Somniloquy III

As promised! This is an alternate ending to Somniloquy written by @OfficiallyKJR. It’s alternate because there’s another ending, which I put up yesterday. If you want to read that, you can find that here -> Somniloquy II

For starters it looks like Bree’s lamp is shattered but rather than be upset like I thought she’d be she is glaring at me. I can’t have broken the lamp though, I’m still on my side of the bed. With her light off, the room is cast in darkness, the light from the moon that comes through the window is blocked by her body, and eerie shadows are cast on the wall. She turns away from me and when she turns back to look at me there are tears in her eyes. “Who is Megan?” she asks, the tears dripping down her cheeks unto her dress. This is going to be a long night.

 I love Bree with all my heart. There is no disputing that. I haven’t told her yet so I suppose there could be doubt on her end but I know I do. To be honest, I don’t know why I haven’t told her. And it’s not what you think. I’m not cheating on her – at least not in the conventional sense. I want to tell her about Megan but some things are better left unsaid. Speaking of things better left unsaid, how did she know about Megan? There’s only one way. As the thought crosses my mind, I can feel myself get angry. The journal in the suitcase I keep on top of my dresser is the only place I have ever put down any thoughts about Megan.. How could she? She knows how much I hate invasion of my privacy, and to think she has the audacity to wake me up over this.

 She notices that I am angry, her expression going from distraught to utter confusion. She wipes her tears with the back of her hand, sits facing me, and looks intensely at me with an expression that clearly says “are you going to answer my question or look at me like a deranged predator?’  I try to calm myself down but she asks again, slower than before, “who is Megan”, and that’s when I lose it.

 “Why are you snooping through my stuff?” I start, my voice betraying my barely controlled rage. “Didn’t I make it clear my stuff is mine is mine and yours is yours?”. She starts to say something but I don’t let her.

“Don’t Interrupt me” I say, “I bet you think you’ve got me in a corner. I mean I know I promised not to hide anything but we also agreed we would not invade each others privacy. Before we talk about who Megan is, the answer to which you clearly already know, you need to tell me why the hell you’re going through my stuff.”

 By now her eyes are completely dry, she’s stopped crying, which annoys me. I’m so angry I want to make her cry. I get like that when I’m mad. Just as she’s about to launch into what I expect to be an aplogy,  her phone rings. It’s her sister, who recently moved to New York and often conveniently forgets the time difference. It’s usually not a problem because of Bree’s insomnia but today Bree answers and says through gritted teeth “something’s come up, I’m trying to get to the bottom of it. Call me in the morning”. I’m sure her sister’s wondering what’s going on but now I’m confused as well. I get the sense that things are about to get bad for me.

 “What are you on about?” she asks cooly, eyebrows raised. Something isn’t right, do I have it wrong? Did she find out some other way? How is that possible? It can’t be. Why is Bree so confident if she hasn’t read my journal, she usually never is when we argue.

“Why did you go through my journal?” I ask.

 “Dude, what the fuck are you talking about? You mentioned the bitch’s name in your sleep. You fucking talk in your sleep every night!” She’s off the rails. For a moment I’m scared. But that’s quickly replaced with a cocktail of emotions that I do not want. Fuck! I think. I was so sure it had stopped. No one has mentioned it in a while. I’ve been talking in my sleep since I was 16. At least that’s when I found out about it. But I am sure it happened the year before.

 I fell in love when I was 15. It lasted 3 months. It was a summer fling, the greatest love story of my life. I fell in love with my neighbour and it was magical. We’d spend the whole day together and the night texting. There was not a moment in those three months we were not in touch. She had come from Canada with her family and she was going to go back. But we didn’t let ourselves to think about it. For three months things were amazing; till they weren’t. As summer drew to an end, my faith in the enduring power of our love begun to diminish. What if she went back and everything ended?

She tried to convince me that we would be fine but I was not as hopeful as she was.

Things just got worse. We went from me worrying and her comforting me to fighting all the time. The worst fight was the last night I saw her. I was enraged because she implied we had had a great summer and whatever happened, we’d always have that. I went off. I rained a ton of obscenities interspersed with actual words about how she never saw a future with us and how she wasted my time. She got up to leave because she said she wouldn’t let me talk to her that way. As she stepped out the door, I spoke my last words to her, “I hate you.”

The next time I saw her was at her funeral. I don’t know the full story. They said it was a hit and run but somehow I always thought that she got herself run over because of how horrible I was to her. I became a zombie. All I could remember of her was the last moment when I spat out hatred I didn’t feel for her. Every night after the funeral, I had nightmares where I watched her die, over and over. Nightmares where I said my hateful words and she run straight into an oncoming car. Sleeping was no longer an option, I steadily lost weight. My performance at school sucked. Until I read somewhere that your dreams are usually about the last thing on your mind before bed. After that each night I’d go to bed saying the same four words. For some reason it sort of worked, those words somehow found their way into my less distressing dreams and so I came to find out at the age of 16 that, every night, while I was asleep, I’d mumble: “I love you, Megan.”

The dreams/ nightmares stopped when I met Bree, and once I no longer had to say my mantra before bed to get a good night’s sleep, I asked her to move in. Now it looks like I’m back to square one and I’m going to have to find something to tell Bree. From the way she’s looking at me I’m not going to get away with an evasive answer.