9.3 / March 2014


In that dream where I meet his ex-lover, I am alone in his bed when she finds me and he is in the other room. She wakes me by pulling down my underwear slowly. I recognize her once I feel her mouth against the inner folds of me. Softly she speaks secrets there and I begin to cry, uncertain of what exactly I am feeling. She stops, looks at me sweetly, and puts a finger to her lips. Be quiet. I sit up and pull her towards me. I kiss her until our mouths are dry and she licks my neck. I come without her touching me. When she falls asleep she holds my breast and snores softly against my back.

When he leaves home, I go through his journals, scanning each page for my name. I don’t show up as much as I wish I did. I think I am trying to find out more about him, but I realize I am only interested in myself.

I look her up once a month, at least. What am I looking for? Evidence, I guess, that something bad has finally happened to her. I imagine her body broken and bruised. I try not to imagine her dead.

In the dream where I kill her, she is so sweet to me. She lays back as I punch her face in. She barely weeps. I know she understands because she hates me as much as I do her.

I never dream of killing him, although I wish I did.

Rachel Ann Brickner is a writer and filmmaker from Pittsburgh, PA. She is currently Managing Editor for Weave Magazine.
9.3 / March 2014