M Sellars - Perfect Trust

“What’s he doing now? Oh man, is he kidding? Would you look at that, Rowan? Is he an idiot or what? I mean it’s not like it’s rocket science to pick out an outfit, you know. He’s got to be color blind or something.”

I have no idea what she is talking about.

I cannot see what she is seeing.

The volume of her voice fades from high to low and then low to high as it moves about my head in an insane demonstration of stereophonic principles. The disconcerting pattern of her speech continues to shift in and out of time between planes of existence.

“Get a grip, will’ya? Those red shoes don’t go with that skirt. The black ones, you moron, the BLACK ones!” Her voice seems directed at someone unseen by me.

“I don’t think he can hear me. Hell, I can’t even hear me. What do you think, Rowan? Can he hear me?”

“Who?” I ask aloud. “Tell me who can’t hear you.”

“What’s that?” Ben’s voice slowly rumbles past me in a discordant echo.

Oh God, what’s happening?

Where am I?

Absolute terror burns its way into my chest.

I can see only a silhouette in the dim light. I can’t make out any features.

An explosion of brightness sears my eyes.

I’m blind.

I try to scream, but it catches in my throat and rests there, making me choke.

I can feel the burn of tears welling in my eyes.

An angry voice exclaims, “Fuck! Not again! STOP IT! STOP CRYING! Your makeup is running!”

“I don’t care. It serves you right, you weirdo. Oh, no way. Are you blind? That lipstick is way too dark. Look at me, you idiot.” Debbie Schaeffer’s voice vibrates inside my head as she admonishes some unseen figure.

She turns her attention back to me for a moment. “Can you believe this guy, Rowan?”

Before I can even begin to answer, she is yelling at him again.

“Go ahead, make me look like a circus clown, you dipshit!”

Her voice bounces around inside my skull, trying on my psyche for size. From one moment to the next, I am she and she is me. We are one and the same. We are neither and separate. We phase in and out of one another like playing cards shuffled into a deck.

She stands at my shoulder.

She faces me.

She steps into me.

She steps out of me.

She runs to the brink of a distant unseen abyss and casts her deprecating observations into its depths.

The darkness enveloping me bleeds black then suddenly shifts to blue grey.

Then it all becomes blackness again.

She jumps in and out of my head as if trying to find the most comfortable spot to reside.

I try not to fight the process but wonder if the pain is truly worth what I may eventually discover from her; if I discover anything at all.

She settles in behind my eyes, and the landscape becomes a muted haze. I am beginning to see what she sees. But what for her is vivid color, for me is nothing more than a faint outline.

Together, we watch with growing interest as the shadow moves about.

Who are you?

Why are you touching me?

No! Please, no?!

Oh God, please don’t!

A violent thrust from nowhere purges Debbie Schaeffer from me. The suddenness of it all is even more painful than her careless entries and exits have been. The scene changes point of view, and I see a young woman clad in a party dress. She is arranged in a chair, her body limp. Her face is a palette of colors, painted haphazardly on delicate features.

Visceral, primal thoughts race through my head.

Electrically charged sexual desire wells within me, coursing throughout my body with an animalistic passion.

The feeling is unnatural and foreign.

The intensity of the desire frightens me, but I cannot back away from it.

In the real world I am disgusted by something dark that permeates the arousal.

In the real world I begin to feel physically sickened by the perversity that is woven within the shroud of lust.

Between the worlds I am engaged by it and craving more.

Oh Jesus! She is just so gorgeous!

She’s so close! So close!

Damn! She’s almost perfect!

Muted darkness.

Explosive blinding light.

Muted darkness.

Explosive blinding light.

Muted darkness.

Jesus…So close.

My desire is stiffening, and I can’t wait any longer.

I must fulfill the need.

Quench the fire.

On this side of reality I deny the urge to take myself in hand. In the darkness between, I am unable to resist.

“Dammit, Rowan! Don’t let him in!” Debbie’s voice scrapes past my ears with anger charged static. “You aren’t like him. Stop it!”

Panting…

Heart racing…

Quickening…

She’s so close…

She’s the closest yet…

If only she was really her…

So close…

Quickening…

Faster…

Again, Debbie’s voice punches inward and wrestles me away, evicting the sudden perversion from its warm and comfortable place in my head. For all the disconcerting imagery she brings with her, I am thankful for the rescue. Her voice is frenzied and caustic-aimed at me, him, whomever. She slips into the three-piece suit of my id, ego, and superego taking absolutely no care as the seams rip. The intensity of her emotion painfully rends the garment that is I.

“Look at me, shithead. I must look like a two-year-old who got into Mommy’s makeup. Are you blind or are you just stupid? How in the hell can that be getting you off?”

She slips out without warning and stands before me. I feel the hard sting of her palm against my cheek. “Don’t you ever do that again! It’s GROSS! You’re supposed to be HELPING me, Rowan, not acting just like HIM!”

Her voice calms, and she studies me carefully.

“Okay. That’s better. So now that you’re back, you want to tell me what is up with this guy, Rowan?”

Again, she flits away before I can answer. I am left standing in the cold darkness.

I hear her distant tenor echo in the abyss.

“Hey, you! Perv boy! Are you listening to me?”

She returns as quickly as she left, making my stomach churn as she turns my neural pathways into an amusement park ride.

Her momentary occupation of my conscious ends as she is bludgeoned from behind and thrown forcibly into the cold.

My hand is warm and wet…

Panting.

Heart still racing.

I’m spent…for now.

I tug at my zipper.

She’s so beautiful.

She’s so very close.

If only she really was her.

Then…

Then she would be perfect.

I tap directly into the solid grounding Felicity is forcing upon me and fight to expand my “self” outward. My growing consciousness forces the vile invader from within me. But it isn’t enough. I’m caught between Debbie and the shadow of her tormentor-effectively outnumbered. And, each time I chase one of the them away, the other comes from behind to occupy the space. I struggle to follow the tennis match going on between the hemispheres of my brain.

For one brief instant, calm ensues and I find myself face to face with a petite blonde.

She strikes a pose then begins to dance about.

Hey, hey, hey, whaddaya say!

Rowan’s here, now we can play!

Hey, hey, hey, whaddaya say!

Look at me, I’m dead today!

Take a good look, don’t you turn away!

Just look at me, Rowan, I’m dead today!

She stops and glares at me with a serious frown.

I’m dead, Rowan. So what are you gonna do about it?

“Rowan?” Ben’s voice slides in behind the morose prose. “What’re ya’ seeing? Tell me what you’re seein’.”

Before I can open my mouth to answer, my “self” is hijacked yet again.

“Oh yeah, that’s a great dress, asshole-if I was going to some kind of retro masquerade prom, MAYBE. Who the hell wears that much puke green taffeta? It makes me look like a bridesmaid in some kind of wedding from hell.” She unleashes a verbal assault then whispers into my ear, “Can you believe this guy, Rowan? He’s got the fashion sense of a rock.”