Surreal Ecstasy (4 page)

"Thanks,
but I kind of wish someone real would say that." I wished I wasn't whining
like a brat in my own fantasy, feeling sorry for myself. "This is a
terrible fantasy. Drugs and misery have left my imagination numb." I shook
my head.

"Did
you really think sex was the ultimate fantasy?" he asked, not in a mocking
tone but in a genuinely interested one. When I didn't answer, he added, "What
would be the ultimate happiness for you?"

I
didn't answer him for two reasons. One, he was created by my mind, and
therefore he would already know everything I knew. And two, some questions are
so ridiculous that they require no answer, just a steel glare.

How
could I correctly answer him? What would make me happy would be everything, but
not anything in particular. Happiness without anger, mistrust, violence. To be
loved simply because I was Morgan. To be accepted by my holier-than-thou
family, and not because I suddenly became a saint, but because I was me,
because I was special to them.

I
wanted to exist without people taking a front-row seat to my life and
commenting on every action. I wanted that freedom, and felt we were all
entitled to that. I wasn't a murderer or a thief. I had just been walking a
path of confusion, and had been taking steps to ease that confusion. Not
everyone agreed with the steps I took, but I didn't ask for their permission
and even if I did, I strongly believed we were all equal on this planet. This
would mean that no one would have cause to rule over or judge me.

But
how does one say all this? I didn't have the emotional energy to speak of it
aloud. Doing so would require more effort than I was willing to put forth,
effort to elaborate and provide painful details, even though he already knew
all these things.

I
looked up at Friend—inasmuch as I could. Perhaps he smiled, or maybe he was
growing impatient with my silence. Hopefully, he understood that I didn't want
to answer his question. I changed the subject instead.

"Do you want me to call you
something besides Friend? Is there a real name you prefer?"

"What do you want my name to
be?"

I groaned and looked back down at
the blanket, which was easier on my dream-eyes than trying to see through the
sun. "Please. Don't turn my questions back around on me. I would really
like a civilized conversation, if you don't mind. Also…"

"Also, what?" he asked
after I trailed off and didn't finish.

"Also, that's what hookers
say, and that's not really what I picture for my dream man."

He laughed—a good natured, genuine
laugh. "Am I your dream man?" he quizzed, a subtle teasing note in
his voice.

I smiled without looking up. "I
thought that once, back when I was little. I thought that since I made you, I
might as well make you in the image of the perfect man."

"But are you
sure
you
created me?"

I tilted my head, confused, not
only because of what he said but also because he rarely challenged me. "Yes.
I… I made you up. I know I did."

"Morgan, do you believe in
angels?"

I scoffed without thinking, but
otherwise didn't answer. After a moment, I realized what he was implying. I
looked up at him, which earned me a bright light in my eyes, then asked, "What
are you saying? Are you an angel?"

He
paused, and I wondered briefly if he was giving me a pensive look—a look I
really couldn't see. "Morgan…"

"What?"

He opened his mouth as if to speak,
then closed it, laughing lightly. "Nothing. I'd just like to enjoy your
company."

"You're always in such good
spirits. Is that a requirement for an angel?"

"Does that mean you believe
me?"

"Um… I don't see the harm in
it," I replied diplomatically. "Why don't you sit here on the blanket
with me?"

"In a moment, thank you. I'm a
bit busy right now."

"Busy doing what?"

Silence again. If he was so busy,
why did he waste so much time talking in circles?

Friend leaned toward me so quickly
that I almost fell over. He lowered his voice to a quiet yet passionate tone. "I'm
closer than you realize. Every day I get nearer to seeing the same clouds that
you see, breathing in the very air that you exhale. But it's going to change
things. It's going to change everything."

I said nothing. It was a dream and
I was well aware of it, but I could hear and feel his breathing. His face was
mere inches from mine, and we both remained silent, enjoying the feeling of the
other's presence.

There was something irresistibly
sexy in what he said and how he said it, something ineffable, something that
was seated in the core of his soul. I felt like I was being pulled to him
without any trickery behind it. Like I was being drawn to him because of
him
,
because there was something inside of him that I was incredibly attracted to,
and it wasn't physical, obviously, because I couldn't quite see him. There was
something else there that I couldn't pinpoint, something…

Magical? Heavenly?

"Tell me how close," I
whispered. I moved closer to him, my skin suddenly aching to feel the air next
to his body. Suddenly, I thought of nothing except this man, and I felt nothing
except this magnetic pull to this old, imaginary Friend of mine that called
himself an angel. God, I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to throw him on the
ground and feel his body under me.

Did angels have sex? Did they know
the kind of love I needed and wanted?

Did he even have a penis?

He chuckled again and touched my
forehead with two fingers. It was such a delicate, sensual act. "It's not
supposed to happen this way," he whispered. "Sleep, dream, rest."

The last thing I saw before the
dream ended was a gorgeous smile on a face I could never see or remember.

Chapter 3

It's
a funny thing, being in a hospital. White surroundings, not entirely conscious,
your life hanging in the balance… one might think of this as a plane, as a
world between worlds, one between the living and the dead. I suppose it could
also be a place where you could consider your life in a full and honest manner,
not unlike that old phrase of your life passing before your eyes.

But
I had already been pondering my life for months. I thought about it as I heard
about violent deaths on the news and religious wars, as I chose what I ate in the
mornings, as I had sex with my boyfriend. Is this really what I want to do?
What was the purpose of my birth and my life? Do I have the courage to make a
serious change? Do I even want to make the change?

I
kept changing my mind and flip-flopped as elements in my life temporarily
changed. When Adim and I were happy together, I was ready to tackle life
head-on as it stood. When he and I fought, however, I suddenly became
philosophical while writhing in physical and emotional pain. So much of my life
force was drained in maintaining this extreme relationship.

I
thought back to my dream memory and his reaction to what he thought was me
stealing his beloved coke. When we first started dating a couple years ago, he
slowly brought up the topic of his drug use—starting with how he occasionally
drank with friends and smoked pot. I didn't think very much of it at the time
because it seemed to make him happy and seemed like an insignificant thing. At
that point in my life, I wanted to have fun and go to parties, so I drank and
smoked with him.

However,
for him, these eventually gave way to things like cocaine and ecstasy. Until
that time in his apartment when he caught me with his baggie, I never really
addressed the issue because I didn't know how. Not discussing it right away was
my way of buying time to digest and understand the seriousness of it all. He
had told me I was welcome to try both types, and to his credit, he never
pressured me to do so, and when I gave an unsure answer, he'd leave it alone.
Looking back, however, it occurred to me that maybe he never pushed the matter
because it left more drugs for him. I didn't want to believe he thought that
way, but I wouldn't put it past him, either.

Almost
anything I'd done ignited his temper, and I never figured out what made him
truly lose control that day with the frying pan. Was it the embarrassment of
having been caught, that I knew he was on drugs that morning even though he
obviously tried to hide it? Possibly. It had also made me wonder—if he hid this
from me, what else has he hidden?

He
kept me under his thumb and controlled my life, from my computer use to who I
kept in touch with, which was the biggest reason why I didn't have any friends.
I didn't mind that so much in the beginning because I believed, like a fool,
that he was just being over-protective, and that this was how he demonstrated
his love. He had complained that I was always at his place, but he practically
forced me to do so, most likely because that was the easiest way to control me.

After
our encounter that morning over breakfast, I had gone home in tears and did an
online search for ways of taking care of the skin on my arm, which had already
started to blister and become disfigured. The next morning, I tried to cover up
my black eye with makeup, but it didn't work, and I was forced to call in sick
for the next few days until I looked well enough to be in public without anyone
asking any questions.

I
never went to a doctor. I just wanted to stay home until my body healed, so
that I could pretend it never happened, so that I could continue being happy,
or whatever I believed happiness was at the time. Luckily, I didn't have the
type of parents who would see me in that condition (not that they ever visited
me), and then let all hell break loose until they found justice for their
daughter.

Yeah.
Luckily.

My
boyfriend had become my world, because nothing had existed outside of him. He
was my lover, yes, but he was also my mentor, my father, my best friend, my
counselor, and even my priest at times. He was everything and would do
everything I thought I needed. I told him my darkest secrets, and he tried to
understand. Yes, he was an unbelievably selfish asshole, but at the other end
of the spectrum, he was also very giving and thoughtful. In hindsight, he
probably had to be all of those things in order to maintain some type of
equilibrium, as if he wanted to be the best person he could be but that his id,
his inner self, wouldn't allow it. It was as if he were two people, and I
always would have to brace myself for whichever personality chose to show
itself.

That
being said, he didn't have MPD. I would almost say that would have made things
easier, but then, I have never known anyone who has actually had multiple
personalities, so that would be unfair to assume. All I know is being devoted
to a person who would worship you one day and almost try to kill you the next
has made my soul fade in a way that I will never be able to completely and
accurately describe to anyone, not for the rest of my life and perhaps beyond.

He
didn't bother trying to contact me until four days later, after my first day
back at work. He had called and asked if it was okay to come over, and I said
no, feeling confident that I had every right to keep him out of my Lynnwood apartment
(thank goodness I never gave him the key). He appeased me and then began the
official apology. He started out by saying he didn't know why I was even
bothering to talk to him, that he was worthless, that he'd been doing a lot of
thinking and realized he had problems, but that I was his inspiration to
overcome them all. But without me in his life now, there was no reason to go
on, certainly no reason to overcome his personal issues.

That
was cruel emotional blackmail, and he knew it. He placed his emotional future
entirely on me, and feeling the weight of that responsibility, I gave in and
came back to him because I didn't want him to become desolate because of me, or
because I was selfish and thought I couldn't handle being with a man I claimed
everyday to love.

In
the days that followed, he was especially attentive and loving. I would almost
say that it was forced, just to pull me back in, and yet I don't entirely
believe that. It was almost as if there was a part of him that loved me in the
most pure manner, but when combined with other elements of his personality,
what was left was a whirlwind of a man, confusing and unstable.

It
was also around the time I decided to change my approach to Adim's choice of
lifestyle. Tiptoeing around him in fear was not going to improve anything; that
much was clear. I had decided that I would make this relationship work, no
matter what I had to do. I had invested too much time and too much of myself
for there to be any other realistic choice. I had also figured that since I
kept choosing to come back to him after every fight, he and I were meant to be
together.

My
next attempt was that of an enabler. The next time Adim and I were sitting in
his living room with a small baggie of coke, I thought about telling him I wanted
to try it, but I was scared of it. I'd heard from so many sources about people
losing their life savings and even parts of their nose because they simply
couldn't live without the drug. I just couldn't bring myself to do it.