Dream States

The day was perfectly horrible. Thursday, so viciously close to the weekend, sneared as she lifted her drenched, muddy skirt and skipped down the road oblivious to the thrashing rain. How many poisoned apples did she have in her basket today?

Cilla tilted her body-conscious towards the waking side of the scale. A yawn staggered across her face as her foggy grey computer registered the time of day. Before any other information could be downloaded, her arm kicked into action. Whack! Arm, harbouring distinct dislike for Hand enjoyed nothing more than projectiling itself through the thin air like a missile, resulting in the collision of Hand against Wall. Thwack! Cilla’s yawn grimaced. Letting her arm slide down the wall, Cilla’s operating system processed its current reality.

“Oh God. It’s today." adrenaline swerved through her veins as her bruising hand throbbed to the rhythm of the rain beaten roof.

Cilla closed the crack of her dream crumbed eye. Pulling the duvet over her head with her left hand, she tucked her assaulted right hand between the elastic of her lace underwear and toned thigh. It was safer there.

“Tricky bitch“ thought Mr. Arm.

Manoeuvring the enemy hand into the line of fire from this position always proved difficult but still possible.

Cilla’s head remembered the night before and muttered back thoughts, that if there indeed was a god she would suffocate under the duvet, slowly losing consciousness as if in a dream, thereby avoiding the rest of her life. Hopefully someone wouldn’t find her one breath before permanent brain damage occurred and revive her limp body! She wanted to die forever this time. This was exactly the reason she kept to herself.

Her heart contested timidly but no one sane heard. Pure exhaustion dissolved any crackpot comments her mind had to throw at her.

Cilla opted out of the morning. She torpedoed back into the Black, devoid of her five senses.

WHACK!

Cilla’s hand escaped its snare, almost dislocating her thumb en route. It flew out of the covers at a ferocious pace and sped back towards the wall! Her aubergined hand whimpered.

All she needed was quiet. She knew that peace would be no friend of hers today but quiet would be appreciated if it could grace her with its presence. Not much to ask for, considering the night of chaos that she had just endured.

Cilla rocked between the throb of her hand and a cave in her head that housed the door to sleep. After empty minutes of seesawing between states, her scale toppled and dumped her in a heap at sleep's entrance. Cilla's deflated body slipped, slid and slammed into the hard, locked door. Bewildered, she winched herself onto her feet and looked around. After a long moment of pursed-lipped deliberation, the only thing she could think of doing was knocking on the locked door. Three times. O.k. three more times... no answer. It was 05h36 in the morning. This was so obviously a night-time door. Standing alone in its eerie solidness was meant for nocturnal wanderers only. This was a door that you stood in front of with reason. It was not an escape route. Cilla knew that she had no business standing here at this time of day without prior arrangement. She changed her mind, she wanted to be back in her bed. She would deal with whatever her day had in store for her. And then without warning... seven! eight! nine! Her arm let loose and lobbed her battered hand against the hard wood. Cilla whimpered as the door groaned back, opened its wide mouth and invited her in to be eaten.

Consumed by darkness Cilla’s legs took control and marched her body forward. It's just a dream she reminded herself from somewhere far away. The sound of her steps changed from the slow slapping of bare feet on the cold stone floor into a more measured click clack of high-heeled shoes. Cilla's semi-nakedness sensed clothes materialising around her tall frame as she now walked towards a blade of light coming from under what seemed to be another closed door. As she neared the sharpening light familiar sounds filtered through to her ears. She could hear the movement of people, laughing and talking. Glasses were clinking, knives and forks clashing with plates of food, chairs scraping and footsteps pacing over a heavy wooden floor. Jazzy notes from a piano floated under the door saturating the ambient sounds of the scene that was now growing creepily familiar.

Cilla stood before the door, careful that the bright slicing light did not sever straight through her ankles. She placed her hand on the doorknob.

Déjà vu.

The door opened her back into the night before. Cilla had been here 10 hours ago. She looked down confirming that she was dressed in last night's clothes. Killer black strapped peeping toe, Spanish designer heels with three inches of elevation suffocated Cilla's sexy feet. Her body hung a pearl white, off-the-shoulder silk jumpsuit with a waist tie, perfectly. With flawless olive skin and shoulder length, jet black hair she looked like an elegant swan in the morning mist.

The opening led into a passage that led back into the chic French restaurant from the ladies room. Cilla glided over to her table where Nick sat with his back to her. The pianist with ivory fingers and bare black shoulders looked as though she was part of her mahogany piano from behind. Pure beauty.

Nick the architect and Cilla the concert violinist. A perfect pair on their first date. Nick had seen her perform in the Palais Garnier in Paris two nights before. He was consulting at the famous late 19th century opera house as the leading expert on the preservation and restoration of historic buildings. His eyes were naturally drawn to exquisiteness. Nick easily used his position to slip backstage after the concert so that he could meet her. Their rapport was instant.

Cilla slipped back onto her red crushed velvet chair. The room seemed different now, as though the air was filled with iron filings and her thoughts were magnets. Cilla had to gauge where they were on the timeline. It definitely had not happened yet, thank God. The half full bottle of Merlot was on the table and her glass had a faint lipstick stain kissed onto the rim. There was no evidence yet of the chaos that was to ensue.

“I was beginning to think that maybe you had climbed out of the bathroom window” Nick smiled, relief printed in invisible ink over his lips.

This must be real. It must be. Was she dreaming or was this a second chance?

“Sorry, I seemed to have lost track of time…” she trailed off.

“God, Cilla what happened to your hand?” Nick reached over and gently took Cilla's right hand as if it was a rare and venomous spiked purple sea urchin.

Cilla's good senses ground to a halt.

“It's, uh, nothing Nick…I…had a little accident in the bathroom, quite bizarre really!” Yeah Cilla, tell him that you had a little accident in about ten minutes time! Tell Nick that you came back here from tomorrow morning after you wake up from this disastrous date! Alert your dream date to the fact that the sommelier comes to pour wine and at that exact moment your favourite artist starts singing a sexy soulful rendition of one of your favourite songs and your Tourrette Syndrome seizes you in its talons and your arm flies through the air punching the bottle of wine so that not only does it split your knuckles open and cover everything in red from a cocktail of wine and blood but the bottle flies out of the sommelier's hand and it hits you straight on in your mouth with such force that it knocks both of your front teeth out! Shriek at Mr. Right sitting here, right in front of you, that the only reason you play the violin is because it is the only instrument that you can keep your disfunction under control with! Scream at him that the piano is your passion but you have no power over this rabid limb you call your arm! Bellow at him to run away from you as fast as he can because he will never be safe around you!

Tell him. Tell him.

Cilla's mind replayed the footage of Nick lifting his face in slow motion, his top lip unzipped, one tooth on the table and one en route to his stomach. A slow, thick trickle of blood oozing down his chin.

"You don't look very well Cil. Shall we get some fresh air? Do you need to go home?"

"That sounds really good, Nick." Her voice quivered.

And then she heard the song. Cilla turned her magnetic head in the direction of the piano and its player. The pianist simultaneously unwound her long neck and looked back over her naked shoulder, her huge hooped earrings catching the light. Her Egyptian painted eyes locked gaze with Cilla as her headscarf kept her thoughts a secret.

She began to sing.

“I put a spell on you”

Nina's coarse, silken voice wrapped around Cilla like a boa constrictor.

“Cause you're mine”

And in that moment the sommelier appeared seemingly out of nowhere at the table.

“Du-du-du-du. You better stop the thing you do. I ain’t lying, no, I ain't lying”

The room swirled and went black.