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Staring right back at me with endless love, she would smile, hum, and fall back to sleep. Even while knowing how it would end, I would always reach out and try to touch her, desperate to feel some sort of proof that she was real, but always, she would fade away before I could even stroke her hair. Suffice to say, I was almost haunted by this ‘dream’. This girl, this figment of my imagination, was the light of my life and the reason why I went to bed each night and plowed through each day. I had never heard her voice, never touched her, never been able to speak to her, and I didn’t even know her name… yet I loved her. She was my secret, the one aspect of my life that I would never speak of, no matter what. When she first started to appear, I even obsessed over her. I would draw her every night on a sketchpad hidden under my bed, remembering her visage with crystal clarity and moving my hand with skill that I would never accept as my own, mirroring her image with graphite and paper. When I did come it was with an intensity I don’t often experience – perhaps that’s just as well. If they were all of that order there would be no good ones to stand out. This arrangement had been going on for some while when, as we came down off a particularly intense moment of ‘fucking’, Skye asked me if I would ‘take care’ of a person we both knew. This was Kathleen, I suppose you’d call her Skye’s best buddy. She was a vivacious, highly intelligent, well-stacked blonde who frightened the hell out of most men, to a degree me as well. It transpired she was lonely, upset because she could never keep a guy for long enough for a decent interval to pass before she got them into bed. She didn’t want to get the reputation as easy or a one-date lay. The community we worked in was small and could be very narrow minded. I must admit I liked Kathleen, but, even though she was a very attractive woman had never really thought of her as a ‘sleeping’ partner as it were. Nevertheless, I agreed to.
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