

  Just then, I heard the muffled sound of glass shattering. It had come from down the hallway. It sounded like it came from Preston’s room. Damn! What had the little shit gotten into now? I couldn’t recall whether I'd locked the rails up on the side of her changing table before I'd left her room. I hurried down the hallway to her room. I gasped as I looked over at her changing table and saw that it was empty. My gaze lowered to the carpeted floor beneath the changing table. She'd fallen from the table onto the floor. She'd broken into hundreds of pieces like a china doll.

  Trey appeared next to me in the doorway. He was going to hate me for what I'd done. I turned to him, sobbing and crying. A smile was plastered on his face as if he were a statue that had no other expression other than the one he currently wore.

  “I’m sorry, Trey! I didn’t mean to le
ave her on the changing table. Please, please…help me put her back together again!” I was on my knees, trying to gather up the broken pieces of Preston. Trey continued to stand there like a statue, not bothering to help me.

  “Tylar! Tylar! What are you doing? Stop…you need to stop!”

  My eyes looked back up finding him gazing down at me. We were no longer in Preston’s room. We were on the bed in our room. His statue-like expression was gone. It had been replaced by one of fear and confusion. It was familiar to me now as I came out of my dream-like haze.

  I'd seen that same expression on his face every night for the past three nights. He reached over and flicked the switch on the lamp next to the bed. My face was covered with sweat. My breathing was quick and shallow. I looked up at him, not masking my fear at the unanswered question.

  “She’s fine. She’s in her bed right where you tucked her in earlier." His tone was different. He was exasperated; anyone could see that. For the first time, I noticed the dark circles underneath his eyes. He hadn’t been sleeping well, mostly because I'd kept him up intermittently each night with these horrible nightmares that seemed so real.

  “I’m sorry," I said softly. “It’s just that I had this horrible dream about…”

  “I know, Tylar,” he snapped in frustration. “Please spare me the details. It's just another one of your fucked-up dreams like all of the others.”

  He lowered his head, rubbing his hand over his forehead and raking it back through his sleep-tousled hair. Trey’s mom was due in the following morning to stay and help out with the baby. I knew he'd voiced his concern about me and my paranoid mental state to her.

  I couldn’t be blamed for what I dreamt; I did think that Trey had had his fill of me not seeing someone about them. He'd been prodding me to talk to my OB/GYN to see if the dreams could possibly be attributed to post-partum depression. He wanted me to get help.

  I couldn’t tell him that this dream was different than the others. I was sickened by it. This was the first time I'd dreamt of hurting my baby; this was the first time I'd ever dreamt that I was my mother.

  “Trey,” I said softly, waiting for him to look at me. I felt so damaged.

  He looked over at me, his gorgeous eyes tired and drawn; he was still rubbing the back of his neck in utter frustration and helplessness. He cocked an eyebrow waiting for me to say what I had to say.

  “I'll get in touch with the doctor tomorrow, I promise. I'll find out what's going on and if Dr. Addison feels that it's beyond his expertise, I'll have him refer me to a psychiatrist. I promise you that. I'm so very sorry that this has been happening.”

  “Sweetie,” he replied with a sigh, drawing me closer to him. “I'm not blaming you for this. I know that whatever is going on with you isn't your fault. I just want it gone."

  “I understand,” I choked out, tears welling up. “Can I please ask you for one thing tonight?”

  “What is it?”

  “Please, can you get Preston and let her sleep in here with us?”

  He eyed me warily. I actually thought that perhaps Trey no longer totally trusted me around my baby. The thought of that crushed me into a million pieces; yet, had I told him about my latest dream, I could almost guarantee that he would have me institutionalized.

  “I'll go get her,” he replied quietly.

  Her bassinet was still in our room and, during the days when Trey was at work, I kept her in it so that I could be nearby watching "Ellen” while she napped. I tried to make things normal like they used to be before Jean was run down and left for dead.

  Trey returned with Preston in his arms. He placed her carefully into my arms where I looked down onto her sweet, chubby cheeks and kissed them gently to chase away the memories of what I'd done to them in my latest dream. Her large blue eyes fluttered open and she gazed up at me with love. I kissed her again and again. She smiled at me, presenting her dimple which I kissed as well. Her hand reached up and grabbed onto my hair, fisting it with her tiny fingers and pulling.

  “Ouch,” I said, laughing. “You're hurting Mommy.”

  I gently pried her little fingers out of my hair, kissing them with my lips. I kissed her cheeks over and over again, telling her how much I loved her. I cradled her against me as we hunkered down and fell asleep together. She placed her tiny thumb in her mouth and snuggled against me, feeling safe and secure within my arms.

  It was sometime later that I felt Trey lifting her from my arms in order to place her into the bassinet. “Please don’t take her from me. I need her here with me, okay? Just this once?”

  He relented, pulling the covers up around us and enfolding the baby and me within his strong and loving arms. “I love you,” he whispered into my ear.

  “I love you,” I whispered back, snuggling against him. “I’m sorry that I’ve been so fucked up.”

  “Go to sleep, baby,” he ordered softly.

  Chapter 8

  It had been three weeks since I'd started seeing Dr. Karla Hunter, a psychologist that Dr. Addison had referred me to who specialized in post-partum depression. Dr. Addison had told me that my dreams, fears and anxiety were textbook symptoms of PPD. He'd started me on a low dose of an antidepressant medication called Paxil, which he assured me was safe for breastfeeding mothers.

  As I sat in her office, waiting for her to come in, I reflected upon how things had been since Dr. Addison had diagnosed me with PPD. The dreams had continued off and on for a week to ten days after I started the meds. Little by little, they'd diminished. My anxiety and fears about the baby were starting to subside. I wasn’t sure if the meds could take total credit for that because having Susan at our apartment was good emotional medicine for me as well.

  Susan had immediately put me at ease about being there to help out. She assured me that she wouldn't try and take over or get in the way of my mothering. She told me that if there was anything she did that I didn't like, I was to tell her immediately. She also assured me that she'd suffered bouts of post-partum depression after Tristan had been born and that it wasn't all that rare; that I wasn't to feel ashamed or upset by it. She mothered me as if I were her own daughter, which brought me much comfort.

  Susan and I developed a routine with Preston that worked out well for all concerned. Trey set up the double bed that had been in that bedroom before it had been transitioned into the nursery. The room was plenty large enough to accommodate it. Susan slept in the nursery with Preston. I used my breast pump in the evening so that if Preston awoke during the night or before I got up in the morning, Susan would take the feeding for me.

  I rested so much better knowing that someone I loved and trusted was sleeping close by my baby. My anxiety and stress level had been greatly reduced. My relationship with Trey had benefited tremendously. We laughed and loved again. The dark circles under his eyes disappeared and our mutual affection reappeared with more energy than before. We enjoyed our closeness and doing things as a couple away from home like we'd done before Preston was born.

  Dr. Hunter breezed through the door just then, my chart in her hands. “Good afternoon, Tylar,” she greeted me warmly, glancing through her notes from the session we'd the prior week.

  “Hi Karla,” I replied, smiling. She'd insisted on my calling her by her first name, which was fine by me.

  “Anything new happening?” she asked.

  “Everything's pretty much the same,” I replied. “I’m feeling well, sleeping well and the dark nightmares have disappeared. Susan's still with us. She's made a lot of my fears disappear just by being there.”

  “How so?” Karla asked.

  “Well, for one thing, I feel better about going out without taking the baby everywhere I go. Plus, she sleeps in Preston’s room, so that makes me feel better too.”

  “How long is your mother-in-law staying on with you and Trey?”

  “I’m not sure. Why?”

  “No reason. I just think that maybe we need to discuss possible reasons as to why her presence has made you fee
l safer, secure and well, to be perfectly blunt, sane.”

  What was with psychologists, I wondered? Did they always find it necessary to find some deep, dark hidden meaning to every inconsequential remark made? I was a new mother with no experience with babies.

  Why shouldn’t I feel more secure and relaxed having Susan nearby? It wasn’t as if my own mother had taught me anything maternal. Dear God, I hoped Karla didn’t bring that subject up again.

  “Have you given any more thought to your own mother, Tylar?”

  There it is . . .

  “Not really,” I replied with a shrug. “I mean, I’m not sure what you expected me to think about. I’ve told you that most of my 'mom’ memories aren't all that pleasant.”

  “I understand that,” she remarked.

  “Trust me; I'm not trying to dredge up memories that are painful to you. I just thought perhaps there might be some benefit in you and I discussing some of the issues you may have had with your mother that cause you to worry about your own potential as a mother to Preston. I recall some of your dreams dealt with your fear of harming your baby.”

  “One dream, Dr. Hunter. It was only the one dream.” I was quick to correct her and the fact that I hadn’t used her first name didn't go unnoticed by Karla.

  I saw an eyebrow arch upward infinitesimally at my response. Dear God, I'd probably set off some psychological “bell and whistle” with my defensive response to her seemingly benign statement. The truth was, I didn't want to dwell on my mother or the fact that I'd dreamt that horrid nightmare. The pills had taken care of those bad dreams. What would be served in dredging it all back up again?

  “Did you have any luck with trying to recall your first memory since our last appointment?”

  Shit—this again. She's starting to annoy me a tad.

  “As a matter of fact, I did. My first memory was at the house where I was raised; the one and only house that I ever lived in with my mother in Radcliff, Kentucky,” I replied.