For the entirety of the dream, I stood there watching as everything happened, only a spectator to this new world. It made me think of A Christmas Carol when the ghosts would take Ebenezer Scrooge to watch something and they were there, but not really part of the scene, only able to observe as everything played out before him.
My dream placed me in the exact same predicament. Appearing in the living room of a strange house, the first thing I noticed was that it seemed eerily quiet. That was until music started screaming through the speakers right behind me making me jump. Furnished nicely, but not too over the top, it reminded me more of a staged prop house that realtors used to sell another house in a cookie cutter subdivision.
I moved behind one of the couches away from the blaring music and something told me to watch the hallway. Instinctively, I knew the hallway just beyond the living led to stairs on one side and the front door on the other.
Anticipation built as I waited for someone to appear, or for something to happen. And as soon as the lyrics of the song began, Bryan skidded across the floor and into view wearing nothing except socks and Batman Underoos (both the t–shirt and underwear.) Did they even make those in adult sizes? It didn’t matter. My eyes remained glued to him as he slid on a pair of sunglasses and started to sing into a wire whisk. His hips swung back and forth as he spun around and shook his ass in front of me. I wanted to reach out and grab it, and then hold on for dear life. Surely the ride would be worth it.
He spanked his own ass, and a moan caught in my throat making my voice sound strangled. Why did my subconscious insist on torturing me?
The performance lasted for three songs. I tried multiple times to move toward him, but my feet refused to move. They remained where they stood as if they were glued in place. And after the third song, his gaze landed on me, he licked his lips, pointed, and then turned his palm over and cocked his finger, bidding me to his side. Damn, I wanted him!
Instead of fulfilling his demand and walking forward, I woke up in my bed breathing heavily as if I had run a marathon with my dog licking my arm. No music played, and Bryan no longer danced in front of me.
Flopping back onto my pillow, I stared up at my ceiling and Curley stretched out beside me. I willed my eyes to close so I could return to my dream world. Eventually they began to feel heavy, drooping lower and lower until I slipped into slumber. However, when I awoke the next morning, I had not received a repeat performance. That sucked.
But what dawned on me as I got out of bed and grabbed a cup of coffee, was that I was going to have to talk to the subject of my fantastical dream at some point that day. Maybe it was a good thing we were only chatting online. I didn’t want to imagine how I would react to him, or better yet, how my body would react to his nearness. Although it had only been a dream, when I woke up my body was flushed, my breathing erratic, and I oozed wetness from my lower half. My body wanted him.
With zero doctor appointments and nothing to occupy my thoughts for the day, I predicted I would remain on edge all day.
Unfortunately, my disability would not allow me to work any longer, and I had to fill my day doing other things. I would write or read when my eyes allowed it, but even that was never an all–day affair because they got tired rather quickly and I wound up with extreme doubled and blurred vision. Audio books, television, naps due to constant exhaustion, and playing with Curley occupied much of my normal day.
Therefore, with zero doctor appointments, and nothing concrete to do with my day, the dream I had of Bryan in all of his Batman glory was replayed throughout the day. God help me.
Chapter 9
Emma
Thankfully, I didn’t get the chance to talk to him the day after my crazy dream. His services were needed elsewhere, and I tried not to think of what that meant exactly. It could have been anything from Uncle Sam demanding his attention, his roommate finding another psycho girl to hook up with, or maybe he had his own itch to scratch. Those options were my top contenders, and I leaned toward the latter.
Bryan was a military man whom I thought was sexy as hell with his dimpled smile and tats covering one arm. I remembered he said he had more, and I also remembered thinking I wouldn’t mind exploring his body. Yeah, I went there. So if he appealed to me to that extent, I knew how much he probably appealed to other girls. I mean the night we went to karaoke, no less than six women tried to hit on him. Mel finally wrapped her arms around his shoulders, lifted a leg to hook around his hips, and pumped her own pelvis back and forth a few times dry humping him. To put a cherry on top of her newly staked claim, she kissed his cheek. Or was it a sort of claim?
In actuality, it couldn’t have been a real claim on him since her fiancé, Luke Ransom, stood five feet away from her little performance laughing as girls shot Mel the jealous evil eye wishing she would drop dead right here so their claim on Bryan could be staked. If looks could kill that night, I would be down one friend, and Luke would be without a fiancée.
Bryan and Mel always acted like that according to Luke. The two had known each other since high school and were best friends. I did ask one time why she never dated him, which caused her to practically gag at the thought of it. Correction! She did gag and almost threw up.
Apparently, one night while at a friend’s house during their college years, they had been dared to kiss each other. Not ones who typically backed down from a challenge, they gave themselves a pep talk to try and bolster their courage, and did what they had to do to succeed. The first clue that this story would end badly, they had to use liquor to go through with it. And the second clue, they got wasted. One shot hadn’t cut it. They both had multiple shots of tequila. When they both felt ready, they turned to each other, leaned in for the kiss, and Mel yacked on Bryan. After she threw up on him, he threw up on her, and back a forth a couple of times. Gross.
That night changed things between them. Before, she only considered him a friend, nothing more. After that night, the mere mention or passing thought of kissing Bryan caused her gag reflex to start working overtime. She could kiss his cheek, hug him, and other friendly gestures because they were safe. But kissing him on the mouth…NO GO!
Plus, I didn’t think her fiancé would have appreciated it if she had tried to go further with Bryan. Luke accepted their friendship and had known them both since college. Rumor even had it that he witnessed the whole drunken vomit induced night. It never seemed to bother him when they goofed around, or when Mel pretended to dry hump her best friend to chase away the ladies. I gave him props for that, because a lesser man would have taken up residence in the middle of jealous city.
Luke Ransom was a good ol’ country boy from Tennessee, and the moment Mel laid eyes on him during her freshman year of college, she decided he belonged to her; however, he refused to go down without a fight. At six feet, he put up one hell of a fight at that. Whenever they were around each other, he pretended to ignore her, always spoke to her as if she were a stranger, and he hardly ever gave her the time of day. If she managed to corner him, he would turn around and leave as quickly as possible.
It sounded harsh, but a couple of his friends had warned him that she liked to play games and loved it when a man played hard to get. And Luke stupidly trusted them. In addition, at the time he was never sure of the exact nature of her relationship with Bryan. Hell, I hadn’t known them as long as Luke had, and one night of karaoke even made me question if lingering feelings existed between Mel and Bryan.
The two men were similar in some ways, and yet very different. Both had brown hair and muscular statures, although Bryan’s hair was a couple shades darker…dreamier. Bryan was a little taller, a little tanner, and had a deeper voice than Luke. Where Luke had brown eyes, Bryan had hazel. Okay, other than the brown hair and muscle mass, they were nothing alike unless you counted how much they both cared about Mel. And I included it because according to my granny, a lot could be learned from how a man treated his friends and family.
It had been one of the first things I noticed
about Bryan—more like the third orfourth—and I found myself jealous of her and the attention he gave her. Standing next to her, supporting her, stood Luke. A great guy by any standard, and so country I came across as a city girl next to him. After my dad retired and we moved to Texas, I turned slightly country in my attire, attitude, and accent. But Luke had me beat. And then Bryan appeared and suddenly Mel glued herself to her best friend’s side and Luke let it go.
When I asked Luke about it, he chuckled. That chuckle grew. Throwing back his head, he laughed deep from his belly and it was loud. At the time I wondered if he had been driven mad, and placed my hand on his shoulder as a gesture of condolence. He then surprised me when he said, “The moment they start acting normal or weird around each other, that’s when I know I have problems.” My expression must have told him how confused I felt, because he explained, “Trust me. They are more like siblings than anything else. They can’t even kiss each other. The day they get over that, then I’ll worry.”
Scrunching my nose, I shook my head and giggled. “Okay then.” I really didn’t understand it at the time, but as I continued to watch them throughout the night, I realized that Luke had been right. Bryan and Mel were just Bryan and Mel. They acted and behaved as siblings more than friends…dry humping aside.
I couldn’t say for sure when I became friends with Mel. When I could work before I got sick, we always exchanged emails and talked over the phone. After I got sick and had to stop working, she kept in touch and I counted her as one of my true friends. Before I moved to South Carolina, I had never met her in person, however, unlike some friends I had around me for years, she hadn’t disappeared when my body decided to turn against me. The day I arrived in Charleston, she had been there to greet me with open arms and a gaggle of people to help us unload the truck. Moving to a strange state where I thought I would have no one except my sister, I was beyond grateful to have another person I could call a friend.
In Dallas, I had several friends. Ones that stood by me and supported me after my life took a 180, and others, who abandoned me and our friendship after I got sick. After good friends shunned me, I feared meeting new people, of seeing the judgement in their eyes. Moving reinforced my defensive measures and my walls were always up. Some of the people I met after I relocated befriended me for no other reason than they were friends with Ellie, while others appeared genuinely interested in getting to know me. In the beginning, I found it difficult to differentiate and it took a long time before I started to lower my walls for anyone.
My other issue was future plans. Some people understood or tried to understand my day to day lifestyle, and some did not. Many did not like the fact I had to cancel on them last minute. Day to day meant day to day. Every day my life was different. Some days, I could walk with only a cane, play with Curley, and do many things I wanted to do for myself. Other days I remained in bed because I could barely walk and sat around like a bump on a log. Turned out that when certain people received a last minute cancellation, they chose to never invite me over for anything again. Parties, game nights, dinners, etc. Nothing. Others accepted it a little more readily and tried to be accommodating, but even their patience could be tested.
I believed most people generally tried to understand me and my condition; and yet, they couldn’t really grasp or comprehend it. However, no one really understood how I felt, what I dealt with. Unless someone experienced something similar or the same thing, it was impossible. Maybe that sounded callous of me, but based on my experience, it was what I knew to be true.
The voice of a certain person popped into my head, and I snickered. I imagined Bryan saying: “Blow it off. Their opinions don’t matter.” Maybe they didn’t. That man got me thinking about things I hadn’t thought about in years, and I didn’t know if that was a good thing, or a bad thing.
In high school, I worked hard to make good grades and excel in my academics. I needed scholarships in order to go to college. My family couldn’t afford to send me, and I didn’t want to be my sister. Ellie joined the Navy like many of our family before her, but that was not the life I wanted. The desire to join the military never called out to me.
It wasn’t only the Navy in which I didn’t want to follow my sister’s footsteps.
Ellie had always been the pretty one with long legs and a small figure. She took after my dad’s side of the family, whereas I took after my mom’s side with my heavier build. Her strawberry blonde hair hung in gentle waves below her shoulders, and guys rushed to her side every chance they got. At 5’7”, I was four inches taller than her with curves to spare. Since middle school, she always had a boyfriend at her beck and call, while I dated here and there, but my focus remained on the books. She liked to have a good time, and I stayed home and studied. We were night and day.
I think the thing that pushed me over the edge, that one defining moment that made me study more than anything happened during my junior year in high school. Ellie had called home from wherever she was stationed at the time, and I informed her that I sat at number four in my class. She told me, “I don’t know why you study so much. Even without college, there are guys willing to take care of you if you let them. Besides, you won’t attract a guy with your brain. A guy doesn’t want to date someone who’s smarter than them.” Those worlds sealed it for me. I didn’t want to depend on someone else to live my life. That wasn’t living. And if a guy didn’t want me for me, if I had to dumb myself down for someone, then I didn’t want him.
My family was never rich or well–off, but we had enough and did not struggle. I knew if college was going to be an option for my future, I better work my ass off for scholarships. And I did. I wound up with a full ride to North Texas University, one of the best schools in Texas for psychology.
And getting in was only the beginning of my work. In order to keep my scholarships, I had to maintain a certain GPA, the dorms had curfews, and I had a packed schedule. Dating? My love life became secondary to finishing my degree. Yes, I dated here and there, but nothing of any real substance. My experience with guys during college consisted of my roommate forcing me to go on a double date with her because she needed an extra person. I was her last resort. When I gave Bryan my low number, I never included those last resort dates, because I didn’t consider them worth mentioning.
After I obtained my Bachelor’s, I had to get my Master’s. Guys were never the priority until I entered the workforce. Fresh out of college, a large company hired me to work in their marketing department and to develop new training programs for their new recruits. I loved my job. It had not been something I initially considered doing while going to school, but it fulfilled me and paid well. Dating was not an option, and I wanted to date, but I couldn’t find a guy who wanted to date me. And when I would find someone, they weren’t worth keeping around.
Or so I told myself. Inside, I secretly questioned myself. Was my sister right about men in general? Did they hate girls smarter than them? Ones that were more successful? Did my curves turn them off? Since high school the men throwing themselves at me were practically non–existent. But when it came to my sister, men flocked to her when she batted her eyes.
I asked my guy friends about it one day, and they all laughed. When their riotous laughter calmed down, Bobby told me I was more like one of the guys than a girl. I was the buddy they all wanted. A buddy, one of the guys. They did not see me as a lovely girl or someone to date.
Self-esteem issues abounded before myasthenia gravis, and after I became disabled, they got worse. Now men stared at me as if I was a leper. In their heads, I was an invalid, and not what they wanted in a future partner.
I could no longer work, my body quit cooperating with me, and I found myself alone. When I became sick at 25, I should have been living my dream life, but instead I was worried and trying to figure out where my life was heading. It felt like this disease robbed me of my life. Now that I was 29, there were times I still felt as if my life had been spirited away, however, I had also found a new lif
e through writing, reading, and trying to spread the word about myasthenia gravis awareness.
When people used the saying, stop and smell the roses, or said live for today because you never know what will happen tomorrow…I painfully understood exactly what they meant.
Chapter 10
Emma
It would be another two days before I would hear from Bryan again for a total of three days without any communication. At times it felt longer than that, especially when my eyes would slowly gravitate toward my phone, or when I happened to be on my computer. I always had FaceSpace messenger open because I didn’t want to miss his message. Silly, really, since I couldn’t miss his message given all the electronic devices I owned with FS messenger downloaded on them.
Odd that I anticipated his pings with glee when days ago I cringed knowing he waited for me to respond. Who was the person waiting for a response now? Me, and I wanted to slap myself for it. Any time my phone would ding, I hurriedly checked it to see whose name or face appeared, and each time Bryan’s did not pop up, I frowned and shook my head in disappointment at him and myself. And each time I would put it down after responding to the messenger half–heartedly.
The only time I felt apprehensive about talking to him again, was when I remembered my dream. Oh that dream. It did not take much to recall the image of him in Batman Underoos. Sometimes the image created an ache deep within me, but more often than not, the image made me laugh. A big strong navy man with tattoos on his arm dressed in Underoos? Yeah, it was a mental image that did not want to leave once it took root. I attempted to pretend it was not there, but it was always there in the back of my mind ready to pop out at any unsuspecting moment.
Yesterday, my mouth opened of its own accord and confessed the dream to Mel. She fell to the floor laughing like a hyena. Like a fucking snorting hyena. I had never seen her become completely unhinged like this before. I stared at her in disbelief and pondered which was funnier: the Underoos or her in hysterics.
Exposed: Book One of The Love Seekers Series Page 6