If It Means A Lot to You

Strangely, even though I knew I was asleep, I could still feel my heart pounding behind my ribs. Beating like a metronome, in time with my breaths as they escaped my nose noiselessly. Rhythmically and without tone.

I knew I was dreaming the moment I looked around at my setting. If I had been awake, my throat would be closing up and my stomach would be curdling.

But I was asleep, so my body remained motionless.

I was in John's apartment. But not his present apartment. The apartment he owned when we were together. Three years ago. The apartment I would clean when he wasn't home, hoping to surprise him. The apartment I lost my virginity in, right in his bedroom. The apartment I would spend countless nights at, talking with him about absolutely nothing. And the apartment where my heart got broken in two.

The door slamming. My head spinning. His footsteps as he appears in the living room. His narrowed eyes. My shallow breath. My racing heart. His thin mouth. My fear at what was to come. His shaking hands.

Can you have flashes in a dream?

And suddenly, the scene was playing out in front of me. My self from 2007 was sitting on the couch, my sketchbook plopped in my lap. An apple was in my hand as I ate it.

I remember how the apple tasted. It had been too sour.

I remember I had come over to his apartment that night, using my spare key, to surprise him with the news that I got The Maine a gig at the Venue of Scottsdale for a home show. I was already dressed in one of his old shirts, the smell of him surrounding me as I waited.

I watch my old self as my pencil moved swiftly across the paper. I had been drawing the apple I was eating, just a sketch, nothing more. It had been garbage, I recall.

A terrible drawing.

The core of the apple hitting my teeth. The seed falling to the floor. His profanities as I drop the eaten fruit to the ground, getting to my feet. My pointing, accusing finger.

I shiver in my sleep. Am I having one of those lucid dreams, where I know I am dreaming but I can't control it? I would give anything to control it so I don't have to replay this awful day in my head. I've been pushing it out for so long and don't wish to see it again.

Then, the door John's apartment bangs open.

I freeze in the dream, knowing what was coming. His stomping was obvious as he whooshes by my unseen figure standing in the entrance to the living room. John looked mad.

"What are you doing here?" he hisses, his hair standing straight on end.

I remember I had barely heard what he said, just itching to smooth his hair back into place. But I had forced myself to stay calm and answer. "I have news," I had smiled, putting my sketchbook aside. "I got the Venue of - "

"I don't give a fuck," he had snapped, his teeth grinding together. "Get out."

My other self's face crumples. I wince. I remember how utterly lost I had felt when he said that. I had been so confused, so puzzled as to why he wanted me to leave.

Hands clenching, fists hitting walls, arms flailing, spit flying.

"Why do you want me to get out?" I had asked quietly, my feet moving on their own accord and standing.

His glare pierced through me, his cold eyes holding no emotion. I remember the breath catching in my throat. "Don't fucking think for one second you don't know what's going on," he bites out, his voice icy. I wanted to cry at it's bitterness.

I watch as my other self bites her bottom lip. I remember I was scared. "I don't know what's going on!" I had retaliated weakly. "What is wrong?"

"You slept with Tim!"

Dead silence. I don't remember it being so quiet when this actually took place three years ago. But it was like the heart-breaking silence echoed around me in the dream as I stare at John from my past. He was still so beautiful.

The gulp in my throat was visible. "How...where did you hear that?"

"Pat," he instantly answers, his voice blank. I wince. "Tim apparently told him all about it." More silence. Until, "Now get out. I don't want you in here."

I set my jaw, almost grinding my teeth together so hard that it was painful. "Aren't you at least going to let me explain myself?" I could feel the tears pricking at the back of my eyes, threatening to spill, but I hold them back. If I was going to discuss this with John, strong and confident John, I would have to hold myself together.

"Leave," John snaps again, his eyes still narrowed.

My other self gives him a long, hard stare, before she finally gives a curt nod. I pass by myself as I walk toward the door, the muffled sounds of myself putting on my coat and the door slamming shut.

My eyes pop open.

The ceiling. That plain old white ceiling that I've grown so used to for the past two years glared down at me, as if judging me for what I did to John.

The arm around my waist shifts as Tim moves beside me, his soft breaths hitting my neck as his face presses flush against me. His delicate face twitches as his eyes move around behind his lids, a sure sign that he was dreaming as well. Is he also dreaming about that day that John and I broke up? How after I left John's apartment I went straight to Tim, crying my eyes out?

The buzzing of my phone makes me flinch from the sudden noise. I make sure to be as still as possible as I reach out and grab the phone. My teeth nip at my bottom lip when I see who it is. I guess my dreams were just preparing me for this call.

"Hello?" I ask, my voice a soft whisper. Tim was still curled around me.

A long pause. "Layla?"

I nod, even though he clearly couldn't see me. "What do you want, John?" Just saying his name sent a mixture of pain and butterflies to whip through my stomach. And ache of longing buried itself in my chest.

"Can you come over?" he asks, his voice a low pitch. I could hear the sounds of the TV and the swishing of his Jack Daniels in the background.

"Why do you want me to come over?" I ask lowly, my hand running through Tim's hair.

"I need you."

The breath caught in my throat. Did he just say he needed me?

John and I tried to communicate as little as possible after we broke up. It was hard, since my new boyfriend was his band's manager, but we made it work with little fighting and yelling. But after two year's of us seeing each other every day but not together, something burst inside of us. I was trying to sleep on my couch when suddenly John was at my door, begging me to just hold him and let him stay over.

He was a mess at the time, so I obviously said yes. Tim was out with some friends at a bar, so I was alone. I knew the sight of my ex-boyfriend should have made me giddy, thinking he was coming back to me, but it just broke my heart. It was my fault he was like this and I barely even apologized for it.

And after a couple weeks of him continuing to talk to me and hold me and comfort me and vice versa, he kissed me. And everything tied back together.

And now, I'm having an affair with my ex-boyfriend, John O'Callaghan.

"Right now?" I ask, making sure Tim was fast asleep. I glance at the clock. It was midnight. "You want me to come over right now?"

"Yes," he breathes, as if his mouth were really close to the receiver.

I take a few moments to gather my thoughts before I exhale slowly. "Fine," I mutter and I hear him inhale in relief. "I'll be over in a couple minutes."