He jolted awake with a start, quickly rolling over in a desperate attempt to make sure she was still there. She wasn’t. She never was. As the cold sweat claimed him, tears welled in his eyes, and he cursed his weakness. That same dream again, that same dream that always showed up just as he thought he was getting over her, sending him running back to the very feelings he was trying so hard to escape.
He had long ago lost count of how many times he had performed this ritual. Rising from the bed, deliberately ignoring the glowing red numbers that told him he should be sleeping, he headed for the shower, turning the water on and tossing his shirt and shorts into a pile by the door as it heated.
Letting the water rain down upon him in a vain attempt to stop the shivering, he found himself on the floor, the images laughing at him, mocking him with her absence. So why then, why when he was always so close, did the dream return? Why did it show him what it would be like to hold her, touch her, and feel her so close to him? Why did it show her smile up at him as she fell asleep in his arms?
Thus as he hugged his knees to his chest, shivering in the water that had fogged the mirrors blank, he would begin the battle again, with no choice but to utter the words he had uttered to himself hundreds of times before, and would utter hundreds of times again.
She was off limits. Out of reach. Impossible. Forbidden.
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