I’d walked to the bathroom, turned on the shower and began preparing for what I hoped would be a good night’s sleep.
Chapter 7
Taylor…
What Dreams May Come
“Tell me this. How was my husband?”
She sat in the middle of the bed with Quinton asleep in her arms. She stared at him. The palm of her hand delicately stroked the side of his face. Her black tears streamed down from her eyes, pain evident in them.
“Was he as good as you remembered him to be?” I stood in the large bathroom in the mirror, looking bewildered. Her voice startled me.
“What are you talking about?” I moved to the middle of the doorway and stared at her.
Admitting anything to her was the last thing I was going to do.
She gently laid Quinton on the bed and began her slow, calculating walk towards me.
“Vanessa, you’re bleeding.”
“Oh! This?”
She looked down at her hands, laughing, but her laugh was silent.
“This is not my blood,” she admitted, tilted her head towards the bed where she had laid my son, and then looked back at me from the corners of her eyes, smiling.
I rushed passed her and held my son’s face in my hands.
“Mommy,” he spoke in his soft, quiet voice. “You see what you did to me?” He laughed hysterically.
I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling. I began wiping wetness from my face. The tears I cried in that dream were now in my reality. Damn! What the fuck was that? I thought. I had taken my guilt into my dreams. I looked down at Quinton who was still asleep in another awkward position. Even in that position, he slept beautifully. I got out of bed, picked him up in my arms, and buried my face in his neck between his head and shoulder.
“I love you,” I whispered.
I inhaled, taking in his baby powder scent. When I exhaled, I held him even tighter. The thought of not being able to protect my own son, even in dreams, scared the hell out of me.
I stood in the bathroom mirror, wrapping my hair and tying it in a knot. The cold water on my face felt good. I kept my face in the palm of my hands and exhaled, emptying everything in my lungs. That dream had me visibly shaken, though not seen yet by anyone else. Damn! I thought. If Quinton didn’t wake screaming, what the hell would have happened?
“Not a damn thing would have happened,” I whispered to myself, “you have better self-control than that.”
Or did I? I wiped my face with my facecloth that hung behind the bathroom door, and applied my moisturizer. I hoped the lack of sleep didn’t show on my face.
I walked out of the bathroom and stood at the bed staring at my lil man who was still sound asleep. Usually, he would have been up at the crack of dawn, asking for milk and cereal. When I picked him up last night from his nightmare, his heart was pounding, his hair was wet from perspiration, and he was breathing rapidly. He’d held on tightly to my neck with his legs wrapped around me, like he was hanging on for life. This wasn’t like him. He’d kept his eyes tightly shut, and begged me not to leave him. When I got to my room, I’d kissed his forehead, swept his hair from his face, and planted a kiss on my angel.
It seemed the only thing that would calm my nerves this morning was a good, hearty breakfast. I opened the door slowly as if I were breaking some curfew. The last person I wanted to r un into was Dillon─last night’s run-in was enough. When I entered the kitchen, he stood with his back towards me pouring a cup full of coffee. I turned to leave, but it was like this man had eyes in the back of his head.
“Rough night?” he asked, removing h is mug from under the spout of the stainless steel coffee maker.
“I guess. Unlike you, I have a conscience,” I charged.
“Is that what you call it?”
He handed me the mug of coffee he had prepared and started to pour another for himself.
“Was that what stopped you last night, your conscience?”
I accepted his offering and stood beside him with my back
Chapter 7
Taylor…
What Dreams May Come
“Tell me this. How was my husband?”
She sat in the middle of the bed with Quinton asleep in her arms. She stared at him. The palm of her hand delicately stroked the side of his face. Her black tears streamed down from her eyes, pain evident in them.
“Was he as good as you remembered him to be?” I stood in the large bathroom in the mirror, looking bewildered. Her voice startled me.
“What are you talking about?” I moved to the middle of the doorway and stared at her.
Admitting anything to her was the last thing I was going to do.
She gently laid Quinton on the bed and began her slow, calculating walk towards me.
“Vanessa, you’re bleeding.”
“Oh! This?”
She looked down at her hands, laughing, but her laugh was silent.
“This is not my blood,” she admitted, tilted her head towards the bed where she had laid my son, and then looked back at me from the corners of her eyes, smiling.
I rushed passed her and held my son’s face in my hands.
“Mommy,” he spoke in his soft, quiet voice. “You see what you did to me?” He laughed hysterically.
I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling. I began wiping wetness from my face. The tears I cried in that dream were now in my reality. Damn! What the fuck was that? I thought. I had taken my guilt into my dreams. I looked down at Quinton who was still asleep in another awkward position. Even in that position, he slept beautifully. I got out of bed, picked him up in my arms, and buried my face in his neck between his head and shoulder.
“I love you,” I whispered.
I inhaled, taking in his baby powder scent. When I exhaled, I held him even tighter. The thought of not being able to protect my own son, even in dreams, scared the hell out of me.
I stood in the bathroom mirror, wrapping my hair and tying it in a knot. The cold water on my face felt good. I kept my face in the palm of my hands and exhaled, emptying everything in my lungs. That dream had me visibly shaken, though not seen yet by anyone else. Damn! I thought. If Quinton didn’t wake screaming, what the hell would have happened?
“Not a damn thing would have happened,” I whispered to myself, “you have better self-control than that.”
Or did I? I wiped my face with my facecloth that hung behind the bathroom door, and applied my moisturizer. I hoped the lack of sleep didn’t show on my face.
I walked out of the bathroom and stood at the bed staring at my lil man who was still sound asleep. Usually, he would have been up at the crack of dawn, asking for milk and cereal. When I picked him up last night from his nightmare, his heart was pounding, his hair was wet from perspiration, and he was breathing rapidly. He’d held on tightly to my neck with his legs wrapped around me, like he was hanging on for life. This wasn’t like him. He’d kept his eyes tightly shut, and begged me not to leave him. When I got to my room, I’d kissed his forehead, swept his hair from his face, and planted a kiss on my angel.
It seemed the only thing that would calm my nerves this morning was a good, hearty breakfast. I opened the door slowly as if I were breaking some curfew. The last person I wanted to r un into was Dillon─last night’s run-in was enough. When I entered the kitchen, he stood with his back towards me pouring a cup full of coffee. I turned to leave, but it was like this man had eyes in the back of his head.
“Rough night?” he asked, removing h is mug from under the spout of the stainless steel coffee maker.
“I guess. Unlike you, I have a conscience,” I charged.
“Is that what you call it?”
He handed me the mug of coffee he had prepared and started to pour another for himself.
“Was that what stopped you last night, your conscience?”
I accepted his offering and stood beside him with my back
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