In My Dreams Tonight

Commemoration

Sleep came easy to her that night, and, unbidden, her dreams took a dark twist: for when she next opened her eyes, Aoima was once again in Ios. While usually the distinctive decoration and colouring of the traditional elven styles filled her with remorse and longing, she only felt a mild fear and panic at what was to happen next.
The table was set, the cutlery glimmering like gems. Food was displayed beautifully, wine bottles arranged before her, a feast set for a Lord and his lady; Aoima sat, vague, dreamy memories telling her she was waiting for her husband to return home.
Dressed in a fashionable gown and pearls, she counted the seconds as the clock ticked to her right, the hours whiling away as the food began to spoil in front of her, the scent of cooked food tempting her. Her stomach grumbled with hunger, limbs feeling weak and heavy.
Aoima sighed, wondering what the point of this dream was: what was wrong with this setting? The feeling of dread in her stomach had not abated yet, and that alone worried her. Shuffling in her seat, she realised that she was still pregnant, her bump small and non-invasive for the moment. Her clothes seemed to be elegantly cut so as not to unflatter her pregnant figure, but still restrictive enough to keep her straight back and awkwardly positioned.
Something did not feel quite right: hair on her neck began to prickle needle-like against her skin. She could not quite dare consider what might happen to her this dream; they seemed to all take some disturbing twist, her mind barely able to overlook certain possibilities. Even as Aoima tried to sit still, she found herself inexplicably shaking, terrified of what was going to happen.
Her mind twisted itself around the possibilities of why she was trapped in her dreams with her ex-fiance – what part did he play in her mind, now she was far away from Ios? Surely, she wanted nothing more than to move on from her cruel former fiancé? Lost in her thoughts, she jumped as she heard voices outside the room.
The door slammed shut as Reginald walked in, clothes more than a little dishevelled from his evening out. Aoima stood up as he entered, waiting for him to acknowledge her. He proceeded to throw himself into the chair opposite her, lounging comfortably with a smug smile on his face. There was a strong scent of alcohol around him, the scent of smoke following him into the room – the scent of the gambling hall and other women upon him.
“Do forgive me, I’m a little late. I hope I haven’t kept you long.” His voice was oily and slurred slightly, a lecherously evil look upon his face. Reginald reached forwards, viciously knocking the dish cover from the platter before him, wrenching the leg off the cooked poultry before him, raising it to his mouth and tearing at the meat.
She tore her eyes from him, not saying a word, reaching towards the basket of bread before her. After so long away from Ios, her manners had not tarnished: she still recalled the correct etiquette – though she wasn’t sure what was appropriate in this particular instance.
“Not at all. How can you be late in your own house?” Her eyes glittered, her smile as fake as his pleasant façade, taking her knife in her right hand and cutting the soft bread in her hand, tearing her eyes away from his pitiful form.
“Quite so…” He surveyed her briefly, before returning to his chicken. “Do dig in; I hear the fish is quite good.” He spoke through a smile, something disgusting “I’m sure there was enough wine to keep you entertained…Do drink up.” Reginald drunkenly reached for the nearest wine bottle, smashing the top of it against the table, glass and flecks of wine staining the table and floor. He sloshed the wine into the nearest glass, drinking deeply of the red liquid. He drained the bottle as she tentatively picked up the bread and offered it over to him. He smiled sympathetically, reaching forwards to take the basket from her.
“Why thank you, my dear.” He smacked the bowl from her hand, food tumbling all over the floor. As she flinched, she withdrew her hand slowly, feeling spurned, watching suspiciously as he reached for a dish in front of him. He began to stagger towards her, clutching the beautifully prepared game bird, smile widening to reveal teeth and alcohol-tainted breath.
“Would you like some of this, my love? It has been prepared especially, in honour of our anniversary.” He plunged his hand into the cooked meat, grasping a handful between his fingers, walking with menace towards her. Icy foreboding slipped into her stomach as she realised the sadistic smile on his face.
“I’ve somewhat lost my appetite.” She said, attempting to excuse herself, not liking the sickly sweet expression upon his face. Her breathing subconsciously grew faster, shuddering at the fear of what was going to occur.
“But you’re eating for two now…come now, have a little.”
“I’m not hungry.” She said with a tone of finality.
“Eat it.” He spoke with malice, stalking up to her, burying a greasy hand in her gently curled hair, forcing the food down her throat, fingers pinching her nose to make sure she swallowed the meat. She choked as he did this, fighting the urge to retch as he dropped the plate, wiping his sticky fingers on her silky gown. He chuckled to himself, fingers reaching for the ladle on the nearest soup bowl. “Won’t chef be pleased...but what’s this, you haven’t had any soup…” He lifted the ladle over her head. “You must try this…” He dribbled the cold soup over her hair, the viscous liquid falling over her shoulders and down her front. “See, isn’t that good?”
“My compliments…” She said sadly, not wishing to be impolite, yet afraid of his wrath. His face turned to a frown at her perceived rudeness, his face illustrating the cogs turning in his head, the calculating mind of the sadistic undoubtedly concocting a new horror.
“You better have some more then, since you’re enjoying it so much.” Reginald spat rudely, turning the bowl over her entire lap, soup ruining her dress completely. Her head bowed, she sighed, and then looked at him; summoning more words to her lips.
“Aren’t you going to eat?” His eyes narrowed, and he casually reached for another leg of meat, chewing on it and spitting the bones in her direction. She sat still, listening and waiting obediently for her ‘husband’ to address her again.
“But you must be thirsty.” As she watched, Reginald uncorked another bottle with his teeth, unevenly filling the glass before her, spilling wine over the edges of the glass and ruining the table cloth. “There you go.” He looked triumphantly at her, smacking the glass down before her.
“Thank you.” She knew there was little she could say as she reached towards the glass. She picked it up, looking enquiringly at him. “Are you going to propose the toast?” She said, trying as hard as she could not to be anger him anymore. He seemed to like this proposal
“To our anniversary, may we have many more years together.” He laughed hollowly, a shiver passing through her. He threw the drink down his throat, reaching drunkenly for the bottle and pouring it down her throat again, forcing the neck into her mouth. She fought against him, unable to breathe, wine choking and burning her windpipe.
Reginald withdrew the bottle, and then allowed it to spill over her, laughing at the look of horror on her face. His hand stroked her face, reaching down to stroke her soiled face. “I’ll see you in the bedroom, my love…” He stood up and weaved his way over to the door. Flinging it open, he greeted one of the kitchen maids, indicating for her to go up the stairs. He threw a hideously perverse look at her, casually waving his hand towards her.
She attempted to stand up, silent tears falling down her face as she tried to get up and head towards the door, the urge to clean herself of the filth she had been covered in. She fell to her knees, sobbing, her hands holding her face, wailing softly.
Time seemed to pass remarkably quickly as she eventually managed to pull herself to her feet, staggering up to her room to purge herself of the mess she had been covered in. Filling the bath with water, she sat in it, unaware of the time passing by, feeling pain pass through her, an emotional pain that no dream should be able to do to her. Why was she so afraid of him? How could he hold this much power over her, after such a long period of time? The water went cold before she could decipher what it was her subconscious was telling her, and she wearily dragged her cold limbs from the water, dripping wet. Delicate clothes had been left out for her to wear, a fine silk negligee wrapped in tissue paper.
The clock in her room chimed to indicate early morning, and dressed appropriately, picking up the wrapped gift that lay propped against her wardrobe. As her fingers curled around it, the notion that it had been dictated to her, what she had to present to him, came to mind.
Walking barefoot through the house, she held the package close to herself, unsure what it was, and yet certain of it, that unhappy feeling returning to her stomach as she approached the room she knew to be his. Her knock was acknowledged, and she entered, a pleasant heat emanating from the fire warming her chilled flesh.
She got the impression of unfamiliarity in this room, that even after all the years they had been married, she had barely spent any time in here. Walking inside, her eyes adjusting to the low light, Aoima recognised the maid from earlier lying in the bed, seemingly asleep. Her husband sat at his bureau, half-dressed, attending to some papers.
“Ah my dear, what have you brought me, a gift…a gift for anniversary, how thoughtful.” He stood up from where he sat, sauntering over to her lazily, taking the proffered item. Removing the paper, another of the grossly painted portraits from her last dream was revealed, the colours too bright, the ghastliness of the false happiness painted upon the canvas causing her to look away in shame. “A portrait of us, how wonderful, here, allow me to put it over the fireplace…”
She could hardly say she was sad when he allowed it to fall from his hands and into the fire, but there was a heaviness in her heart she could not quite place: as the canvas burned up, she watched her wide smile disintegrate, a pain filling her as she turned to look at Reginald once more.
“You’ve had a lovely evening, then.” She tried to smile, remembering her duty to her family, and to him: the pain and suffering her refusal to marry had caused all of those around her: it was her fault, these feelings – she had brought it all upon herself. Even as she sat here in her silken robes, she couldn’t help but feel that she was to blame for everything.
“Yes.” Reginald replied dismissively, pouring another drink.
“I’m glad the anniversary means so much to you.” She stood up slowly, determined to leave him to his devices and the maid, but found his hand on her shoulder, pulling her back around to look at him.
“It’s not quite over yet, Aoima…” Something about the way his eyes flashed scared her, that dark reflection of horrific deeds appearing, along with a ghastly smile that make her blood freeze. Quicker than she could follow, he threw her over the desk, forcing her legs apart viciously, tearing the silk she wore slowly, chuckling as her frightened sobs got louder. Unable to stop him, she held still, tears flowing, hoping he would take his satisfaction soon
Too slowly, it was over, the hand relaxing its painful grip on her hair, the sound of hands searching for something, and a gentle tinkling noise as a flicker of gold appeared on the desk beside her. Drawing herself up, her face covered in silent tears, Aoima held her tongue, biting her lip and forcing herself to swallow the string of words she longed to spit at him. What did it matter? He was always so much sharper than she was; his silvery tongue a wicked weapon to lash her with even more.
“A whole gold, I thought I’d be generous for our anniversary too...” Without any more words, he returned to the bed and the maid, gently waking her up and beginning their lurid encounter once again, eyes flicking up now and again to make contact with her, lips curled up in a smug smile of satisfaction.
Picking herself up gently, she reached for the gold, knowing if she left it there would be a further punishment; as if this wasn’t bad enough! Dressed in ripped and torn clothing, pain between her legs and an ache in her heart, Aoima staggered back towards her room, holding her sobbing back until she had locked her room and collapsed to the floor.
Tears fell even as she slowly woke up, the pain not fading even as the dream did. Nestor did not stir next to her, facing the other way, seemingly asleep and enjoying a rest she herself did not seem to be able to acquire.