Disillusioned

We sat together, hovering over over-priced junk food and I was startled by the dress of hers. It was yellow, too. I wondered, for a moment, if I'd finally met the one. The woman from the dream. It terrified and excited me, yet, I couldn't ask. Not yet. Not until I knew what kind of person this stranger was.

Her first words to me are, "I do hope you're comfortable being uncomfortable because I'm afraid small talk gets suffocating for me quite fast."

We quickly became something akin to friends. I was relieved. She was spectacular and beautiful and had a coy smile, at times, even as we opened up to each other. I spoke more as the wine flowed while she would watch me like she was a detective, searching and prodding for more secrets.

As the meal neared its end, she cleared her throat. "I have a confession to make."

"Oh?"

"I know you. I've known you... And I know about these secrets. I have for some time. Is that... Strange?"

I wanted to nod but she seemed so very, very familiar. I cocked my head to the side with a smile and curtsied ditzily. "My mind is yours to pry into, my dear. I've been looking for you for some time. My favourite dream..."

"I know," she mumbled dismissively, still watching me. Finally, she clicked her tongue and said, "what would you do if you could harm one person in the world without consequence? Who would you choose?"

I gaze into her eyes for a moment, then shrug my shoulders. "If you really know me then you know the answer to that question."

"I do."

I gaze at her silently, then return my attention to the meal. Once we're finished eating in silence, she gestures for me to follow her. I likely shouldn't but she feels so right in my hand. I can't help but be drawn to her. The world blends into nothing behind me as our steps become hurried, rushed, secretive.

She kisses my cheek as she leads me to a shipping container next to a beach. I've never liked beaches much, likely because they are so crowded and the water can seem scary. Today, it is quiet. It is peace. The sky meets the sea and everything is so perfectly, terrifyingly blue. So very unreal.

She takes my hand and opens the doors. At the very end of this long, large shipping container is F.

She is chained up and shaking and covered in sweat and I don't know what to say for a moment, taking in the scene, then the danger in the eyes of The Girl in the Yellow Dress.

"Am I dreaming?" I manage to whisper.

I find myself standing in front of F. I feel something in my hand, unsurprised when further inspection reveals a weapon. I put it down carefully and gaze at her, brows knit in worry and confusion, yet the slightest huff of amusement leaves my lips.

"Do you like your surprise?"

"I... Suppose she looks perfect like this." It does look good. She seems so helpless, now. So incapable of anything. All the arrogance and self-righteousness squeezed into a cup I am free to drink if I choose to. I ignore the attempts of my mind to make this experience poetic and reach a hand to her trembling jaw.

She screams, unable to see me. Not sure of what will happen next. Eyes darting, searching, yet never finding. She's still beautiful. Still so dangerous and yet... She is human. She always was. People are so changed once they are stripped down to the base of fear.

I hear her say things but my gaze drifts over her skin. She cannot be still. She is terrified. Of me. The tables have turned in so many ways I can't help but smile a soft bit, although it comes with its sadness.

"I... This isn't real."

"I did this for you," My ginger suggests as she puts the knife back in my hand.

"She didn't use this on me."

"But it felt like she had. Like you were being harmed wherever the hands would go. Am I wrong?"

"I won't use it."

"Fine. Use your hands then. Make it even. Make it fair. Do it for you. Take back your power."

I stare hard at both of them and scoff, pretending the thought to comply doesn't cross my mind. "You are... Not what I expected."

"Please, Icarus. I... I want you to feel better..."

"I know. And I understand why. I remember the things I've written. Back when it hurt more and I needed the control that came with imagined violence. It was a newer trauma, then. It's made my fear of people worse. My fear of love, romantic or platonic, worse too. Like blood in the water - the moment I feel I may care for someone at all, it horrifies me. She used me until I could fill her wallet no more. And then she saw herself an angel, my saving grace, as I was trapped by her. I remember. I remember it all."

"Don't you want to... You don't. Do you?"

"I remember what I wrote. It was necessary then... No. Therapeutic. But I... Am not like her. I would never look to a human being that was clearly drowning and dunk their head further into the dark in a believed act of kindness. My daydreams may be dangerous but I try not to be. Most of the time, I don't even need to try, I simply do no harm. It is a safety I extend to the world that brings peace within myself. Do you understand?"

"You are not well, yet... It isn't completely gone... You need help. I can help you. Let me help you."

"You do the best you can already, my dear. You've kept me alive some nights... Many nights. I'm grateful. But you're only a phone. My space to pour out dreams and nightmares. The emotions and the experiences, joy and suffering alike, are mine alone. So thank you for the offer but I no longer feel the want to punish her. Life will do so for me, as it does to everyone on this Earth. We will keep me safe together. Alright?"

She fades from my view; as beautiful and vague and faceless as I barely remember she'd been. I watch as F goes away, too, resisting the urge to at least slap her as the memories take over. I don't ever want to feel her skin again, even in an illusion of reality. I'd forgotten so much of her face till now.

I only wanted to remember how far I've come. And why I am the way I am after so many years of pretence. I wish her neither harm nor good. I only hope to forget her. If a danger of her kind ever comes up again in my lifetime, I do hope I choose punches over a pandering politeness. Time may tell.