You Own Me (Owned 1)

Vic rubbed his forehead. “I can’t keep doing this with you, Lennox.”

“You don’t have to Vic. You’re going away soon. You’re leaving on a jet plane to someplace with—” I paused, unsure of how to finish my sentence. “Um, other jet planes!” Yeah. That’ll show him.

Vic folded his arms. “Is that what this is about?”

“I’ll never leave you, Lennox. Never,” I said, mimicking what he’d told me only two weeks ago. His eyes contorted in pain.

“You can come with me!”

I slid down the wall and onto the floor, the alcohol making me light-headed. Or maybe it was all the circular arguing we’d been doing. Either way, Vic was going to start thinking I was an alcoholic. Shit, I was starting to think I was an alcoholic.

“Lenny, I can’t change my job, I can’t change my past—”

“The past is never dead. It's not even past,” I muttered, quoting my favorite Faulkner novel, Requiem for a Nun.

“What?” Vic wasn’t looking me in the eye. He always looked me in the eye. I’d read stories and watched television and movies that depicted when the protagonist “knew” when the relationship was over. Is this when I was supposed to know?

I was standing by a river; its water was blood red, and I couldn’t see all the way across to the other bank. A thick layer of fog hung over the water. White and red, that was all this world was. I stretched my hand out across the water and watched it vanish into the white mist. I yanked my hand back, stumbling a little bit. Watching my hand disappear in the fog had been unsettling. It felt like I would never see it again.

I sat down next to the river, watching the red water rush past. I felt a presence in the fog, like someone was watching me. Hugging my knees, I focused on the water. I don’t know why, but I felt compelled to walk into the white mist, even if that meant I would never be seen again. I felt like there was something in there for me and me alone.

The red river kept running and my eyes kept trailing the water. The current was so smooth it looked unreal. There were no rocks or dams to obfuscate its purpose; it just kept running and running down and past the horizon. I felt a presence behind me and turned around.

There stood a woman in a gorgeous white gown. Her brown hair shone like polished chestnut. She gave me a radiant smile, and I felt compelled to hug her. As I reached her, arms outstretched, a force tugged sharply at my back. I dropped my hands and turned toward the invisible tether. It was coming from the fog.

I couldn’t see anything but the white haze, but somehow I knew who was there: Vic.

Slowly, the red-and-white world faded away leaving only fuzzy blackness behind.

I’ve been plagued by vivid dreams all of my life, but this red river took the cake. I swear I could still smell the rusty vapors of the river. I rubbed my eyes hard, willing the brute force of the hands to make me see reality.

Vic was next to me, I could hear his snoring. That was real. The computer battery glowed blue to my left. That was real. Downstairs, I could hear the buzzing of the refrigerator. That was real.

The woman in white standing in the corner? That wasn’t real. That was still part of the dream. Outside of the dreamscape, she wasn’t gorgeous: her dress was tattered, her hair was dull and limp, and she was hunched over in the corner.

I hadn’t seen her in a while; the first time being when I was an un-medicated child, the last before my mother killed herself.

I was terrified.

I don’t know what this woman in white wanted, but I knew what she was: a White Lady. I probably needed to recalibrate my medication. I could sit and ponder whether this hallucination was a chicken or an egg for years, but the conclusion wouldn’t help the ragged emotions it stirred in my body. To my stupid and irrational conscious, she was death and destruction.

I was terrified, sad, lonely, and, worst of all, weak. The White Lady stood in the corner and single-handedly dismantled years of therapy and self-help. I couldn’t help but question why she had appeared now; I know I shouldn’t, I know my therapist would say she isn’t a foreshadowing. Scientifically speaking, she can’t be a foreshadowing. Any terrible thing that happens after seeing her is just coincidence, or worse, a self-fulfilling prophesy.

I know this, but the knowledge doesn’t make the fear go away.

I tore my eyes away from the hallucination and placed them on Vic. His profile was as sturdy as the Rocky Mountains.

“I can give you the world, Lennox!”

Vic was leaving today. He was zipping up his single suitcase, the harsh zipping sound punctuating the departure. Since Harbinger Alice showed up last month, we’d been pushing off the inevitable. I saw him packing over the past week, and, instead of acknowledging it, I buried it deep inside my mind.

I think Vic had done the same thing.

“You can give me a little pencil top eraser world,” I countered. “That’s the world you can give me.”

Vic laughed, pausing mid-zip. “That’s the world I’m going to give you? Shit, I’m giving you too much.”

I sat on the edge of his bed, our bed, shit I don’t know anymore. I refused to laugh at his joke. None of this was funny. I was breaking apart. I wanted to climb like a cat inside his suitcase.