Waking from a Bad Dream

You woke up covered in sweat. The same dream that wracked your subconscious mind for the past seven months had once again prevented any semblance of real-restful sleep. Your body ached, your eyes felt heavy, and a pervasive headache threatened to unsettle your stomach.

You sat up in bed, scanning your dingy apartment. There was almost no furniture except for one decrepit chair covered in laundry and a small television. Your bed was simply a filthy mattress strewn on the floor of your small bedroom. Bottles and cans piled in mass around the space. It probably smelled in here, but you’d long since acclimated to it.

A beer can near where you slept caught your eye. You grabbed it hoping a few dregs still remained in the bottom. No luck. It was the theme of your life since Steph had left you and taken everything. Even with proof of her cheating, she had come out better than you. Of course, it hadn’t helped that her family was able to pay for the best lawyer in the area. She had purposely consulted with the most reputable divorce attorneys in the area to make it harder for you to find suitable representation. Something about conflicts of interest. You had been in the dark about her plans for too long once she had sprung her trap.

The whole thought of the divorce process left a vile taste in your mouth. The experience had convinced you that when it came to justice, the truth and what was right paled in comparison to the power of money.

On the mattress next to you laid a snub-nosed revolver. It was an old and rust-blemished clone of a popular brand. The numbers and markings had long been filed off, and its handle was held together with duct tape.

You told yourself you had bought it for personal protection, but that was a lie. This neighborhood you had moved to wasn’t known to be friendly, true enough, but that wasn’t why your current bedside companion was made of blued steel.

Steph had barely gotten finished tearing your heart out and had already made plans to marry Darren. Of course you had found out after stalking her on social media. You knew deep down the real reason you had the gun and why it had been acquired through unsavory channels.

That urge you had two months into your divorce had brought out some heavy thoughts. You however, in character with your generally kind disposition, had backed out of carrying out those dark desires at the last minute. He would have never seen you coming, but you just couldn’t do it. Now, on really low days like this morning, the rusty gun whispered seductively the possibility of another pain-relieving purpose.

You stared for a few more moments contemplating your resolve…

“Not today.” You groaned under your breath and stood up.

You headed to the bathroom to take care of the usual. Despite the state of your apartment, you actually didn’t like going out unclean. The thought of people staring at you with pity or disgust in their eyes flared up anxiety in you.

You brushed your teeth, put on some deodorant, and a spritz of cologne. You took a moment to gaze at the bottle. It was a brand she had picked out for you on your first Christmas as a married couple. It wasn’t really your preference, but she liked it, and that was enough. You'd worn it everyday since. A bottle of the stuff in your stocking had become a tradition. This was the last one, and it was almost empty. You set it down and moved on to your hair.

You wetted your blonde hair in the sink and brushed it back. Examining your face in the mirror, you found the all-too-familiar dark bags under your bloodshot blue eyes. Sleep just wasn’t happening right now. You had a faint shadow of facial hair on your plump face, but you didn’t bother shaving this morning. Your heart just wasn’t in it.

You walked out of the bathroom and scanned your bedroom once more. You found a pair of gray-blue coveralls. On one breast pocket you saw a white patch with your name embroidered. On the opposite breast pocket, you saw the logo for the Alternate World Immigration Organization, a company dedicated to matching humans with monster girls from another world.

Their world was filled with monsters and magic like something out of a fantasy novel or Dungeons and Dragons. Life there was supposedly very difficult as many of the monster girls immigrated through the portal held by the AWIO in search of partners. The monster girls came in all different forms and many of them were quite forward when it came to finding partners.

You were a rare human male employee at the Arrival Center and had been propositioned on more than one occasion by the strange inhabitants. You always shot them down though. A new relationship was the last thing you had on your mind. You were barely keeping yourself afloat, so how could you possibly provide for a woman?

You had considered signing up to be a pioneer in the other world and cast this one away for good, but you were deemed mentally unfit at the time by an AWIO psychologist. They had mentioned something about latent powers combined with “current environmental factors” being problematic. You didn’t quite understand at the time. All you heard was another rejection.

You got a job as a maintenance worker for AWIO after your divorce thanks to a connection your family had with one of the HR directors. You weren’t good enough to be a traveler, but apparently you were fit enough to do the dirty work. You hadn’t kept up with your engineering job and were fired for poor performance. You didn’t blame your former company, though. Losing your wife had left you feeling like life had little purpose. Throwing yourself into your white-collar work wasn’t distracting enough. Staring at code was monotonous and hardly engaging for you any more. It didn’t help getting all the stares of pity you got from your coworkers.

You and your mother had thought a more physical labor job would help get your mind off things and speed up your recovery. So far, it really hadn't done much good either. It made you physically tired but never really stopped the negative thoughts. It felt more like putting a bandaid on a gunshot wound.

The dreams and the pervasive thoughts never seemed to stop, and you found yourself losing hope that life would ever get better. You had tried therapy, but it always seemed hard to connect with therapists.

Sometimes you felt they were too young and inexperienced in real life to understand you. Other times, they just seemed to always focus on you as if your current situation hadn’t been the product of a traumatic betrayal by your ex wife. One twenty-something therapist had even suggested forgiving Stephanie because she “couldn’t help being in love with someone else”. Some new-age shit about how monogamy was a prison.

Fuck that! You had had opportunities to go back on your vows in the years you were with Stephanie. Never once did you consider betraying her. It was sickening to even think about. In your mind, the two of you were supposed to grow old together.

“Ugh.”, you muttered. “Too many thoughts today.”

You grabbed a pill bottle off the kitchen counter labeled with the name of your prescribed antidepressant. You weren’t convinced it was helping. The only real effect it seemed to have was making it harder for you to get hard. Still, it at least made you focus.

You took a pill out, and washed it down with a beer. It was a cheap swill that tasted like watered down piss. You knew **** wasn’t recommended with your meds, but the combination helped keep you just numb enough to get through the day.

You finished getting dressed, grabbed an energy drink and some leftovers out of the fridge, stuffed your coveralls into a duffel bag, and headed out to work.