Status: Partners in Crime!
There's No Way To Fix Us
Eleven
*Carla*
I have a long, vivid dream in which I just can't explain. I can't explain its reasoning. I'm lying in a cloud white room. It is dead silent. There is nothing there other than me, the bed on which I lay upon, (is that a window?) and a chair. At this point in the dream, absolutely nothing made since yet, so the chair didn't strike me as strange. Which it should have. I stare at the ceiling, steadily breathing. Then I realize that I'm so cold that my teeth chatter and the chains on my wrists rattle. Chains... I look down. I try to lift my arms without success and start to panic. I rock the cold, silver table and scream for my rescue, for Brad to help me, asking if he was there, until freezing ice-like liquids enter my body from a mysterious place. I become drowsy and slow my rocking and quite my screaming until I slip into unconsciousness.
The next thing I saw was a fuzzy figure sitting in the chair I thought I saw earlier. I look up at the ceiling again refusing to look at the figure. I was afraid of who it might be. I can see through the window I saw. My mother, my father, who died years ago due to Leukemia, Scarlet, Stephanie, and Ms. Sharon. The first thought, what is this? Hallucinations? My dad was dead; I accepted that quite sometime ago, and I looked to Brad as my male figure, since I never really had one. Where was he now? Even if the people I cherish the most (except my mother) are here for some event about me. I look over to see his face and fear spreads across my face. He stands up, puts his hands on the sides of my head, and kisses my lips with such passion.
"Brad," I manage to muster out. My eyes open from the dream to find Brad's face really in front of me.
"Brad!" I threw my arms around his neck with joy, I though that dream was going somewhere else. Then in the realization that this was real, I slapped him as hard as I could from the position of which I lay, on his cheek. Shock filled his face as he rubbed the already-appearing red hand print.
"Carla! What did I do?" He yells in my face, not meaning to. I don't blame him.
"First, you had sex with that whore and then you lied about it!" I scream and stare hard into his face because even he knew and just didn't say it. Then I looked away.
"I'm sorry. I was drunk," he tries to sound sincere, also trying to get me to look at him without success.
"You really hurt me," My mouth mumbles faced away from him.
"Let me make it up to you," he stood up and walked out of the room. He leaves me to make it up to me? He comes back with a bundle of white roses, my favorites. I can't help but to smile wide.
"Brad, they're just beautiful," I feel my smile growing with the number of roses I count.
"Just like you," he leans down and softly kisses my forehead. My smile can't get any bigger so I just giggle. He leans in again but meets my lips. He lays down next to me; I didn't want it to end. Then he pulled away.
"Your tricky," he tells me, chuckling.
"Bradley Joseph, you know you want me," I can't help but to laugh.
"I do, Carla. I do. But I'm not giving into peer pressure." He says it like a joke. Cute.
"It's okay to give in this once," I whispered to him, kissed his cheek.
"No, because then this once will turn into a billion times. Peer pressure is bad, Carla Marie," he said, shaking his finger playfully.
"Bradley," I whined like a little child.
"Carla," he whined back. Now he's just messing with me. I laugh. He laughed. I pressed my lips against his. I honestly couldn't help it, they were like candy to a baby. They just had to have it. Brad excepted It with open, soft, and warm lips. He lay down on the bed as I climbed on top of him. I pressed my still weak, nimble body against his; he wrapped his arms around my back. Then, out of no where, his eyes shoot open, and he pushes me to the floor.
I have a long, vivid dream in which I just can't explain. I can't explain its reasoning. I'm lying in a cloud white room. It is dead silent. There is nothing there other than me, the bed on which I lay upon, (is that a window?) and a chair. At this point in the dream, absolutely nothing made since yet, so the chair didn't strike me as strange. Which it should have. I stare at the ceiling, steadily breathing. Then I realize that I'm so cold that my teeth chatter and the chains on my wrists rattle. Chains... I look down. I try to lift my arms without success and start to panic. I rock the cold, silver table and scream for my rescue, for Brad to help me, asking if he was there, until freezing ice-like liquids enter my body from a mysterious place. I become drowsy and slow my rocking and quite my screaming until I slip into unconsciousness.
The next thing I saw was a fuzzy figure sitting in the chair I thought I saw earlier. I look up at the ceiling again refusing to look at the figure. I was afraid of who it might be. I can see through the window I saw. My mother, my father, who died years ago due to Leukemia, Scarlet, Stephanie, and Ms. Sharon. The first thought, what is this? Hallucinations? My dad was dead; I accepted that quite sometime ago, and I looked to Brad as my male figure, since I never really had one. Where was he now? Even if the people I cherish the most (except my mother) are here for some event about me. I look over to see his face and fear spreads across my face. He stands up, puts his hands on the sides of my head, and kisses my lips with such passion.
"Brad," I manage to muster out. My eyes open from the dream to find Brad's face really in front of me.
"Brad!" I threw my arms around his neck with joy, I though that dream was going somewhere else. Then in the realization that this was real, I slapped him as hard as I could from the position of which I lay, on his cheek. Shock filled his face as he rubbed the already-appearing red hand print.
"Carla! What did I do?" He yells in my face, not meaning to. I don't blame him.
"First, you had sex with that whore and then you lied about it!" I scream and stare hard into his face because even he knew and just didn't say it. Then I looked away.
"I'm sorry. I was drunk," he tries to sound sincere, also trying to get me to look at him without success.
"You really hurt me," My mouth mumbles faced away from him.
"Let me make it up to you," he stood up and walked out of the room. He leaves me to make it up to me? He comes back with a bundle of white roses, my favorites. I can't help but to smile wide.
"Brad, they're just beautiful," I feel my smile growing with the number of roses I count.
"Just like you," he leans down and softly kisses my forehead. My smile can't get any bigger so I just giggle. He leans in again but meets my lips. He lays down next to me; I didn't want it to end. Then he pulled away.
"Your tricky," he tells me, chuckling.
"Bradley Joseph, you know you want me," I can't help but to laugh.
"I do, Carla. I do. But I'm not giving into peer pressure." He says it like a joke. Cute.
"It's okay to give in this once," I whispered to him, kissed his cheek.
"No, because then this once will turn into a billion times. Peer pressure is bad, Carla Marie," he said, shaking his finger playfully.
"Bradley," I whined like a little child.
"Carla," he whined back. Now he's just messing with me. I laugh. He laughed. I pressed my lips against his. I honestly couldn't help it, they were like candy to a baby. They just had to have it. Brad excepted It with open, soft, and warm lips. He lay down on the bed as I climbed on top of him. I pressed my still weak, nimble body against his; he wrapped his arms around my back. Then, out of no where, his eyes shoot open, and he pushes me to the floor.