I lay in a white hammock on a beach, sleeping lightly. The sun burns my
skin, but I won’t peel. The cool wind seeps through my hair, rattles my
dress, and soothes the flesh on my legs.
The water is an odd, green-blue color, a contrast to the sandy white beach. The
sky overhead is full of oranges, purples, and pinks. It is not setting, but the
weather is anything where I am.
I dream of my former life. Of the Barlow family Christmases, of the many
nights spent with nothing but a blank canvas and two tubes of paint, of the day
I met Nick. I dream of the first night I kissed Alex, of when he met my parents,
of when we celebrated our six-month anniversary.
Images are now floating through my mind. A romantic dinner. A seedy
neighborhood. Indescribable pain. The crash of metal. Then complete
darkness.
The images are disturbing, violent and gruesome. I flinch in my sleep as the
images become more violent. I don’t know where they came from, but they’re ugly
and I don’t want to see them.
Out of the violent images comes a soft, gentle touch, on my forehead. It’s a
hand. The hand goes to my cheek, then down my neck, to my shoulder, now floating
down my arm to the top of my middle finger.
It is soft, soothing, yet full of desire. It warms me more than the sun does,
and isn’t that the sun’s intent? Does this mean that this touch is more powerful
than the sun?
More importantly, whose touch is it?
A low moan escapes through my lips as the hand caresses my left side. My
eyes remain closed. I don’t dare interrupt by opening my eyes. The hand is now
caressing my leg, my knee, and I think I’m in heaven. The images are gone, long
faded away, and I am drinking in the situation around me. It’s been such a long
time since I’ve been touched.
I dare open my eyes, and catch a glimpse of the person touching me. All I see
are a pair of blue eyes before I am shaken awake.
“Nick! Dude! We’re here!”
I glance around and see four faces staring at me curiously. I pretend
nothing has happened and follow them out of the bus.
Nick is trying to talk to me. I know it is his eyes that I saw in my dream. He
wants to tell me something. But what?
