Page 933 of One More Kiss

Stained in Blood

A.C. Wilds

Odessa

Sheets twistaround my legs and sweat covers my body as I wake up from another nightmare. Chest heaving, I sit up in bed, brushing the hair off my sweaty forehead. My hands shake from the adrenaline rush as I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to assure myself I’m home and safe.

These dreams have been happening for years, but they still scare the fucking shit out of me. They’re so real. And every time, I see blood. So much blood.

I won’t be able to go back to sleep. Flipping the sheet off my tangled legs, I get out of bed and pad my way through the house. It’s still dark out, the moon full and hanging low in the sky. Shadows paint the halls as I make my way into the kitchen. My coffee machine stands out on my white Formica countertop. It’s the most expensive thing in this apartment and I cherish it every day.

I turn it on, listening to the familiar hum as I go to the fridge and grab eggs, cheese, bacon, and bread. My body runs on automatic motions as I divide my ingredients out. I get lost, placing the bread in the toaster and starting up the stove. I love breakfast. It’s always been my favorite meal.

I build my sandwich quickly, the eggs not taking too long to fry. The first bite is an explosion of flavor and the familiarity I need. It’s hard to ground myself after the dream, but food always helps.

I take my coffee out to the balcony after I finish the sandwich and sit down at the patio table to watch the sunrise. The fall in New York is beautiful, especially in the mornings, before the city wakes up. It’s true that New York City is the city that never sleeps, but there is a time, usually between 4:00 am - 6:00 am, that it seems like there is no one around. Taking a deep breath, I try to get the nightmare out of my head. I focus on the good that I do and all the help I give to those around me. As a social worker, I provide the support needed for women to get out of abusive relationships so that both they and their children can have better lives. I’d like to think that I comfort those in need and provide them with a haven where they can heal.

Despite all the good I do; my dreams contradict that statement. They paint me as an evil, bloodthirsty creature that wants nothing more than to rip out throats and bathe in the blood of humans. My stomach turns, and I put my coffee down. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and repeat my mantra out loud: “It’s just a dream. It’s not real. You’re here, and now in this place. You’re not that monster.”

* * *

“Odessa,can you help me in conference room three, please?” Megan calls out from the hall.

I log off my computer and get up from my chair. We’ve had an influx of clients lately and we’re all pretty slammed. Opening the door, I see a mother with two children. She is sporting a black eye so swollen that it’s barely open. Her children are small, maybe three or four. Both have sandy blond hair like their mother and are currently running around the conference table.

“Hello, I’m Odessa Greer. I’m here to help Megan. What’s your name?” I ask, extending my hand out to her.

“I’m Carla, Carla Richards. How do I to start? I don’t want this life for my babies, but I have nothing. No job or money. We left this morning with just a small duffle bag full of clothes and some snacks. I came right here,” she quivers. Her scared eyes keep darting to the door, and her hands shake in her lap.

“You’re safe. Remember that as long as you are in our care, you’re protected,” Megan affirms, getting down to kneel in front of her.

I walk over to the open chair on the opposite side of Carla and ask her to begin her tale. Her hands knead into her pants and her voice breaks, but her posture is strong. She lowers her voice, and I can see the determination there.

It’s a story that we’ve heard before. Angry husband who drinks too much, hits his wife because he’s jealous she went to the supermarket without him. It’s so typical that I could probably pick out the abuser in a lineup.

We take about an hour to get the full story and have the papers drawn up. She’ll be put in public housing for now, and the city will help her get back on her feet, finding her a job and daycare for the children.

Megan and I leave the conference room as soon as the police arrive to take her statement. She seems disoriented, but I know she will survive. She looks like a fighter.

“What are you up to tonight?” Megan asks, glancing at me sideways as we walk back to our desks. She’s tentative about this question because I’ve turned her down so many times. It’s not that I haven’t wanted to go out, but the fear of meeting new people grips me tight.

“Nothing, really. If you’re going out tonight, I’d like to join though,” I say, grabbing the bull by the horns. I’m sick of staying in. My dreams wrap around me daily, and I’m feeling suffocated. I have no sex life, or any life.

“Really? Wow, I’m kind of speechless right now. What brought this on?” she asks,wrapping her arm around mine.

I sigh and look up into her chestnut eyes. “I’m tired of watching everyone have a life but me. I have little, but it’s enough to offer someone. I want to fall in love and be loved. I’m tired of hiding from my nightmares.”

Megan knows all about my night terrors. She’s been my co-worker and friend for the last five years. She’s the only person I confide in. Our friendship is one that I treasure even if she gives me more than I can.

She pulls me into a hug, something that doesn’t happen often. Growing up with an absent mother and a father who didn’t know how to show emotion, this is a little foreign to me. But I melt into her. It feels good to be touched. For someone to show, they care.

Pulling away, she says, “I’ll swing by around eight. There’s a little club around the corner from where you are, and it’s supposed to be amazing! It’s, like, an invitation-only thing, but I know the bouncer. He’s my brother’s ex-boyfriend. A total sweetheart. He was way too good for my douchey brother.”

I laugh at her candor. If Megan is anything, it’s truthful. “Sounds like fun. I’d love to keep it on the smaller side. You know how I do in crowds.”

“This will be perfect then,” she says, squeezing my arm and going back to work. I stand there for a moment, just taking in what I’ve committed to. This is something I can do. I’ll be sociable. It’ll be for one night, and then it’ll be over. And who knows? Maybe I’ll meet someone.

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