Growing Concern - Part 8

The dreams came again, stronger, clearer. The feelings of being tossed and torn, drowned in an ocean I couldn't see or escape, they taunted me, tormented me. And through it all there were figures I couldn't make out. Male, female, I couldn't tell. Some seemed to be drowning with me, pulled down into a terrible vortex of heat and light and body, unable to escape it's current. And others rose above, looking down, seeking to help, mock, punish, who could tell.

I remember eyes though. Eyes staring down at me.

Maybe eyes is the wrong way to put it. An empty void, a spark of light. A star of focused brilliance, but somehow I could feel it watching me, weighing me, judging me.

I struggled. Long after all the rest were pulled down into whatever abyss awaited them. I struggled, I pleaded, I begged and ranted and threatened at the faceless voiceless presence that mocked me from it's heavenly perch. I screamed out my frustration as the waters started to close over my head.

And awoke again in my bed.

This time at least I could remember where I was, what had happened. Though a part of me wished I couldn't. The actions of the dark were still with me in the light of day, and shame at their having happened rose inside me, hot, overwhelming.

I looked around at my room, bathed in the light of dawn, and saw the snoring form of my boyfriend, if I could still call him that, laying across the mattress a few feet away. There was no sign of Sarah, of that demon of feminine lust incarnate in a voluptuous human form, but over the smell of sex and sweat that filled the air I could smell the strong bitter aroma of coffee coming from the kitchen.

I pulled myself to my feet, taking stock of what I could, finding some discarded jeans and a t-shirt to pull on, armoring myself against her eyes before I thought of walking out into the day, and sighed at the feeling as I pulled them on. They felt wrong, and I could tell without a mirror that I had changed more during the night. The shirt was too tight around the chest, too baggy around the middle. The jeans fit tight and loose in all the wrong places, and I needed a belt to cinch them tight enough to stay put.

It's not that I hadn't wanted to lose weight. And really I wouldn't have minded a bit more up top. It was that these things were happening against my will, without my consent. And that I couldn't even seem to bring myself to object. That's what was prompting this profound sense of loss, at my figure so indelibly altered by whatever strange power this was.

I looked over at my so called boyfriend, sprawled and snoring. Wondered what he would think when he saw me. Wondered if I cared anymore. It was hard to feel the same way after I had shared him with that, thing that had been my co-worker. Our mouths tracing up either side of his length, him filling me while I lay captivated by the mounds dangling over my head.. God, I didn't want to think about what he had done, what we had done. Even now, as confused and sad as I was, it was making me uncomfortably warm just remembering, and that was the last thing I needed now.

No, what I needed were answers, and a level head.

I looked down at him, and hear him mumbling.  He moaned and his hips rocked in his sleep, her name coming to his lips, which puckered and licked at some phantom teat.  The shame, and anger rose in me, seeing my so called boyfriend dreaming of her.  Of her and not me.  Of her tits, and her mouth, when I lay right next to him.

I took a deep breath, steeled what will I could pull together, and stepped out into the kitchen to confront the beast.