Surreal Ecstasy Read online

  Or so you'd think. Adim found himself a new addiction—gambling. He started going to Angel of the Winds, an Indian casino in Arlington, directly after work and would come home to sleep for two hours before going to work and then back to the casino again. It was a pretty long drive for him, but that never stopped him from going every single day. I had been sleeping at his place for about three days a week, but it had reached a point where I was tired of being by myself all the time, so I took all my belongings and went back home to Lynnwood, leaving Adim my copy of his key on his kitchen table. I had figured that if I had to be alone, at least it would be where I was comfortable and could do what I wanted. Shortly after that, Adim had called me and wanted to know why I was gone and why I left him the key. I just laughed at him because I thought the answer was pretty obvious.

  At first he was apologetic, saying he knew he had a gambling problem but couldn't help it, and that he wanted to make money without having to work overtime. When that didn't draw my sympathies, he moved from apologetic to angry, saying that I was ungrateful and he was the one bringing home the bacon and that how he made money wasn't any of my business (never mind that I had a job and paid my own bills). At that point, I had become tired of his crap, and told him he could do drugs and gamble all he wanted from now on, because I was officially done with him. Then I hung up before he could protest or say anything uglier.

  I remember waking up and going to work the next day with a smile on my face. I felt free. I had spent my entire life being judged and watched by my family, and though it was something I completely detested, somehow I ended up with a man who did just that—with the added bonus of abuse and drugs. Of course, about a week after I broke up with him, he contacted me. He didn't call me like last time, though. He actually showed up on my doorstep, waiting for me. I was tired that day because the idiots at work were annoying me, and I really had not been in the mood for more bullshit. I briefly considered driving off and heading to Alderwood Mall to catch a movie, giving Adim time to become frustrated, give up, and go home.

  But as I said, I was tired. I was also too lazy to get back in my car and drive. Not knowing what else to do, I faced the music and walked straight to my front door. It was the same song and dance at first—that he knew he was scum but I was the only one who really knew him and therefore the only person he ever wanted to be with. This time, however, he added in something extra: that I was now a drug addict and that if my family ever found out, I would be even more ostracized, if that were even possible.

  It was blackmail without officially being blackmail. I knew what he meant without him having to draw a diagram. If I leave him out in the cold, war would officially be declared between us, and nothing would be sacred. It didn't matter that I was only using the ecstasy to attain that happy, fulfilled feeling that I could only dream about, or that I had only ingested coke because he put it in my soda. He had me then, and he knew it. He knew how my family's absence tore a hole in my soul, and the asshole used it as leverage against me. I told him that I was tired and only wanted to sleep. He moved aside so I could get in my front door. As soon I got in, I closed and locked it.

  Of course, however, I ended up calling him the next day, and he had become my boyfriend once more. I tried to tell myself that it wasn't the blackmail that led me back to him, that it was my undying love for him that lingered on and wanted to make things better. Part of me had believed that these different tactics were a sort of trial-and-error process, and that with each attempt that failed, I was that much closer to the supreme answer that always evaded me.

  While we were no longer clashing about drugs and the violence eased to a minimum, his VIP status at Angel of the Winds presented more tribulations. It didn't change when we got back together—not even in the beginning. I supposed that since he was (for all intents and purposes) blackmailing me, he didn't see a reason to kiss my ass. He already had a way to keep me where he wanted me.

  My point of view was a little more complicated than that. When someone knows so much crap about you—and vice versa—it starts to make you feel like you're stuck with them. Seriously, who had the energy to begin a new life, or the patience to deal with the inevitable headaches that ensued with such change? I knew that if I ever really tried to leave Adim, he would do everything in his power to make my life a true nightmare. And it wasn't really just the fear that kept me with him. This combined with all the exhaustive effort I put in this relationship just seemed to add up to me staying with him indefinitely.

  And so, with him I stayed, my spirit's inner light dimming a little.

  For a good five of months or so, I pretended that I didn't have a care in the world, even though I thought about Adim with everything I did, from my crappy job to watching the Mariners play on TV and yes, even while I had quickies with men in public bathrooms. I thought piling on the ecstasy and getting hot and sweaty with strangers would be a magical solution for everything, and when I did all these things with no improvement, I decided to try for a change with Adim one last time.

  I opted to become his dictator, which was somewhat of a relief, because I had always been more or less meek with him. I told him one morning that he will go to Angel of the Winds for only two hours a week, and that if he stayed longer than that, I would leave again, this time for good, blackmail be damned. I did still secretly hope he wouldn't tell my family about my drug use, but at the time, my relationship with Adim was more important than my fictitious relationship with my family. Not to mention that he would be giving away his own secret by telling mine, and I seriously doubted he wanted to do that. Basically, I called his bluff, and used it back on him.

  Karma's a bitch.

  I also told him that he was no longer to use drugs. I did not ask him, but ordered him to do these things, thinking that if he became angry at me for talking to him this way, I'd have an easy out and he'd break up with me. I seriously doubted that would happen, but it created a kind of safety net for me, and I'd really needed it at the time.

  Surprisingly, he accepted my orders easily, and in the beginning, I honestly believed he tried to adhere to them. However, it soon became an impossibility. Angel of the Winds remained as Adim's mistress, and after yet another night of sleeping alone in Edmonds, I packed up again and left him his key on the table again. I acted braver than I actually felt—or perhaps I had acted without using my emotions to slow me down. Either way, I was out of there quickly. Practice really did make perfect, I suppose.

  In the weeks that followed, Adim did not contact me. This was new to me, and it was at this point that I began breaking down. That annoying, logical part of my brain said quietly that I wasn't the only one to try a new tactic, and I was getting my ass kicked with the irony of it. I admit that I was expecting him to show up at my doorstep again, perhaps with flowers or—heaven forbid—a diamond ring. What I never expected him to do was to give me the cold shoulder in return.

  Last Friday evening, my self-pity outstayed its welcome, and I could no longer lie hour after hour on my bed, eyes to the ceiling, recounting every moment Adim and I had together, trying to figure out who the wrong one was and what should be done next. It seemed that every theory I had was a dead end, and the mental anguish was too overpowering. Emotionally exhausted, I got dressed in the hopes of finding somewhere to go and someone to go there with. I had picked up my cell phone and looked through the contacts, but it was a worthless attempt. I'd stayed home instead, drinking tequila straight from the bottle and finishing off Adim's ecstasy pills that I still had in my jeans pocket from the last time. Then, to complete my night of emptiness and sin, I cut my wrists like a desperate whore and ended up in the hospital.

  Something had to be learned from all this: I would not resolve my situation until I faced it head-on.

  I had to figure out my life, or die trying.

  Chapter 4

  His hands were huge and rough, but on my body they slid like satin. The rain on my windows and our heavy breathing were the only sounds to fill our ears
. He stopped moving for only a moment to regard my face, and I knew then that he believed I was the most beautiful, special, and adored woman on the planet.

  He tore at my pants, frantically trying to remove them as if he were near death and the only means of survival was hiding under there. Too anxious to practice patience, he pulled my light pink panties to the side and planted a quick kiss on me. I sighed, both because that simple kiss made me quiver and also because it made me thirsty for much more, thirsty to feel his warm skin covering mine, thirsty to feel him inside me.

  He sat back, smiled at me cunningly, and leaned forward again, this time giving me a deeper kiss between my legs. His warm and slippery tongue licked me deeply and throbbed inside me, and an uncontrollable moan escaped my lips. Everything was perfect. His touch was perfect. His mouth was perfect. I began making a mental list of endless erotic activities I wanted to share with him, a list that would take weeks for the two of us to complete. I was so close to losing control, but I didn't want it to be over, not yet, not when there was so much to experience.

  I sat up and yanked violently at his jeans, thinking only of the massive, hot bulk contained inside. I needed to get his jeans off now, needed to feel his-

  I opened my eyes, then cursed a hundredfold like a sailor. I was still in my cardboard bed.

  Thanks for nothing, half-assed fantasy.

  That was my third hospital dream, and suddenly, the line that divided dreaming and living almost disappeared. I desired more than anything to go back to sleep and see how that dream played out, to travel back to that land of pleasure and forget about reality. I looked up at the ceiling, trying to recall the man's face. Was that Friend in my dream, Adim, Dess' husband, or someone else? I tried to remember, but kept hitting maddening mental roadblocks.

  It didn't feel like it was Adim in my dream, and I mean that not because of the way his body felt, but in the manner of sex in my dream. Never had any of Adim's moves been romantic or patient. There were no smiles or whispers of love to transform what we did into lovemaking. No, what we did was fucking, and there was no fulfillment or joy in it, making me think that he would have the same experience with any woman. Lovemaking should be exclusive, exciting because pure love and amazing sex combined would be an ultimate experience, one like no other, something that could never be replicated again except with the unique, exact combination of these two people together, because they think alike, move alike, love alike.

  I've grown tired of the shallow world of drugs and pointless sex. I had loved Adim, but obviously not enough, because I was thinking of life without him, without his unpredictable temper, without his vices and dependencies.

  Without his abuse.

  I decided then and there that the next time I do something so intimate, it should come from something more substantial than just two people satisfying their passing urges. And if it wasn't intended to happen, if he, the perfect man, was not out there, then I simply wouldn't ever have sex again. This degradation of my soul had to stop. This disbursement of my life's energy for shallow, fleeting things had to stop. I had tried this wretched lifestyle, and it brought me no happiness or sense of well-being. It had only brought chaos, sadness, confusion, and ire.

  I yawned loudly and tried to get comfortable curled up on my right side, feeling a slight pull as I almost got out-of-bounds with the connected IV. Sighing, I rolled an inch or so back to the left. Maybe if I went to sleep right away, I would finish that sexy dream, or maybe Brad Pitt would enter my dream, sandy brown chin-length hair blowing in the wind, lying next to me on a European nudist beach…

  "I'm going to miss you, Morgan."

  When did I fall asleep? I couldn't remember, but I was definitely dreaming. Racking my brain in trying to remember something about the mundane world, I realized this was my fourth hospital dream.

  "Friend? What do you mean?" I looked around and saw nothing. This certainly wasn't a European nudist beach, and Brad Pitt was most certainly not lying on a blanket next to me, waiting for me to return to his arms. It was like I was hiding in a closet. There was nothing visible at all, but I was able to hear Friend's voice as clear as day.

  "First things first. I want you to create a place for us to talk. Let's go to your mind room."

  I must have twisted my face into the ultimate statue of confusion with the way Friend responded to me. I didn't know how he could possibly see me in this pitch-black, but I had a feeling he could and did. "The place where you keep all your thoughts and memories. It's not a physical room but a place you can enter while in your dream-state. It's normally only for you, but I can go in there, just this once, if you recreate it now and invite me."

  "Mind room? How can I—"

  "Relax and breathe. Think of finding old memories of when you started to work at Crafts Market, or when your mother took you to the dentist for the first time. You'll get the feeling of a room. Let it come. Let it materialize around you, around us."

  Before I knew it, I was standing in the middle of what looked like a huge living room in a fancy mansion. It didn't look familiar at all, yet I felt like it was a home of sorts, not only as if I'd been there before but that I kept coming back to it. I took a few steps in the middle of the giant area rug and saw that huge bookshelves were arranged neatly in the room, like a library or a bookstore. I walked around a few of the shelves and saw that one of them had a sign at the top that had "MOM" written on it. Curious, I went over to it and picked up a manila folder that was on one of the shelves. In the folder was a piece of paper that outlined a memory of my mother driving me to school when I was a teenager.

  Confused, I put it back and wandered around some more, feeling like a tourist in my own mind room.

  "Enjoying yourself?"

  I looked around to see Friend leaning up casually against a nearby shelf. I saw him and smiled, telling him I was puzzled yet fascinated. I didn't know mind rooms existed. He explained to me that I most definitely knew they existed, but it wasn't conscious knowledge. There was a small wing of the mind room that didn't seem as well-lit as the rest. I began to walk over to it, then halted. A big picture of Adim graced the wall of the little wing, and next to it were knives and swords, one knife even stuck in the middle of the forehead of Adim's picture. That displayed my mixed feelings about him, I supposed.

  I didn't want to go there. I knew what kinds of things were on those shelves. How could I not? I'd been reviewing them for months, thinking about him even when I didn't want to.

  In fact, I knew everything that was there—every single piece of paper. It was my mind room. I searched for Friend and found him about ten feet away, looking at everything politely without picking up or reading any of my personal files. "Morgan," he said, his voice taking on an official tone that I'd never heard from him, "You have a talent that you must be made aware of."

  "Oh, you mean the talent I have for making the worst possible decisions?" I blurted before I could think.

  He frowned a little and continued. "The God Generation is going to make themselves known to you soon. I wanted to prepare you. You're not of the GG, not exactly, but you're an important asset to one of the teams. You're a human helper, and you'll be known as the Architect."

  "The God what? Architect what? I don't know anything about construction."

  Friend shook his head. "I don't mean that literally," he commented gently. He gestured grandly toward the shelves behind him. "You've made a beautiful mind room. Many people out there aren't aware that they even have one, and some need help organizing or even constructing one that fits their needs. You have that ability. You've always had that ability.

  "The God Generation. Don't forget that term. Hold your hands to a person's head and focus like you did a few minutes ago, and you'll be able to organize their room. You'd be surprised how much this will be able to help people. It'll be a strange journey, but you'll be okay if you keep your wits about you. When you open your eyes, remember the God Generation."

  "But why did you say you were going t
o miss me?"

  He sighed quietly and pondered a bit before answering. "This may be the last time I stand here with you. It's been a pleasure, Morgan," he said bowing.

  "No! I don't want you to leave! You've been my only friend ever since I was a—"

  "I know, Morgan. I know. But things are changing. Morgan, I want you to welcome her into your life. She's a true jewel, albeit somewhat unorthodox."

  "What? Who? Friend, wait!"

  My eyes opened, and in an anticlimactic instant, I was lying in my cardboard bed.

  I pulled the blanket up to my neck and considered what just happened. My imaginary friend, who claimed to be an angel, pretty much broke up with me, saying he would never see me again. The other things he said lingered in my mind, but I didn't dwell on them. I'd have to think about those other things later. Or maybe I could fall asleep again and hope he'd come back and clarify things.

  But before I could even think about closing my eyes again, Erica walked in my hospital room.

  Erica was one of the nurses I'd come to know well during my three-night stay at this 'fabulous' resort. She had been here a day or two earlier to (finally) give me the details of how I got there. A married couple who lived on the floor beneath me heard the racket and me screaming a couple times (I don't recall screaming twice, but I wasn't completely sane at the time either), and promptly dialed 911. Screaming is not something generally heard in Lynnwood, not unless you live near a raving, naked lunatic who cut herself because a friend-of-a-friend bitch posted a fake picture of her being slutty. Supposedly, the police came and Ethan, the on-site manager, opened my door for them so they wouldn't have to break it down. They found me and called an ambulance to bring me in. I tried not to think of unknown men in my apartment, looking at my naked, unconscious body. Well, I wasn't entirely naked, I suppose. I had been wearing ribbons of blood.