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Authors: Elizabeth Davies
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cream sofas were at right angles to each other, and instead of facing a TV screen like in many houses they were centred on a state of the art sound system. Racks of CDs were suspended above it and below were shelves upon shelves of old LPs. He clearly took his music very seriously indeed. An enormous oil canvas in abstract red and gold filled the other wall, and thick cream carpet cushioned my feet. I kicked my shoes off and sighed at the simple pleasure of toes wriggling into deep pile carpet. He returned from the kitchen with a glass in each hand and gestured towards one of the sofas. I sat on it obediently. He handed me the wine and I took a sip.
‘Music?’
‘Ok.’ I needed something to counteract the silence and my nervousness.
‘What do you like?’
‘Got any Evanessence?’
‘Sure.’ He was surprised. ‘I would have taken you more for an Adele kind of person,’ he said as he found the right CD and slotted it in. The music permeated the room.
‘I like Adele, too,’ I admitted. ‘In fact, I like lots of different music. It depends on my mood.’
‘Like what?’ he asked, and we talked about music for a while. He was passionate about his music and knowledgeable. I discovered he wrote a lot of his own stuff, and, like any singer-songwriter, dreamt of making it big. All he needed was that one lucky break. I hoped he would get it: he seemed like a really nice guy. While we were talking he scooted closer to me and draped one arm casually over the back of the sofa as my favourite track, ‘Bring Me To Life’, washed around us. I had no idea, then, how prophetic that song was. He gently took my glass out of my hand and leaned towards me. My lips parted in anticipation as his hand slid around my waist and our lips met, softly at first, then his tongue slipped into my mouth and he kissed me with increasing urgency. I felt the first stirrings of desire as his hand moved slowly up from my waist to my breasts. He cupped one, tentatively.
My head swam, the feeling not unpleasant, just a bit strange. At first I thought it was the wine, although I hadn’t drank more than half a glass, until I realised what was happening. It was quicker this time, the warning tugging lasting only a fraction of a second before I felt my mind plummeting to somewhere else entirely.
Oh no. Not now, I begged.
I must have made a sound because the last thing I heard before my treacherous mind slid into another one of my hallucinations was Gavin asking if I was ok.
I staggered and almost fell, the winding stairs narrow and steep beneath my feet. When I caught my balance I looked down. Yep: I was buck naked again. Oh joy. And it was cold, too. Why couldn’t I hallucinate a nice hot beach! My toes curled in response to the freezing stone beneath my feet and it was also dark like the last times, obviously night. I was slightly relieved: at least it wasn’t broad daylight in the middle of Tescos. That’s what I usually imagined when I thought of your typical ‘got no clothes on’ dream. I hesitated on the narrow staircase, debating whether to go up or down, or to wait here until I was awake again.
It said much for my state of mind that I didn’t even consider it odd to be able to think so clearly in a dream, or whatever it was I was experiencing. I was almost complacent about it, practically a here-I-go-again blasé attitude. I wondered how many men with – or without – swords would attack me or chase me this time. I also wondered where I was. At least I was inside this time, but it was still cold and dream or not, I was freezing. I vowed to find some clothes, and considered my options.
A faint glow illuminated the rough stone walls of the staircase. It was narrow and winding, probably only room enough for two people to walk up them side by side, and the walls were rough-hewn stone slabs. I couldn’t see very far in either direction because of the steep curve of the
‘Music?’
‘Ok.’ I needed something to counteract the silence and my nervousness.
‘What do you like?’
‘Got any Evanessence?’
‘Sure.’ He was surprised. ‘I would have taken you more for an Adele kind of person,’ he said as he found the right CD and slotted it in. The music permeated the room.
‘I like Adele, too,’ I admitted. ‘In fact, I like lots of different music. It depends on my mood.’
‘Like what?’ he asked, and we talked about music for a while. He was passionate about his music and knowledgeable. I discovered he wrote a lot of his own stuff, and, like any singer-songwriter, dreamt of making it big. All he needed was that one lucky break. I hoped he would get it: he seemed like a really nice guy. While we were talking he scooted closer to me and draped one arm casually over the back of the sofa as my favourite track, ‘Bring Me To Life’, washed around us. I had no idea, then, how prophetic that song was. He gently took my glass out of my hand and leaned towards me. My lips parted in anticipation as his hand slid around my waist and our lips met, softly at first, then his tongue slipped into my mouth and he kissed me with increasing urgency. I felt the first stirrings of desire as his hand moved slowly up from my waist to my breasts. He cupped one, tentatively.
My head swam, the feeling not unpleasant, just a bit strange. At first I thought it was the wine, although I hadn’t drank more than half a glass, until I realised what was happening. It was quicker this time, the warning tugging lasting only a fraction of a second before I felt my mind plummeting to somewhere else entirely.
Oh no. Not now, I begged.
I must have made a sound because the last thing I heard before my treacherous mind slid into another one of my hallucinations was Gavin asking if I was ok.
I staggered and almost fell, the winding stairs narrow and steep beneath my feet. When I caught my balance I looked down. Yep: I was buck naked again. Oh joy. And it was cold, too. Why couldn’t I hallucinate a nice hot beach! My toes curled in response to the freezing stone beneath my feet and it was also dark like the last times, obviously night. I was slightly relieved: at least it wasn’t broad daylight in the middle of Tescos. That’s what I usually imagined when I thought of your typical ‘got no clothes on’ dream. I hesitated on the narrow staircase, debating whether to go up or down, or to wait here until I was awake again.
It said much for my state of mind that I didn’t even consider it odd to be able to think so clearly in a dream, or whatever it was I was experiencing. I was almost complacent about it, practically a here-I-go-again blasé attitude. I wondered how many men with – or without – swords would attack me or chase me this time. I also wondered where I was. At least I was inside this time, but it was still cold and dream or not, I was freezing. I vowed to find some clothes, and considered my options.
A faint glow illuminated the rough stone walls of the staircase. It was narrow and winding, probably only room enough for two people to walk up them side by side, and the walls were rough-hewn stone slabs. I couldn’t see very far in either direction because of the steep curve of the
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