My eyes were still locked on Magic Mike. Everything else faded away, as though a misty veil was blocking my view. A slight tickling on my cheek broke my transfixed gaze. A tear, freed from my eye, slowly trickling down.
What’s wrong with me? Everything feels so weird, so surreal,
Was it that terrible nightmare?
Eventually my pulse began to slow down It was a pleasant, feeling, and I was sure Magic Mike had a lot to do with it.
Thanks, Magic Mike!
Engrossed in my thoughts, I asked myself what that strange dream meant.
It was more than I could process.
Did it mean anything at all, or was it all just nonsense? Whatever it was, it was Kay-Ky and totally insane.
My thoughts circled around and around what I couldn’t stop thinking about it – it scared me.
I tried to calm myself down and kept telling myself it was just a dream. Jittery, searching for proof, I rolled my sleeve up –looking to see if anything was amiss, but there was nothing out of the ordinary No pain, it looked fine. I took a deep breath and felt assured it was indeed a dream, my mind playing tricks on me. . But what I didn’t know yet was that my life was about to change forever.
My breathing matched the rhythm of my still racing heart. All of a sudden, I noticed that things started to go hazy even Magic Mike – otherwise clearly a good-looking man – looked like enveloped in a fog. An unpleasant feeling swept like a wave through my whole body; goose pimples appeared on my skin, breaking into a sweat my thighs burned, and my legs started shaking.
Kay-Ky! What’s happening now, what on earth is wrong with me?
From nowhere I felt my stomach cramp, crippled with pain. I closed my eyes, hoping it would go away, but it had the opposite effect. Everything began to spin. Anguished tears welled up in my eyes. They tickled my nose as they ran down my face. I opened my eyes and blinked the tears away. My senses hadn’t lied; everything was truly spinning around my bed, like a mini tornado.
Kay-Ky, what’s the matter with me?
Fear was choking me, just like in my dream. My attempts to scream for help resulted in nothing more than a whimpering sound. With difficulty, I gasped for air like a fish on dry land, hyperventilating. Instinctively I pulled my knees up against my stomach waiting for the next cramp to hit – not a good idea. The pressure pushed bile up into my gullet. It burned horribly, aware that I was about to throw up; I ignored the cramps and left off the bed, lurching towards the bathroom. Every step burned as if I walking on scorching hot coals. Despite the bathroom being only a few feet away, the effort took every last bit of energy I had.
You’re almost there, I told myself.
If there’s one thing I know how, is to achieve my goals. As I finally reached the door, I struggled to desperately keep the contents of my stomach from spewing all over the bathroom floor. I did this by strategically placing my hand over my mouth and holding it there as if my life depended on it.
Shit, this is bad!
In order to contain the mess I was about to make, I kneeled next to the toilet bowl and hugged it. I puked my guts out and emptied everything I had eaten in the last few hours. Feeling as though my stomach took an eternity to recover, I looked down at my artwork, a brownish lumpy collage of soggy muesli. The stench of vomits engulfing the bathroom. Just as I started to feel better, I heard someone pound on the door.
Claire, it’s Claire at the door, it can only be Claire!
I kicked the bathroom door with my heel, but before it closed shut, I heard Claire’s voice calling out for me.
“Sophie, Sophie are you in there?”
Why now? I forced myself up on my feet and tried to lock the door. But I couldn’t – I didn’t have enough strength to turn the key. Pushing my weight against the door to keep it shut, Claire became suspicious.
“Sophie, is something wrong? Do you need help?”
If she only knew, I thought to myself and cleared my throat trying to alleviate the burning caused by stomach acid Coughing and wheezing, I forced my voice to sound normal.
“Everything’s ok, Claire, I just got really sick that’s all – otherwise I’m fine. Just give me ten minutes and I’ll come find you.”
“Okay – but this isn’t the first time, Sophie – is there anything I should know about? You’re not…?”
This can’t be happening! First I have a nightmare I don’t understand, then I puke my guts out, and then my BFF comes up with a completely apocalyptic explanation for the whole situation. What’s going on today? Has the whole world gone crazy?
There hasn’t been an immaculate conception since the Virgin Mary. And bees don’t have anything to do with human procreation either. I can absolutely and definitively rule out pregnancy – ridiculous, typical Claire. Preoccupied with my chaotic thoughts, I collected copious amounts of toilet paper and proceeded to clear the path of destruction I created. Feeling unstable and weak, I struggled to turn on the tap, as I did this I watched the water move towards the drain as if drawn in by magic, disappearing into a black hole. I interrupted the flow by holding my hands un-der the stream of frigid water. I bent down and took a long drink I never imagined water could taste this good, my coarse throat feeling smooth once again. The shock of cold water splashing on my face jolted me back to reality
Minutes later I brushed my teeth, and rinsed my mouth out, feeling like a normal human being again. But could I show myself in front of Claire in this state? Claire, was thy type of girl who looked as if she had been born with perfect hair and make-up, she never left the house without at least a 30-minute three-step Claire beautification process. Her usual line was: “Man, you look pale,” or “Why don’t you get out and get a little sun?” this obviously meant that more work needed to be done on my appearance.
I straightened up and peered into the three-piece mirror on our simple bathroom cabinet. It was standard equipment here in the dorm; all the rooms had the same furniture and the same bathroom cabinets. “Bargain basement chic,” as we called it. When I looked at my face, I immediately noticed a dark shadow in the middle of my forehead. Squinting, I tried to sharpen my blurry vision, but it didn’t change what I saw.
I picked up a facecloth and placed it under the dispenser, squeezing out about a week’s worth of soap. I scrubbed my forehead until a mass of white foam materialized. Once I rinsed my face, however, I was totally floored – the spot was still there, and even more obvious than it had been before. I looked closer, and I couldn’t believe what I saw.
What I saw resembled a cross. It stood out smack bang in the middle of my forehead as though someone had painted it in various shades of grey. I spat on my finger and rubbed the cross like a maniac hurting myself in the process. One thing was clear: this wasn’t dirt, and it wasn’t paint I could simply wipe off. It was something else, similar to a tattoo. Shocked I lost all strength in my legs; I staggered backwards gradually, slipping against the bathroom wall, overcome by fits of tears. I huddled on the floor and wept uncontrollably.
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