Monster

"No, no, no, no, no," she pleaded, stumbling out of bed and hurrying her way over to the mirror. The dream had been a warning. Another warning. The tiny motel room was hot. Her skin was damp, hair damper.

She gazed into the mirror and thought of him. And her. She gazed deeper.

"What is it about you that makes my eyes burn?" She whispered to his ear as his head lay on her lap. Rebecca cradled that familiar face in her hands.

"What is it about you that makes my mind scream?" Her attempt to blink back tears failed as they fell to his face. "Sorry," she said apologetically.

"Monster," she whispered into the room, acknowledging who she was to herself, and declaring to anyone in the room with her who she truly was. Even though she was back in the present, the vision had done its job and gotten a hold of her. A nice, tight grip. She would not forget again. She pressed the side of her hand to her nose to catch the snot running down and then sniffled into the quiet. 

Her skin felt as if it was sizzling. She was hot. Her mind was still screaming, head still reeling. The witch felt feverish, but instead of making her way back to bed as she knew she should, her gaze shifted over to the mirror as she wiped the wet hand on her bare thigh a couple times. The gaze, it had been accidental, right? The bed sounded inviting, and was a much better alternative to the searing pain that was traveling through her veins and throbbing inside her, but she seemed to have other ideas more pressing. 

Rebecca placed hands on either side of the wide mirror again and seached for him. She needed to see his face one more time. Just once more.

"What is it about you that still makes my mind scream," she heard herself say out loud, and those words echoed in that alternate space where she watched a different version of herself and her lover. She felt her chest heave, her whole body finally trembling uncontrollably.

"Shit." Her voice cut through the thickening silence of the room. That one word sounded as if it was uttered as a nonsensical plea. Then more words came. She continued to speak them over and over again but she paid no mind to what it was she actually said. She had two options just then, to give in and harnass the raw emotion and power that were surging through her, or to do what she seemed to have already unconsciously started while sitting on her loveseat. She looked down at the white lines on her coffee table and lowered her head to sniff.

Rebecca lay back and felt great relief, realizing she was still repeating those same words:

"We can't be over."
"I'm still fucking crazy about you."