Page 12 of Fractured

Swinging the door wide, I take in the well-known eatery. Multiple round tables accommodating four people are located in the center of the space, with worn, deep red vinyl booths on either side. Italian murals hang upon walls painted in a golden hue. There are candles and vases with flowers dotted about the dimly lit space. As I inhale the comforting aroma of Italian spices and rich tomato, I notice Olivia waving at me from her table.

Moving in for a big hug as she stands to greet me, I cling a little longer than is customary.

“Kat? You okay?” she asks with apprehension in her big baby blues.

Sliding into the booth across from her, I take a deep breath. “I don’t know, Liv. I’m trying to be.” I can tell this dear beautiful friend anything without judgment. It’s always been this way. “It’s been a tough few weeks.”

“What’s going on?” she asks, picking up her water.

“It’s hard to know where to begin. I’d been trying a sleep aid Jake had given me, to try and get more than four hours of sleep a night. It seemed to be working, which was a relief.”

“That’s great, Kat. I can’t remember when you last slept well.”

“Hi, ladies. Can I get you something to drink besides water? Something from the bar? We have a lovely Chianti,” the waiter inquires.

“I’m fine with water, thank you,” I answer. “How about you, Liv?”

“May I have a glass of the Chianti?” she asks, eyeing me in disbelief.

“Sure, Miss. Are you two ready to order?”

“I’d like the chicken piccata with a side salad, please,” I respond.

“I’ll take the chicken Caesar salad.” Olivia beams at the waiter. I’ve never seen anyone get so excited about a damn salad. I honestly think she’s part rabbit.

“I’ll get that right in for you,” the kind server states before returning to the kitchen. Our food shouldn’t take long, given the few patrons here this evening.

“Okay, Kat. Spill it. You aren’t drinking, and you look like something is wrong. I know you just came from work, but you’re kind of a mess. You look like you’ve been up for days. Are you not taking that pill any longer?”

“My whole life is a hot mess, Olivia. So, I started taking the pill, and the sleep came at a price. I started having these crazy dreams. My life is so sad, I actually didn’t mind them at first. The night terrors I was having stopped, but in their place, I began having wild, irrational visions.”

“Visions of what?”

“Well, in one, I was the headline stripper at a club where all of my ridiculous ex-boyfriends hung out. When I got to the part of the stage where they were standing, I hit them all with a whip I was using as a prop!” I watch as Olivia’s eyes widen in shock, hand covering her mouth. “Yeah, Paul, Gabe, and even Tyler. Pow, pow, pow.” I mimic cracking the whip, giggling all the while. “Some of them are just, well… erotic.” I stop, taking a sip of my water. “A lot of them don’t make any sense, but they were the best sex I’ve ever had!”

“Oh good Lord, Kat. That’s what it takes to give you an orgasm?” She laughs.

“Stop. I’ve never had trouble giving myself one of those,” I whisper across the table. “It’s just with other people I fall short.”

“Well, so far, these dreams sound pretty good to me. Why stop the pills?”

“They were fine when it was just bizarre fantasies. But I started waking up realizing things weren’t as I left them the night before.” I watch as she sits up in her seat a little. “I’ve had several mornings where I awoke dressed completely different than when I went to bed. One morning, I woke up wearing a tiny excuse for a thong and fuck me boots I didn’t know I owned.”

“Holy-”

“Here you go, ladies. Can I get either of you some freshly grated cheese or pepper?”

“No,” we both blurt in unison.

“Well, please, let me know if there is anything else you need,” he utters flatly as he spins on his heel and quickly walks away.

Liv leans forward. “Go on, Kat.”

“Well, that’s it, really. It’s making me crazy that I don’t know what’s happening. I put up with it and decided to stop using the sleeping aid to see if things would go back to the way they were.”

“And?” she implores.

“Well, I had a date. Not one I was excited about. Okay, fine, I was dreading it. I can’t remember if you ever met Mark Snow. He’s a firefighter in our group of friends. He’s quite the player. The last person I should be dating. Plus, I don’t want to date someone from our group. Just makes everything awkward.” I stop to twirl a few strands of spaghetti. “Anyway, he brought a patient into the ER that we thought had abdominal pain but turned out was in labor. We rushed her upstairs and barely got her on the stretcher before the baby’s head popped out.”

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