Monday, September 17

The dream ended too soon. Constance Westerley looked around her dark bedroom, silently cursing it for being so real and so empty. It was her favorite dream, too, featuring her dream lover, a gorgeous man with a dragon tattoo who visited her sleeping world every few months. They'd even been making love, only seconds ago. Now she was alone again, aroused and frustrated. It took a minute or two to calm her heart.

That was one of the best. They didn't always get that far. Some nights the dream ended after a few kisses. Tonight was as good as it gets, even though it ended in the middle of their passion. She played it in her head, over and over.

Constance got up and stumbled to the bathroom, staring at herself in the mirror. Skinny and tall, her pale face seemed even more plain than usual. It didn't help that her straight brown hair had mostly escaped the hair band and hung limply around her head. Even her two center teeth, hanging farther down than most people's, looked more goofy than usual. What did she expect at 3:00 a.m. after another hot date with her dream man?

She dug out her dream diary from the bottom drawer of the vanity, hidden under rarely-used supplies. Then she sat on the toilet and wrote everything she could remember.

I'm in a strange house, gloomy and uninviting. Each room I enter is more of a mess than the last: a mound of dirt, some broken chairs, even a pile of decaying garbage. In the dim light, everything is gray and unnatural looking. For some reason, none of this bothers me. I move quickly from room to room.

I turn a corner and suddenly everything is different. I'm at one end of a long hall, wide and lined with mirrors. A string of chandeliers runs down the middle. Unlike the rest of the house, this hallway is bright and welcoming. And more than that, it's somehow familiar. Even though I know I've never been here before, I feel like I have. And then I know that he's waiting for me. In the large room at the end of this hall, I know he's there.

I can't wait to see him. I start to run down the hall. After the first step, my feet leave the floor and I float in the air, a few inches off the ground, still heading for the large room. I do an excited dance of joy with my arms and legs spinning about while I glide toward him.

Then I'm standing in the middle of the large room. It's darker here than the hall, and someone is crouched down in the corner, turned away. I'm sure it's him-this person even has the same build as him. And just like always, he's shirtless.

As I approach, he quickly stands and faces me, arms outstretched. I'm so happy, I can feel my heart leap in my chest. His eyes have that familiar sparkle, but something is different. He seems gaunt, rougher, and more beaten-down. His pants are torn, his beard is growing in, and dried blood runs down his face in a few places. But when he smiles at me, nothing else matters. Even roughed-up, he looks sexy.

We hug tightly, gripping so hard that I feel like we could merge together. Wrapped up in his powerful arms, I am home.

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