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Carol stands alone in the Chihuahuan with only the clothes on her back, miles and miles of untouched desert stretching in all directions. The sun hangs low on the horizon, obscured by clouds that promise a moonless night. Coyotes howl in the distance. She calls out for Helen, for Zosia, for anyone in the world. No one comes.
She wakes with the clenching of her muscles, breathing hard through her nose. Her eyes dart wildly around the room until she remembers where she is. Who she’s with. Carefully, she pushes herself up to lean against the headboard and scrubs her hands across her face. The mattress shifts beside her.
“Carol?”
Zosia’s voice is rough in its sleepiness. Despite the circumstances, the sound sends a zip of pleasure down Carol’s spine.
“I’m okay. Go back to sleep.”
“You had a nightmare.” It’s not a question. “You were making noise.”
Carol clears her throat, embarrassed. “I guess I did, yeah. Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.”
“No apology necessary. Can we get you a glass of water? Tea?”
“No! No.” Her hand lands on the bed between them, her pulse quickening at the prospect of being left alone in bed.
“Alright,” Zosia says kindly. “We – I’ll stay right here, Carol.”
Carol feels Zosia’s hand on her wrist, tugging her to lie back down. She goes willingly. She lets herself be maneuvered until her head is on Zosia’s chest, the other woman’s heart thumping beneath her ear. There’s relief in the surrender, and maybe she should hate that, but she doesn’t. Not tonight. Zosia’s hand is in her hair, blunt nails scratching at her scalp, and Carol allows herself to believe it can all be okay.
Still, she’s glad the lights are off. This vulnerability is easier in the dark, where she doesn’t have to look into the world’s eyes, where she can pretend she hasn’t brought them into her marriage bed.
“Do you dream?” she asks, starting to feel uncomfortable in the silence. “Do you all have the same dreams?”
“In a way, yes. Our dreams are different now. More abstract.” Zosia thinks for a beat. “It’s all wavelengths. Colors and frequencies.”
Carol feels oddly bereft at the thought of losing the richness of her own dreams, the last place she has Helen. "Do you ever have nightmares?”
She can hear Zosia’s smile. “Not anymore.”
“That’s good.” Carol pats the side of Zosia’s ribcage awkwardly. She doesn’t like the idea of Zosia unhappy.
Zosia’s hand has slipped down to her spine, and Carol can feel the warmth of the other woman’s palm through the thin fabric of her shirt. “Would you be more comfortable sleeping on your side?” Zosia asks.
Carol would. Zosia nudges her to roll onto her left side. Carol exhales sharply as the length of Zosia’s body curls around her back, long, bare legs slotted into the space where her own are bent. Zosia pulls her closer with an arm draped across her waist.
“Sweet dreams, Carol,” she murmurs.
It’s intoxicating, the nearness. Carol savors the steady press of Zosia’s stomach expanding against her back with every breath. She lets the rhythm of it soothe her back into a warm, dreamless sleep.