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It happened again, the dream. In it her limbs were entangled with another, her vision blurred, the smell of iron and sweat. Her body ached; her heart ached too, but not in a physical way. Even when she woke from the dream, her limbs felt heavy and bruised, her emotions raw and frayed. It didn’t feel like a dream, it felt like a memory that was replaying itself perfectly through her senses. It couldn’t be a memory though, not her own at least. She recorded the dream in her diary, same as any of her dreams, to be analyzed by the priestesses. It felt like an omen, though good or bad she could not tell. That was for the priestesses to interpret.
—
He awoke with a jolt, his brain struggling to place him in time and space. His head pounded and his stomach roiled; perhaps that last bottle had been one too many. Beside him lay a red-haired woman, her nakedness covered by a rough spun wool blanket. He couldn’t remember her name, let alone her face. All he could remember was disappointment, mostly in himself. He’d been searching for something he couldn’t name, let alone hope to find. He just knew this desire pulled him along, day to day, encouraging self-preservation where normally he would have none. He was growing tired of this nameless quest, of this life of meaningless searching.
—
“I had this dream last night… I felt like I was there, living the moment. That never happens when I dream,” she spoke to the screen before her, running a hand nervously through her short blonde hair.
“Well, most of us do not remember a majority of our dreams,” replied a bespectacled brunette woman on the screen.
“No, I know that. I mean I usually dream in the third person. I’m usually a spectator in my dreams. Well the ones I remember,” she added.
“Interesting,” the other woman replied, not appearing interested in the slightest.
“It just felt… so real. I feel like I can still smell it.”
Now the other woman raised an eyebrow, though the interest felt invasive rather than curious.
“Maybe I just… maybe we should change my meds,” she suggested dejectedly.
—
“I had the weirdest dream last night.”
“Oh tell me all about it, baby.”
He pulled his wife closer to him, placing his chin on her head as she tucked up into his chest. She ran her fingers up and down his bare chest as he held her close.
“I think I was…” he trailed off, trying to get his bearings. “I think I was fighting with someone. Like a fist fight. I could feel the dream too. My body ached and I think I was bleeding? Or the other person was. I could smell the blood.”
He looked down at her, meeting her gaze. She stopped trailing her fingers up and down his torso, and wrapped her arm around him instead, holding him as close as he held her.
“That sounds intense,” she kissed his chest. “Did you win?”
He smiled at her and kissed her forehead.
“Probably,” he laughed. “I think I woke up before the fight was over. Maybe that’s why I felt so disoriented.”
He didn’t tell her that a part of him felt like he had lost. That he wanted to lose and surrender to the other fighter. He held her close, wishing her body felt like the one he was entangled with in the dream.
—
Her sparring partner was new to the studio, yet there was something intensely familiar about him. She shrugged it off, rationalizing to herself that he just looked like the type of guy that would pick up boxing after watching a few MMA fights with his bros. She’d sparred with scores of dudes like that, none of them coming back after a few months.
Normally, she would be a bit mean, a bit catty towards this type of guy, but there was a seriousness to him that put her on edge. She wasn’t scared of him, but there was something about his demeanor that made her bite her tongue. The only jabs being thrown from her would be her fists today.
—
There was something about her eyes that really threw him. They seemed a perfectly normal shade of blue, but there was quality there he couldn’t name that drew him in while also setting off alarm bells in his head. He tried not to look at her face, while still scanning it in his periphery for any tells of her next moves he might be able to glean. He was starting to think there was a quirk of her mouth before she threw a punch, when he felt a sharp pain in his gut. She’d gotten him with a swift kick, completely destroying that theory. She smirked now, unrelenting in her assault. He managed to block her next few moves, cornering her against the rope.
The bell rang, signaling the end of the practice period. He backed off quickly, as if he had been electrocuted. They had been so close, he could smell their sweat mingling, and with it a deep desire drawing him towards her. Frankly, it scared him. He let out a gruff thanks before rushing off to the locker room. He stripped off his gear, shoving it roughly into his gym bag. He grabbed a towel and headed to the showers, taking the furthest back stall. The water was immediately hot, steam enveloping his senses. For a minute he just stood under the scalding water, letting it pound on his head, his shoulders, his chest. Something was niggling at him, a subconscious thought bubbling quickly to the surface, one he couldn’t anticipate. There was something about that woman that reminded him of… something. He slapped his hand against wall in his frustration. If only he could remember…