Art can make you money, Art can make you cry.

Dreams or nightmares?

I stormed up into my assigned room. Thinking about what I've done. I've ruined the chance of me staying and making money, the chance of getting away from James, the chance of finding true love.
Obviously, true love doesn't exist.
I sit on the bed, wondering, pondering my next move.
Apologise?
No!
Yeah.
I get up trying to think of what to say when Damian asks what was wrong. Thinking about all the possible scenarios. I take a good hard look at myself in the mirror beside the bed. Take a big breathe. And head toward the door.
One step, and the door opens. My face relaxes. It's probably white. The creak of the door adds suspense, like in a horror or thriller movie. A weaves tray peeks around the door.
What?
My head tilts to find dark hair and skin, chiseled cheek bones and fabulous eyebrows. A weak pity smile.
I hate when people pity me.
Rosalita holds out the tray. I notice a tea pot. A bowl with a doughy substance inside, a block of chocolate and a envelope.
'I know how hard break ups can be.' She tells me before she leaves again.
The tray is beautiful. I pour myself tea and open the packet of "top deck" chocolate. The doughy substance is cookie dough.
God yass!
I'm not that hungry, but I double up on the tea.
A block of chocolate and a bowl of cookie dough later, I gain the courage to open the envelope.
My heart races. A letter, suspending my work? A letter of apologie? A invite to the wedding? Is it from James?
No.
Is a stack of money. $13200 to be exact.
I am still working.
Thank god.
I stash the envelope at the bottom of my bag with the rest of my money.
I lay back on the bed and slowly drifted to sleep.
                                                                         #<~>#
James leans in for a kiss on the cheek and all I do is wait for his lips to touch me. Once they do, it's like fireworks, strong, soft, warm, amazing. I cup my hands on each cheek, and his lips go lower. He pecks at my jaw, my neck, to place a kiss on my collar bones he lifts me up and I wrap my legs around his waist as he carries me toward the bed. I hit it and bounce. His lips join mine and it's wonderful. I lean up and loosen his tie while he takes off his jacket. Our lips part as he pulls the tie over his head, but like magnets we connect again, I rip at his shirt, buttons flies everywhere one lands on my chest, he scoops it up with his teeth and spits it on the floor. He rolls on to his back and I, attached to him, follow on top. He unzips my dress and I unbuckle his belt. I strip of my dress and he unbuttons his pants. I strip of my bra and he strips of his pants. Together, we move closer to the middle of the bed and kiss. Soon we are fully naked and moving. I love every second of it.
I wake.
Panting. Deja vu. A crappy decision haunts me. But the deja vu reminded me of Damian. We were in this bedroom. I was used by both of them. Damian used me like James used to.
I have to get up. I'm tired, but I have to get up. Stumbling through to the wardrobe I stub my toe.
Whimper.
Collecting a large men's jumper and the shortest of shorts.
Don't care!
I braid my hair brush my teeth and check the time.
3:47 am
I slump back on the bed, unaware of the dreams, or nightmares, that I might have again.