Page 43 of Dreaming of Dawson

And bells.

“What’s that about?” I mutter.

Why am I thinking about bells? I remember hearing them, but why? Was I so drunk I was hallucinating? I’ve never done that before, but I guess last night was exceptional, even by my standards.

Does that mean I imagined the whole thing?

“No, stupid. It can’t.” For one thing, my knee hurts, and not only that, I can still recall how it felt to put my arm around Macy… even if she was the one holding me, rather than the other way around. I also remember something else, though. A different kind of touch.

What the hell was it?

She wasn’t holding me up anymore, that’s for sure. I know I felt stable and relaxed… like I wasn’t relying on my legs to hold me up. So, was I lying down?

I guess I must have been. And I guess Macy probably had to help me with that, too. She must have brought me in here, and presumably removed my shoes, because they’re not on my feet, and I honestly don’t think I could have done that myself. I wonder if she pulled up the throw, too. I might have given myself credit for that earlier, but who am I kidding? There’s no way I’d have been dextrous – or even conscious – enough to do that.

Except I was conscious. I must have been. I thanked her. The words, “Thanks, Macy,” definitely left my lips.

She smiled at me. I remember that, because it made me feel like there was something to hope for. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt anything even close to hope. So was that why I grabbed her hand? Because I wanted to cling to that hope… to never let it go?

I remember doing it now. That was the other touch, and I…

“Oh, fuck.”

I shake my head, covering my face with my hands as the memory finally comes back in all its humiliating glory. I called her beautiful. Or, to be more precise. I called her ‘fucking beautiful’, and while that’s completely true, I shouldn’t have said it. Not because I didn’t mean it, but because – as she so rightly put it, in that delicate whisper I only just heard – I was drunk.

This is worse than I thought. It’s inexcusable…

I push back the throw, taking longer than I should to untangle my feet, and sit up on the edge of the bed, the room swaying slightly as I get my bearings.

Macy might have asked to stay here last night, so she could shelter from the snow, but will my behavior have driven her away? Will she have left already, never to return? That thought makes me feel sicker than ever. That’s not just because I don’t want her to leave. It’s because I don’t want her to leave and think badly of me. What am I saying? She already thinks badly of me. She must do, having seen me at my worst. But I want the chance to apologize, and make it right again.

I get up, my head pounding, my mouth dry, and I take a moment to get my balance before I head for the door. Outside, the hall is shrouded in darkness, but there’s enough light for me to see her bedroom door is closed. That could mean she’s gone already, or that she’s still here… maybe even still asleep. I can hardly knock and find out, though. What would I say? How would I explain myself… and my appearance, which must be pretty terrible?

I don’t know, but at least that’s something I can fix.

I step into the bathroom, closing the door behind me. There is a window in here, but it’s tiny, and I have to switch on the light just to see what I’m doing. It’s horribly bright, but after a second or two, I’m almost accustomed to it, and I remove my clothes, putting them into the laundry hamper. This isn’t the first time I’ve had to get undressed before showering in the morning, but it’s the first time I’ve felt truly ashamed of it, and I get into the shower, trying not to think too much about why that might be, but focusing instead on never having to feel like that again.

It’s a thought I’ve had many times before, but in the past I’ve never been able to think of a good reason to stop drinking. Now, I can think of several and they all revolve around the person who I hope is still lying asleep in my guest bedroom. The only problem is, will she be willing to listen to my apologies?

I step out of the shower, wrapping a towel around my hips, still wondering how many ways I can phrase the word, “Sorry,” and panicking over whether Macy will even be here to hear them. If she’s not, I’ll have to go find her… snow, or no snow. Because there’s no way I can leave things as they are.

I grab a smaller towel, quickly drying my hair, and leaving the towel draped around my neck while I brush my teeth, staring at myself in the mirror. There’s no denying I’ve allowed my stubble to become a beard, and I half expect my eyes to be bloodshot. It’s been known before. But in fact, they don’t look too bad. I’ve definitely seen worse, although it’s not an easy reflection to look at, and I turn away the moment I’ve finished, switching off the light as I exit the bathroom.

“Oh… God.”

I look up to see Macy coming out of her room, dressed in the clothes she had on yesterday. She’s blushing, and although I’ll need several coffees before I can call myself fully awake, there’s no mistaking the way her eyes are wandering… or the fact that I like it. A lot. And so does my cock.

Chapter Eleven

Macy

I wake to the sound of running water, and crack my eyes open to a dimly lit bedroom. It’s not mine, and for a moment or two I’m confused… until I remember where I am.

I’m in Dawson’s apartment, in his guest bedroom.

I don’t know why that’s such a surprise. I asked if I could stay, didn’t I? Naturally, I didn’t expect such an adventurous night, and I pull the covers up over myself, feeling silly for running away from Dawson in the way I did. It wasn’t as though he’d done anything wrong. He’d called me beautiful, that was all. My only objection was that he had to be drunk before he noticed me. That seems so unfair when he fills my every dream.

Like the one I had last night before he woke me. That was on its way to becoming quite spectacular… although I’ve had better. I’ve had dreams about him where I’ve woken up hot and panting, breathless with need, and I’ve had others which have been filled with romance and words of love. They’ve become a fairly common occurrence over the last few weeks, and while I wish I could have seen last night’s to its conclusion, I’m sure there will be another chance… and probably another one, too.

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