Inspired by “La Noche Boca Arriba” by Julio Cortazar
Jamie holds me close and looks fiercely into my eyes and says, “When I let go, Ashlyn, run for your life.”
I grimace at the thought of what is about to happen. My head feels light, and I worry that I may pass out at any moment. I shouldn’t have taken those red pills. I knew that at the time, but I didn’t care. Those men told me it was my only way out, and I selfishly believed them, desperate for escape. And God knows what was in those pills that made me believe that I needed to be in this old place. I look around at the deserted lobby. The paint on the walls is chipped, and the windows look like they haven’t been cleaned in at least a decade. I wasn’t alone before, but I will be soon. And I need to fend for myself because they’re not after Jamie anymore. I don’t know what they want from me, but they’re hungry for something. I could sense it in their smug faces when they handed me the pills. When Jamie lets go of our tight embrace, I dash for the green door, but it won’t budge when I try to open it. My heart starts racing. I need to get out of here before the angry men come and find us. They can’t find us, not like this, not delusional and psychotic. The dizziness I’m experiencing must be from the pills. From the outside, someone shoves the door open, and it swings open and hits me right on the corner of my face. I fall to the cold, hard ground and lose consciousness.
I abruptly sit up in bed noticing I’m covered in sweat. What the hell just happened? Unclenching my fists, I stand up to go to the bathroom. Never before has a dream been quite so vivid. My heart pounds as I walk quickly down the hall. It’s still very early in the morning, and no lights are on in the house. My paranoia kicks in, worried that a stranger will come out from behind a corner and hurt me. Ridiculous, I know. But I can’t help it.
When I turn on the lights in the bathroom, I notice a small red mark above my left eyebrow. I get closer to the mirror and touch it which makes me flinch. I must have really been thrashing around in my bed, enough to collide with the metal bed frame. It’s not the first time I’ve woken up with a cut or a bruise, now that I think about it. Just last week I woke up with a red mark on my foot that still hasn’t gone away. I splash some water on my face before returning to my room.
My alarm is so loud that Natasha wakes up to it before I do. She bursts into my room with her bathrobe on.
“You have got to change that sound, Ashlyn. Like ASAP.”
I stare at her for a moment. “Part of our agreement for being roommates is having our own morning routines.”
She laughs. “Right. There’s really nothing like having an incredibly loud piercing noise to wake you up at 7 am every morning. Nothing like it.” Natasha opens the blinds to let in the sunlight, and that’s when she noticed the bump on my face.
She looks disgusted for a moment which is followed by a look of concern. “Ashlyn, did you have another weird dream?”
“Is it that bad?” I groan, rolling out of bed.
“It’s… noticeable.” She scratches her forehead. “Look, I know you said you didn’t want to, but my offer still remains. It’s nothing to be embarrassed of.”
I tilt my head. “Nothing to be embarrassed of? I’m a 25 year old woman having insane dreams that are so colorful they seem real, and I wake up with red marks on my body, covered in sweat, and that to you is normal?”
“I never said that it was normal. I think that’s exactly why you should consider meeting with my friend. He deals with this sort of stuff all the time. It would be no problem for me to set something up for you.”
“Fine. You make an appointment. But if I don’t like this friend of yours, I’m out.”
She smiles, knowing she won this time.
I grab a soda can from the fridge when I hear Natasha’s voice coming from her room.
“How’s Monday?”
I furrow my brows. “What do you mean?”
“For your appointment, does Monday work?” She shouts from across the hall.
Monday. Monday is tomorrow. “So soon? I mean, yes. That works, thank you.”
The following day, I’m waiting in the lobby for some psychologist I don’t even know the name of. I probably should have asked about that.
“Ashlyn?” A familiar voice calls my name. I look up, and he has a familiar face, too. I can’t recall where I would have seen him before. He’s tall and wears navy blue pants and a white button down. I also can’t help but notice the clipboard in his hand. This is either going to be life changing or an absolute nightmare.
I stand up and introduce myself. “Hi, I’m Ashlyn. Nice to meet you.”
He shakes my hand. “Nice to meet you too, Ashlyn. I’m Jamie.”
I freeze.
“Are you alright, Ashlyn?” He asks politely.
I snap back to reality. “Yeah, sorry about that. I just zoned out.”
He brings me into his office. We walk through an olive green door. I’m no designer, but the room is almost too organized. Nothing seems to be misplaced; it’s very modern and very white. I sit down on the grey couch in front of his chair.
He sets his clipboard down on the coffee table that separates the two of us. “So, I just got some new candies. Would you like one?”
“Sure, okay.”
He pulls open one of his many drawers and reaches for a red jar. He leans forward and shows me the inside of the jar. He motions for me to take some candy. I take a look inside, and to my horror, there are dozens of pill shaped candies. Red candies. Red pills.
I abruptly get off the couch. “I can’t do this. I’m sorry, Jamie.” And I walk right out the door.
I abruptly sit up noticing I’m covered in sweat, but this time, I’m back in the deserted lobby.
The End