Disclaimer: My dreams tend to be embedded with graphic imagery (mostly sexual). Read at your own risk/pleasure.
I stepped into my dream alone. I woke up and no one was around me. This place was quiet.
I was suddenly indoors, and he was standing next to me. Wayne had jet black hair that framed his Snow White skin. He spoke with such gentle voice, I thought he might fade away.
A new friend? I thought.
“I’m going to Webster Hall this weekend,” I told him. I was careful not to invite him. I didn’t want us to feel too close. After all, I had just met him.
“Webster Hall?” He questioned. “I could get you into Gotham.”
Gotham was the city’s number one spot: a lounge, a concert venue, an entertainment center. There were performers of every level. Only the wealthy and the VVIPs could get in. A commoner like me would never be able to see the colors that paint the walls of the luxurious club.
He didn’t wait for my answer. His finger glided over the numbers on his phone and spoke quietly to the person on the other line. I couldn’t catch what he said. He then hung up, held his phone victoriously in the air and said, “All done.”
“Will you be there?” I asked, immediately realizing how childish that question seemed.
He smiled and it melted my mind. “Perhaps now I will be.”
Wayne invited me over to his house. I arrived, only to realize it was a mega-mansion. Who was this man, really?
The door was open so I let myself in. I don’t remember much. Perhaps the place was too wildly extravagant even for my imagination. I do remember a textured glass wall dividing the common area from the kitchen. Intrigued, I followed the perimeter. I made out two figures on the other side.
“Why won’t you let me care for her?” It was Wayne’s voice.
An older woman’s voice replied, “But Wayne, have you really thought about it?”
Were they talking about me? He wants to care for me? Does he have feelings for me?
How was he so wealthy?
“I will care for her,” his voice softly echoed.
I’ve stepped into the middle of an intimate conversation. Not wanting to be caught eavesdropping, I inched away as quietly from the semi-transparent wall.
Wayne turned the corner and caught me. He wore an all-black tuxedo that framed his porcelain skin even more. He looked so well groomed, so beautiful. I wanted to touch his face.
My cheeks suddenly burned from such a bold thought.
We sat next to each other. We sat so close, I thought my skin was going to burst into flames from being so close to his white hot skin. But I wanted to touch him anyway.
“It’s terminal,” he muttered under his breath.
He was dying, fast. No wonder he looked like he was going to disappear into thin air.
“Do you want to do this?”
Yes, I want it more than anything. I want you more than anything.
I was in love with him.