These Vivid Dreams
*NSFW*
Leigh knew the route well—a meandering walk from her family’s trailer to the bus stop in Phoenix, Arizona. As usual, her sister charged ahead. Dressed in her favorite red shirt, Rachel’s ponytail flagged in the light breeze.
Moving quickly, Leigh came up directly behind her. She could see the colorful pins on Rachel’s backpack as she drew closer. Leigh reached out, yanking on her arm.
“Rach, wait up.”
Rachel spun around—staring at Leigh as one would a stranger. Shaking her away, Rachel stomped off. Leigh tried to follow, but something felt wrong. Every time she tried to run, her feet remained fixed to the ground—as if someone had paved the road with glue.
Panicking now, Leigh watched as the school bus approached, its bright yellow color standing out against the bleak desert. Rachel gave her one more backward glance before climbing inside.
Leigh pulled on her legs, trying desperately to move.
“Rachel, wait! Can’t you hear me? Wait!”
The bus began moving, the dust forming a giant cloud around Leigh.
“I can’t move! Don’t!” Leigh shrieked, watching as the bus advanced on her. “I can’t move!” she repeated, as the vehicle rumbled forward.
Leigh woke, letting the lingering images of the dream fall away. Feeling for Guero, her hands made contact with rumpled sheets. It was becoming a frequent occurrence.
She kicked the bedding from her damp limbs—her heart resuming its regular beat. Rising, she opened the door to their master suite. Walking into the living room, she found Guero asleep on the couch.
Sighing, Leigh sat down opposite him, placing her slim legs on the armrest. What began as tossing and turning in bed had turned into a permanent home in the living room. Leigh spoke to his prostrate form.
“You’re bored, too—admit it.”
She watched his chest rise and fall, thinking of their session the day before. Smiling, she let her hands drift down to her ample chest, holding herself firmly. Leigh had never experienced a lover quite like Guero. He knew how to touch her, how to take her desire and push it over the edge. Did she do the same for him? She wasn’t sure. It was a double-edged sword—a man who knew a woman’s body also had known many women.
Leigh’s own track record was checkered, to say the least, and she was much younger. His satisfaction in bed couldn’t be faked. Could it? She felt her mood sour; the dream seemed to shake her confidence. When she stumbled over speaking Spanish at cocktail parties, was he proud of her then?
She should focus on learning the language, but she always got distracted. How could one not when around a man like Guero? But a relationship can’t be made on lust alone. He intrigued her; she clearly allured him. Would they stand the test of time?
Leigh sat up, massaging her breasts. They had been hurting lately, a dull ache that would not relent. Perhaps it was the new pill she was on. She counted the days till her next period. Odd, it was too early yet.
“It is what it feels like to get old?” she asked softly.
Perhaps resort living was making her soft. To maintain the illusion, Guero still worked for the hotel; they lived in one of their best casitas. She was eating and drinking whatever she liked—getting lazy about going to the gym.
Leigh pulled up her top, studying her taut stomach. She was still thin—thank God! But she should watch it. Maybe if she did more cardio, the dreams would stop.
She certainly never dreamt about her day job. It was as if she were born to do this type of work. Even so, Rachel’s disappearance seemed to be wearing her down as of late. How can something that happened so long ago still keep her up at night?
Or perhaps it wasn’t that, maybe it was the tedium of her new job. Murder for hire didn’t give Leigh any particular thrill. Something about it lacked poignancy. For her, it needed to be personal.
Feeling a chill, Leigh folded her arms tightly across her chest, thinking about what the future held for the two of them. Would she be doing this in her 40s? Even if she lived that long, Leigh couldn’t shake the feeling of malaise from every new assignment from Cavanaugh. The man was never satisfied. He only lusted for more—power, clients, money. Cavanaugh and his assistant, the ‘streetwise’ Sylvie Carrero. Whatever streetwise meant in a place as dysfunctional as Washington, D.C.
Moments like these, Leigh missed the endless party that was college. The adjustment to being someone’s live-in girlfriend was startling—even to a person as unorthodox as Guero. But the longer she was with him, the more she realized her bad boy was just that—a boy, wanting to be loved.
Feeling herself nod off, she wondered whether Guero would bring her to debrief Cavanaugh the next morning. It was odd working for someone she had never met.
An alarming thought popped into her head.
Maybe he’s hiding something.
Sitting up, Leigh studied her boyfriend, his features softened in repose. She reached forward, tousling his blond hair.
“You would never lie to me,” she said, as he shifted, murmuring in his sleep.
Putting the thought away, Leigh had every intention of going back to the bedroom. Instead, she sat there, a feeling of dread descending that nothing—not even the man across from her—could dispel.
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