The Belt Page 5

  “I mean, you know, I’m a grown up man, I can handle myself, you know?” he said and tried to sound carelessly.

  “Sure you can, honey,” she replied and went back to her half of the bed. She leaned on the backrest and turned on her night lamp. “That’s not why I got worried. What the hell was going on?”

  “I need a cigarette,” John said, and got up and walked a few yards to an armchair in the corner on which he had left his pants before going to sleep the night before. He picked them up, took out a package of cigarettes and a lighter, and took one cigarette in his mouth and lit it. The moment a thin, greyish line of smoke appeared in front of his nose, John felt like he was going to throw up. The smell of the burning cigarette immediately reminded him of the reek he had felt during the first dream, when was being taken through some dungeons to face the trial. He immediately took the cigarette out from his mouth and ran to the bathroom located in their bedroom, squatted in front of the toilet seat and puked.

  A few minutes later Cindy, who was carefully and tensely observing the situation, heard John flushing the toilet and brushing his teeth. He came back to bed a bit later.

  “I had a nightmare. It happens,” he said, seeing her inquiring look.

  “Yes, I know, but it looked a bit scary. What was it about?”

  “I…I can’t even remember,” John lied. He remembered perfectly, and just a single thought of the nightmare made his heart beat faster.

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yeah, why are you asking me about it, anyway?”

  “Well, because it seemed like something really horrifying, I thought you maybe wanted to talk about it.”

  “No, I don’t. Like I said, I can’t even remember anything right now. Besides, even if I did, why would I want to talk about it and live through it again?” John asked irritated. “It was a nightmare; it’s ended, there’s nothing to talk about.”

  Cindy didn’t reply, she just turned her night lamp down and lay on her left side, turning her back to him. John sighed silently and lay next to her. He put his arm around her and whispered in her ear:

  “Thank you for the water. Thank you for caring for me.” He really was grateful, but mostly for the fact she woke him up. He had a really nasty feeling that if it wasn’t for her, his nightmare would have continued, that he wouldn’t have been able to wake up. John kissed her cheek, and she smiled at him.

  He closed his eyes.

  As much as he tried to relax, he couldn’t. First of all, he was afraid to fall asleep again. It seemed idiotic, but he was scared the dream might reappear in his head. That it might have continued. What was truly puzzling, was the fact that it started in exactly the same moment the first nightmare had ended, so it seemed the story was to be continued.

  John turned on his back. He could hear Cindy breathing deeply. Calmly. She was fast asleep. He had to admit he envied her; to fall asleep so easily, and so peacefully. He knew it was something unachievable for him that night.

  John took his cell phone from the nightstand and checked the time. 4:15 a.m., only three hours since he had gone to bed. He put the phone back on its place, puffed out his cheeks, and rubbed his face. No, he wasn’t going to sleep anymore, it was obvious.

  Some minutes later, John felt thirsty again, so he got up, put on his slippers, the ones he was wearing in the dream, he thought, and silently walked downstairs to the kitchen. He turned the light on, poured himself water from the sink and drank the whole glass. Then another. It wasn’t until he had drunk the third one that he felt his thirst was finally quenched for good. He must have been dehydrated.

  John put the glass on the kitchen island, yawned and decided to see if there was anything interesting on TV. He sat on the sofa, stretched his legs on the coffee table and turned on the television. He was flicking channels one after another, but was unable to find anything that would have caught his attention for more than maybe thirty seconds. There were TV shop commercials, erotic movies, some late night talk-shows’ reruns. 24-hour news stations were meticulously analyzing the past day’s events as if anyone really cared about the European Union’s political stand concerning the conflict happening in some tiny, never-heard-of African country. Especially now, on Saturday at 4:47 in the morning. 24-hour news stations, the plague of the modern times, John thought and yawned.

  He rubbed his eyes and blinked a few times to get rid of the feeling of having sand under his eyelids. He felt tired, but there was no way he would go back to sleep. Not this night. John had a feeling he was still able to hear the crowd cheering, feel the wind blowing through his hair, and the horrifying realism of the nightmare kept on giving him slight chills every time he recalled any part of it.

  He thought of making himself coffee, turned the coffee machine on, but then again, what would he do at home? Read some of Cindy’s romance books collection? Listen to music? Cook something? No. Not at 5:00 a.m. He finally decided he would take the car and drive to the downtown area. The place had to look interesting, to say the least, at this time of the day. John turned the coffee machine off, walked to the wardrobe, changed his clothes and a few minutes later, he walked out of the apartment.

  The streets were almost completely empty not counting some single police cars and taxis filled with wasted, most probably drunk, tired people going home after partying. It was already dawn; single rays of light were tearing the dark sky apart. John stopped at a 24/7 coffee place, got himself a donut, a large black, extra strong coffee, and moved ahead. He had no concrete plan as to where he wanted to go, he was just driving around.

  His thoughts kept coming back to the nightmare. John wasn’t able to recall the last time he had had such a realistic dream and, even more importantly, one that would make such an impression on him, he was able to recall every detail, every smallest piece of it, hours after waking up. Also, John wasn’t able to recall if he had ever had a dream that seemed to be a continuation of one story. If the second nightmare started in exactly the same moment as the first one had finished, then what was he supposed to expect in the future? Further episodes? He wasn’t able to imagine having another nightmare like this; gripping his throat, not allowing him to wake up, making him sweat like a pig and gasping desperately for air.

  John took a sip of coffee and sighed. He rubbed his forehead and allowed his mind to drift into those thoughts, analyzing what he had experienced in his sleep. He was so lost in them; he hadn’t even realized he’d driven himself in front of Molly’s apartment block. John wasn’t even able to remember his way there, he was so occupied by his thoughts. As he parked his car in front of the building, he looked at his watch. 6:38 a.m. First of all, it meant he’d been driving around for over an hour and a half. Secondly, it was the day Molly was supposed to come back home. Who knew, maybe he was going to be lucky and the day would not be so bad after all?

  John looked up on the fifth floor and, to his amazement, he spotted the light was on in the kitchen. She was back. He turned the engine off, took the key out of the ignition, drank the last sip of coffee and left the car. A few steps later, John hesitated for a second, looked up to check if he was right with the light on the proper floor, and pushed the entry-phone number combination allowing him to enter the apartment block without having a key. He called the elevator and, some seconds later, he was on the fifth floor, standing in front of Molly’s door. John reached out his hand to knock on it, but, to his surprise, she opened it first, smiling at him.

  “Hi there,” she smiled and leaned on the door, “I saw your car in front of the building.” She was wearing a baggy, white sweater, seductively sliding down from a naked shoulder, exposing it delightfully, and black leggings wrapping tight around her gorgeous, long legs. She was barefoot.

  “Hi,” John replied, smiling. “You’re back.”

  “I am,” Molly agreed, as she combed her brown hair with her fingers, allowing it to swing freely on her naked shoulder, and opened the door wider inviting him in. He didn’t hesitate for a second, and walked inside rig
ht after her, locked the door and was now just standing there looking at her heading towards the kitchen area. What a woman. It wasn’t even 8:00 a.m., and she looked like a million dollars. Like a sexy, self-confident million dollars.

  “I got home only about three hours ago,” she said. “Would you like some coffee?”

  “Sure,” John replied. He took off his jacket and put it on the sofa. “You know, what?” he smiled, and came closer to her; he put his hands on her hips, and whispered in her ear “I think I changed my mind. I don’t want coffee. I want you.”

  “Oh, come on.” She giggled as he was kissing her exposed shoulder, pushing the sweater gently to fall down a bit further.

  “I’ve missed you,” he answered honestly.

  “I’ve missed you, too, baby,” Molly replied and turned around. She kissed him passionately and allowed him to caress her neck. “But, honey, what are you doing here so early in the morning?”

  He looked at her, licked his lips, and felt the mood he was in wearing off. She had to ask.

  “I couldn’t sleep,” he replied and took a step back away from her.

  “Is it Margaret again?” Molly asked while taking mugs out of a kitchen cabinet.

  John hesitated for a second. Molly had no idea he had left Margaret, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to tell her that, if it was wise to tell her that. Perhaps not now, not yet.

  “Yeah, she’s gone on a bender again. It’s been almost ten days now. I’ve been taking care of her, but she is coming back drunk practically every time she leaves home,” he finally said adding a worried look on his face, and modulating his voice to sound as pitiful as possible. “I’m telling you, Molly, thank God Mick is out of town and is not seeing his mother like this. I mean, I’ve tried everything,” he continued.

  “Oh course you have, baby,” she replied and put the mugs filled with the best organic coffee she could get, freshly ground and brewed on the kitchen island. She sat on one of the high bar stools next to it.

  “I’ve been regularly getting rid of all of her alcohol supplies at home. I know exactly where she keeps them, and I haven’t drank a drop of alcohol at home myself, nor have I ever come back drunk, so she wouldn’t smell it on me. I’ve been washing her, cleaning her, taking care of her however I could. I have been begging her, trying to convince her to get some help, professional rehab,” he said, laying it on thick and sighed, “but she refuses. Claims she has no problem. That she controls it. And we all know that’s bullshit,” John hissed through his teeth in a dramatic way.

  “That’s what the addicts always say.”

  “I’m so sorry I’m telling you all this again. You must have heard it a thousand times at this point,” John said apologetically.

  “Come on, honey,” Molly reached out toward him and beckoned him to sit next to her. When he did, she pushed the mug gently into his direction and he took it with both hands. The coffee smelled fantastic.

  “You can’t blame yourself. You know, she’s a grown woman,” she said. “If she doesn’t understand she’s hurting herself, you, and Mick, then what else can you really do?”

  “I don’t know; I really don’t. I often think about the beginning of our marriage, of how happy we were, and then something just got fucked up. I can’t stop blaming myself for not seeing it soon enough to stop it, to prevent it from happening,” John replied in a serious, lost-in-his-thoughts voice as he shook his head with disbelief. Molly stroked his shoulder, trying to cheer him up. She felt sorry for him, and he knew it. It was exactly what he was hoping to achieve. “I don’t know how much longer I can take it; you know?”

  “Oh, baby,” she cried. She kissed him gently. “You’ve been taking care of her for so long now. Maybe it’s time for Margaret to seek some help by herself? I mean, Mickey’s grown up, maybe it’s the right moment to let it go?”

  “Maybe,” John sighed again and took a sip of coffee. “God, I’m so glad I have you; that I can always talk to you about all this shit in my life,” he added.

  “Of course, honey, I’m here for you.” She kissed him. “Is that why you’re here so early in the morning? Because of Margaret?”

  “Yes, exactly. We’ve had a major fight, and I left home. I had no other place to go, I knew you were coming back today so I thought I would just wait for you.”

  “I’ve told you so many times I can give you the spare keys.”

  “I know, I know, I just can’t imagine what would happen if Margaret found them. She’d start asking me questions, and she would become suspicious, and I don’t want to deal with that.”

  “Hide them well, then, and come here every time you feel like it,” Molly said. She smiled and sat on his lap. John put his hands on her hips and they kissed slowly and passionately. Single strands of her hair were delicately tickling his nose and cheek so he gently put them aside, hid them at the back of her head.

  “God, I really missed you,” he said quietly, almost whispering.

  “Well, I’m back,” she replied, looking straight into his eyes.

  “I’d so like to take you to bed right now, you have no idea.”

  “What are you waiting for?”

  “I don’t know.” John grabbed her hips more firmly, stood up with her wrapped around his waist, and they went to the bedroom.

  Chapter 5

  “What time is it?” John asked, slowly waking up. Molly was standing next to the bed, handing him a big glass filled with a thick green cocktail. He took it, and sat on the bed, yawning, still feeling a bit groggy.

  “It’s 1:30,” she replied.

  “1:30? AM. or PM.?” he asked a bit nervously. He was so sleepy, he honestly had no idea.

  “P.m., you silly boy,” Molly laughed and walked out of the bedroom. John looked around and recalled everything that happened during the past few hours. He put the glass on the floor, stretched, and thought he wasn’t feeling like getting up. After a completely spoiled night and quite physically demanding early morning, he felt he would love to stay in bed until late afternoon.

  “Come on, baby, get up, I’ve made brunch,” Molly said from the kitchen.

  “Yeah, just a minute. That nightmare really ruined last night for me,” he said yawning.

  “I can imagine, Margaret is a real bitch,” she replied and the delicate sound of cutlery rattling confirmed she was setting the table.

  At first, John couldn’t understand why would Molly mention Margaret, but once he recalled their conversation from a few hours before, he immediately woke up. “Yeah, I am really getting sick and tired of her,” he said.

  Molly walked to the bedroom and spotted the glass on the floor.

  “No, you need to drink that. It will give you an energy boost, better than coffee, come on,” she picked it up and handed it to him again. John took the glass in his hand again, looked down at it and stirred it a bit. The green goo was lazily waving from side to side.

  “It doesn’t look too good,” he said.

  “It’s not supposed to look good, it’s supposed to be healthy.”

  “What’s in it exactly?”

  “An avocado, some parsley, mango, carrot, celery, and wheat grass cocktail with a spoon of olive oil and slice of lemon.”

  “Why olive oil?”

  “Helps the body absorb the vitamins.”

  “Do I have to?” John asked, looking at the thick liquid in the glass. “It doesn’t smell too good, either.”

  “Oh my God, just drink it and come eat breakfast.”

  John closed his eyes and drank the cocktail as fast as he could. “Holy crap! That’s disgusting!” He exclaimed when finished and shuddered in disgust.

  “What, it’s disgusting because it lacks sugar and artificial food colorings?” Molly laughed when he walked into the kitchen.

  “Yeah, I’m afraid I can no longer appreciate any food or drink if it has no msg in it,” John replied, smiling.

  “Well, I hope I may change your mind one day. Let’s try with breakfast.”

&nbs
p; “What is it?”

  “Smoked tofu spread, sautéed with tomatoes, onion, spinach, and broccoli. You can put it on the whole meal bread if you want, just please make sure you control the crumbs so they’re not all over the place,” Molly replied, smiling, although John knew she wasn’t kidding; she was the cleanest person that he’d ever met.

  The moment John sat at the table, he thought he would need to eat an extra-large kebab in the city later during the day, or he would be walking hungry until he returned to Cindy. Cindy!

  “Excuse me, honey, I’ll be right back.” John got up from the kitchen island and walked up to the sofa on which he had left his jacket a few hours ago. It was, however, no longer there.

  “Where’s my jacket?”

  “I put it into the wardrobe. The sofa is not a place to put your clothes on, honey.”

  “Right…” He knew the rules, but he wasn’t expecting he would be staying so long at Molly’s place. His plan was to visit her, bang her maybe, and come back to Cindy before she woke up. The whole sleeping-over thing was not intended.

  John opened the wardrobe doors, and started looking for his phone in the pockets. He couldn’t find it. There was his wallet, car keys, yes, but no cell. Maybe his pants? He walked to the bedroom and searched his jeans’ pockets. Again, no luck.

  “Molly, have you seen my phone?”

  “No, I haven’t. What, you can’t find it?”

  “Yeah, funny, huh?”

  “Perhaps you left it in your car?”

  “That would be odd, but maybe you’re right.”

  “Why do you need it anyway? Are you already bored with me?” Molly smiled.

  “Honey, of course not, I haven’t seen you for about a month,” he came to her and kissed her, “but with the whole Margaret mess, I need to know if perhaps she wasn’t calling, or maybe Mickey was looking for me.”

  “Well, eat your breakfast, then go and check the car.”

  “Okay.”

  About half an hour later, John was checking the glove box, the floor under the seats, and every single nook and cranny in the car. The phone wasn’t there. He came back to Molly and asked her to call him, that perhaps he might hear the sound. Nothing.