The Difference- Chapter 2

Chapter 2



Opening her eyes, she was greeted by blue eyes.  She blinked in confusion.  Blue eyes and blond hair instead of the dark, sensual pools and the soft, silky curls her mind had projected.  Michael, yes.  But it was Michael Lockwood who looked down at her, looking sleepy and slightly annoyed.

Of course, Lockwood was here.  Whom else had she expected?  What had been the chances that the ghost from her past would have materialized in real life just as he had taken over her dreams - and her nightmares?  No, her reality was with this man.  He had been in her bed after all where he had fallen asleep after rolling off her.  For some reason, Lisa had been distant and disengaged in their sexual activity earlier.  For the life of her, she could not remember why she asked him over in the first place.  Oh, yeah, it was either him or being alone with her reflection in the wine glass.  Getting a buzz and getting laid seemed to be appropriate methods to numb her…what, pain? 

No, she was not in pain.  She had simply been plagued by those weird nightmares over and over.  Just like she had, since age nine, dreamed of the morning she found her aunt trying to resuscitate her father. Just like the reoccurring dreams of having her father show up at her door step, telling her he had not been dead after all, and flying into his arms, elated and sobbing.  Only to wake up and having to once again face that he was gone.  So, whatever she needed to put on ice was not pain for sure.  She was over experiencing pain.  Pain was too acute a feeling for what she had endured most of her life.  Someone needed to mint a new term for ongoing, nagging agony. 

Sadly, the wine seemed to have dulled her ability to enjoy whatever Lockwood had bestowed on her.  Or maybe those who had called her tendency to keep part of herself securely locked away were right, and she was really frigid.  Funny, though that frigidity never seemed to have been a problem in the years of her on again, off again, tumultuous sex-life with Michael.  Well, the name might be the same, but the ability to heat her up was not.  So, to finally end Lockwood’s sweaty efforts on top of her tiring body and to be able to go to sleep, she had resorted to using her acting skills and had faked the orgasm he seemed intent on eliciting.  She normally hated to fake anything, and his proud expression immediately made her regret the move.  Great! Now she encouraged him to keep up what wasn’t working.  Whatever.  At least she could find relief in sleep.  Only, she had not been prepared for the torture she had once again been exposed to. Ok, time to face the music, aka Lockwood…

“Are you ok?”

“Me?  You woke me, other than that I’m fine.” Her voice sounded even deeper than normal.

“No, Lisa, you woke me.  You were screaming so loudly I thought someone had broken in.  That plus the crying made me think we had someone with a gun standing in here.”

Fuck.  She had screamed and cried?  What about?  What in the world was wrong with her? Oh yeah, the dream.  

“I’m sorry I woke you, man.  I must have had some kind of bad food reaction.”

She reached for a cigarette and he was at hand with a lighter.

Michael would have been so mad at me for smoking in bed.

Well, Michael was not here to annoy the shit out of her with his superior holier-than-though bullshit anymore. Good riddance!

“Another nightmare?”

She took a deep drag and watched her hand trembling.

“Yeah, I guess so.” The tough tone was a total mismatch for the inner turmoil.

“Do you remember it this time?”

“No…” Another deep drag followed by the controlled exhale of the stinging smoke. 

Why was she lying to him?  The truth was not all that odd.  She had dreamed she had given an interview about her father.  It was August 17- the day after THE day.  The day her life had forever been changed.  The day a spoiled, carefree nine year old butterfly had undergone reverse metamorphosis and emerged a crippled caterpillar. 

Only, that was only half the dream.  For some reason it had then jumped to standing in some eerie chapel over what she had more felt than known to be Michael’s coffin.  And there was an interview with- Oprah of all people.  What had she been eating last night?  Oh, nothing, that’s right.  Maybe that was the problem. 

“Well, if you ever remember or want to share, I will be here for you.” Lockwood sat up and turned his back to her.

“What?  You don’t believe me?”

“Lisa, you screamed you loved him.  Who is ‘he’?”

Shit.  That’s right.  In her dream, Michael had been dead and she had explained to Oprah Winfrey how much she had loved him.  A cold shudder swept down her back and she felt as if she had walked over someone’s grave.  Michael’s grave.

“He? I have no clue.  Well, wait, maybe I do.  I dreamt of my Dad.  I must have been talking about him.” The lie was intended as a band aid to not unnecessarily upset Lockwood.  Things were going so well with him, why bring up Michael now? 

Lockwood made his way to the bathroom and she heard him use the toilet while he burped.  Lisa rolled her eyes and made a face, putting out her cigarette. Could he maybe have closed the door?  Like she really wanted to listen to this.  She turned away from the bathroom door, not feeling the need to see his naked ass come back to bed.  As a matter of fact she was tempted to ask him to go home.  Right now, she really felt like being alone.  She realized that she was trembling.  The chill spreading inside had nothing whatsoever to do with the warm August night or too low a setting on the air conditioning. 

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw herself standing over Michael’s coffin, saw her hand resting on the golden surface, saw her tear shattering like a fragile crystal bauble.  She knew full well it had only been a nightmare.  As far as she knew, Michael was alive and well.  His life was back in order; he had just been found innocent.  His nightmare was over.  He had left Neverland and had hit the road with his children, but he certainly was alive.  Why then, could she not shake the feeling of dread poisoning her insides?

“Lisa, are you ok?”

Lockwood had come back and put his hand on her shoulder to check on her. She shrugged and pulled her knees up toward her chest.

“I don’t know.  I don’t feel well.  You know what?  I think it might be better for you to head out if you want to get sleep.  I know you have plans tomorrow, and I feel like I’m coming down with something.  Surely you don’t want the cooties from me, right?”  Feeling like a horrible coward, she finally turned her head, still avoiding eye-contact.

“You are throwing me out?  It’s like 2 am, Lisa.  What’s going on?”

“I’m not throwing you out.  I’m not well, I told you.  I just don’t want to keep you from getting your sleep.”

“This doesn’t by chance have anything to do with your ex, does it?”

Fucking hell!  He knew her too well.  That’s what she got for screwing yet another friend.  She needed to stick to movie outings and card games in the future.  Her irrational tendency to take her friends to bed had never ended well. 

“Nic?”  She was sure the cowardly attempt to throw him off would not work, but hey, why not give it a shot?

“No, Lisa, and not Danny, either.  Stop the bull.  I know Riley asked about MJ yesterday.”

MJ?  She hated when people called Michael ‘MJ.’  However, she bit her tongue and ignored her irritation.

“She saw some talk show where they talked about him, that’s all.  She wanted to know…”

“She wanted to know if she could see him again.  And you told her you were not sure.  Which was odd.  I mean, why would you not just give it to her straight?  Why lie?”

The annoyance rose.  Was he telling her how to handle her child?  What did he know about raising children?  And why had he been listening in the first place? It was none of his business. He certainly had no clue how much her little girl still missed Michael.  Lockwood should know how crappy she had felt all this time for confusing her children with her constant struggles to either keep Michael close or push him away.  She had ranted to him about this very topic more than a few times. 

“I didn’t lie.  Just because he is out of my life does not mean the kids can’t see him.”

“Whatever, Lisa.  You are the boss.”

Great, now he was pissed.  Well, at least this might entice him to leave.   She pulled her covers closer.

“You know what? Stay or leave. Whatever.  I don’t give a fuck.  I will try to go back to sleep.  Just don’t wake me anymore.”

“No, really, Lisa.  It’s your bed, your house, your life.  I know you only see me as some kind of support player in the drama of your life.  You wanna be alone?  You got it. Just watch you don't end up like that for good.”

With that, he pulled his clothes on and stomped out.  She heard him slam the door shut and seconds later listened to his car pulling off.  Part of her felt a little bit guilty for having basically kicked him out in the middle of the night.  But hey, he had a choice.  Lisa was well aware Lockwood knew about her past obsessive feelings for Michael.  He had been around during her decision to move on, during her anger, during her emergence from the brink of self-destruction.  Lisa had been aware of the little crush Lockwood had on her. After initially having had sex with him following some kind of drunken and possible weed induced pity party she had thrown herself, she had thought, what the hell, why not start another relationship with someone who was safe and whose emotional involvement obviously trumped hers. How refreshing to feel he needed her more than she needed him! She was not addicted to what he had to give her.  He did not deplete her until she was but a shadow of herself.  He also did not force her to play idiotic games to make sure she was on his mind.  She was so done with that.  She was happy.  She had moved on.

Only one question remained: Why the dream, then?

(To be continued)

Image from:

http://mountainairarts.blogspot.com/2007_08_01_archive.html

©2010 Erika B Michaels. All Rights Reserved. This story is a work of fiction. Any names, places, and other identifying features are used in a fictional manner, for entertainment purposes only, and are in no way representative of actual events. This work may not be reproduced, copied, transmitted, or stored without expressed written permission by Erika B Michaels. All photos and images, mentioned songs or song titles are copyright their creators.

The Difference is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.