The Dream

Andrew didn't want to go to sleep again. He was already weirded out by the odd dreams he had been having lately. He thought about telling his friends and family, but he wasn't sure how they were going to feel about his dreams. He wasn't the kind of person who talked about stuff like that. It wasn't easy for him to share his feelings about certain subjects. 

Especially to his partner, that he was proud to say that he had raised three children with. 

He almost gave in to telling his husband everything, but something stopped him. Perhaps he was afraid of ruining his happy moment with him, when they were having a good time together. They had stayed up late to watch an Alfred Hitchcock movie, Vertigo. The kids decided to sleep in the treehouse, and Andrew lost count how many times he kept checking to see if the lantern was on within the treehouse. 

It was the one rule he had given his children, to make sure they would be safe out there. He could see their shadows from the light, and faintly heard the three of them laughing and talking. It was a good life, and he was afraid of ruining what he had. 

It was only a dream. 

Just a bad dream that left him feeling that something was wrong. 

Almost like he was being watched. 

Before he realized what was happening, he could feel his eyes closing as the credits to the movie started to roll. His partner was already snoring away before the ending, and Andrew found himself falling into darkness. 

He was dreaming. 

He could already tell, when he awoke to find himself in a different location. 

Andrew opened his eyes, and found himself lying in bed. It was a different bedroom, it was obviously not his house. He should have been used to this development already, but it still scared him everytime. He sat up in bed, looking around, trying to avoid the blonde woman sitting on a chair by the bed. She was studying him, not smiling. She wore a long blue dress, that blended well with her blue eyes, that Andrew was dreading to look into. She was beautiful, but Andrew was growing tired of her beauty. 

Because he knew how this dream was going to end. 

"Hello, Andrew."

Andrew gave her a look, and he made sure to look her in the eye, cringing from what was going to happen in a couple of minutes. 

"Fuck off."

She sighed. 

"You can't stay mad at me forever, Andrew. You know why I'm here. I cannot leave once you accept it."

"I would fucking love that, but how can I know what the hell you are talking about? You won't tell me. Why?"

"I can't do that."

"Why?"

"Because you already know."

"No, I don't."

The woman's eyes roamed over him, but not in a sexual way. It was more of a sign of defeat, but her patience would win once again. 

"Andrew, why are you afraid?"

"Afraid of what?"

"Of accepting your past? Of what you did? It wasn't your fault. It never was."

Andrew leaned back against the bed frame. 

"I don't know what you are talking about."

The woman lowered her head, her blue eyes laser focused on his own. 

"You must accept the past. If you don't, you will lose your family. Your friends. They will understand and love you, Andrew."

"You don't know what it's like to hide something like this…I could never share my past with any of them."

The woman blinked, one tear falling down her cheek. Andrew braced himself, but like every time it happened, he was never prepared for it.

The woman reached out to rip out her left eye. Blood leaked down her face, mixing with her tear. Then she tore out the other one. She was in so much pain, but she had to do this. She did it every time. 

She let her eyes in one of her palms, displaying the bloody whites to Andrew. 

"I accepted what I did. Why can't you?,"

She let out a scream, an earth shattering one that hurt Andrew's ears. He reached up to cover his ears, and he awoke on the couch, barely clapping a hand over his mouth to stop his scream. His husband was sound asleep, leaning against his chest on the couch. 

"Fuck," Andrew whispered. 

He covered his face, sliding a hand down his closed eyes, picturing the woman effortlessly tearing them out. Andrew let out a shuddering breathe, listening to his children's laughter outside. 

Andrew dropped his hand, tears in his eyes. 

He kissed his husband's head, breathing in the scent of his shampoo. He thought of her warning, and made a silent prayer, hoping that he would never have to admit the truth. 

He had woken up with no memory in the woods, covered from head to toe in blood. He was exhausted and terrified. But that wasn't the worst part of this memory. 

It was the fact that he was holding a small blanket. 

There was blood. So much blood. 

And it was the kind of blanket, that say, a newborn baby would be placed in. 

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Thank you for reading!

Emy Quinn