Drifting Through Doorways Chapter 2
“We dream to give ourselves hope. To stop dreaming - well, that’s like saying you can never change your fate.”
― Amy Tan, The Hundred Secret Senses
II.
Wednesday, October 23
Jen-Jen was officially over, and the general consensus was that it was about fucking time. Now, to celebrate the final tie being severed, Jensen was hanging out in downtown Austin with his two best friends listening to an all-girl classic rock cover band wail out Don’t Fear the Reaper. Jensen wasn’t sure what the bigger hit with the crowd was - the music, or the skimpy little Oktoberfest costumes they wore.
The alcohol was flowing almost as freely as the banter. Jensen drank enough beer to feel pleasantly buzzed and ordered another round for the table, which was promptly delivered by a buxom waitress named Rory. With an adorable smattering of freckles across her nose and long, thick layers of blonde hair, she looked like she should be a model or an actress, not a waitress on Sixth Street, and both of Jensen’s friends had hit on her. Actually, he surmised, half the patronage in the bar had probably hit on her.
“God, Jen, Jennifer was such a bitch!” Steve stated emphatically, his eyes shining with mirth. “Damn, it’s so nice to finally be able to say that!” Chris reached across the table and bumped fists with Steve. Jensen rolled his eyes, but he tended to agree. He wasn’t going to let his friends know that, though. He was just happy he’d never have to hear “Jen-Jen” again. Jennifer was the one who’d come up with that gem, and Jensen hated it. “It’s cute, like Brangelina,” she’d often said, and then, of course, Jensen’s friends had picked up on it and started using it. Jennifer had been thrilled that the nickname had stuck, and Jensen hadn’t had the heart to explain that it was only ever used to mock them or to annoy him.
“Shut up, Steve,” Jensen said, taking a swig of his beer. “She may have been a bitch, but she was hella good in the sack, so you can suck it.”
“I wouldn’t mind that waitress sucking it,” Steve intoned lewdly, looking around the bar until he spotted Rory. She was currently balancing a tray of drinks in one hand and trying to reattach a paper skeleton decoration to the front window with the other, with minimal success. Thankfully another waitress saw her dilemma and hurried over to help. “Think I could get her number?”
“You should try to get her number, Jen,” said Chris, an earnest expression on his face. “Get back on the horse.” Jensen looked over at the waitress, objectively, and felt nothing. He scoped out a few other females in the bar, all of them hot, but not one of them drawing his interest for more than a glance or two.
“Jennifer and I just broke up,” Jensen pointed out. “I don’t think I’m ready to get back on the horse yet. Besides, I thought horses were your thing.”
Chris just grinned and slowly lifted the middle finger of his right hand. Jensen ignored him and let his eyes flit around the bar, seeing if there was anyone here he’d even consider having a one night stand with. His eyes settled on a young man standing over by the bar. He was probably a college kid; a little on the young side, but definitely attractive. He was tall with light brown hair, skin nearly the same color as his hair and warm golden eyes. He saw Jensen watching him and the corner of his mouth ticked up. It wasn’t an invitation, but it wasn’t a “get lost”, either. Jensen didn’t smile, but he did let an amused smirk come to his lips.
“You didn’t just break up,” Chris said, oblivious to the connection being shared across the room. “You broke up three months ago, and she just now came and got the rest of her shit out of your powder blue apartment.”
That caught Jensen’s attention and he frowned. “It’s not powder blue, Jesus. It’s-“
“Do not finish that sentence, Jensen, unless you want to be labeled a complete homo,” Steve joked, then winced. “Sorry, Jen, didn’t mean anything by that, really.”
Both Chris and Steve knew that Jensen was bisexual; they’d known it since college when they all went to the University of Texas at Austin together. They mostly chose to ignore it though, especially when Jensen had so conveniently dated and lived with a woman for the last two years. Jensen flicked a glare toward Steve.
“Doesn’t make you any less of a douchebag, Steve,” he said. He turned in his chair and looked for the guy at the bar. He was cute, had looked at least mildly interested in Jensen and it had been three months since Jensen got any. Well, more like five, really. The guy from the bar was nowhere to be seen and Jensen mentally shrugged. He wasn’t here to hook up, after all.
Two months before Jennifer had gathered the majority of her belongings and moved out she’d stopped having sex with Jensen. There was always an excuse for crying off; she had a headache or was tired or just wasn’t in the mood, and at the time, Jensen had bought it. They’d both been very busy, after all. Jennifer had been working hard trying to get promoted at the insurance company she worked for and Jensen had been spending long hours at work on his latest architectural commission for the city.
Now, Jensen could see it for what it really was; Jennifer withdrawing from him so she could make a clean break. He thought it would have been nice if she’d clued him in. Jensen hadn’t seen it coming, and yeah, he may have been a little oblivious, but he also felt like Jennifer didn’t even try to save the relationship. It was a bitter pill to swallow, and he still felt like a fool, but it was getting easier to deal with as time passed.
The most telling thing about the end of the relationship was how broken up Jensen wasn’t about it. He felt a little guilty about that, actually, but there’s nothing he could do about it now. Obviously Jensen and Jennifer had reached their sell by date and were staying together only out of convenience or habit.
“Are you guys bored with this place yet?” Steve asked, coming back to the table. Jensen had been so lost in his own thoughts that he hadn’t even noticed Steve get up. Jensen wondered if he hadn’t just struck out with Rory (again). Jensen shrugged. He’d be content to stay where he was for the rest of the night, drink beer and listen to the cover band. They weren’t bad, actually, and really, he could do worse than stare at cute young girls in skimpy outfits.
“I’m good,” Chris said, leaning back in his chair as the waitress came back with their drinks and gathered up their empties. Chris grinned lasciviously as he pulled his empty bottle toward him so the woman had to bend over to pick it up. She pinched her lips together; it was obviously just a ploy to see down her shirt and she knew it. Jensen rolled his eyes.
“You’re classy, you know that?” Jensen said. It was meant to be an admonishment, but he couldn’t help smiling. The waitress stood back up and flipped her hair over her shoulder.
“You’re a dick,” she said to Chris, her green eyes flashing as her lips spread into a wide, sarcastic smile. All charm, Rory was. She sauntered away in righteous indignation. Chris’ grin merely widened. Steve laughed and shook his head.
“So, Jensen, are you planning on staying single or are you looking yet?”
“I don’t know,” Jensen sighed. He was glad they were sitting in the very back of the bar so they didn’t have to shout quite so loudly to hear each other. “I’m kind of thinking about staying away from women for a while. Women are complicated.”
Steve laughed at that. Chris didn’t seem to be invested in the conversation, but that could be because the cover band had started singing Bad Moon Rising and were all currently bouncing up and down. And they were really bouncy. Jensen couldn’t help but smile as he took another swig of his beer.
“So, are you thinking about dating guys then?” Steve queried, and this time there was no teasing to his tone. It was just a question, like the cashier at the supermarket, asking, “Paper or plastic?”
Chris turned back to face them with a derisive snort, “So are you getting back on the fence, Jen? I kinda figured that you were over that phase, considering how long you were with Jennifer.”
Chris was drunk, which was why Jensen wasn’t going to tear him a new asshole. He grit his teeth. “Chris, I’m not going into this with you again,” he said, sobering. “You know I love you like a brother, but I’ve just about had it with you and your snide little comments. I’m bi; either accept it or get lost. When I’m dating a girl, I’m bi. When I’m dating a guy, I’m bi.”
Chris held his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “I was just asking, Jen. You know I don’t care who you fuck as long as you’re not trying to fuck me, yeah? I’m just sayin’ if you’re looking for a little man on man action you’re in the wrong bar. All eyes are on those.” He waves his hand toward the cover band girls. “I’m sorry if you thought I was being, you know, judgmental or anything like that.”
“No it’s okay,” Jensen said. “I’m probably a little defensive about it, too. We’re good.”
Chris’ face lit up in a grin. “Good. I’m glad we’re good.”
Jensen yawned. It wasn’t technically late yet, but he’d gotten up early for work and visions of his bed were starting to float in front of his eyes. He wondered if it meant he was getting old.
“Hey, I’m gonna settle my tab and head home, guys,” he said. “Thanks for taking me out; I had fun. You guys gotta ride home? You’re kind of smashed.”
“Nah, we’re good,” Steve said as he finished off his beer. He gave it a disappointed look. “We’ll either catch a cab back to our place or one of those Night Owl buses. I’ll make sure we get back in one piece, Mom.” Steve and Chris had been room-mates forever, which in Jensen’s opinion probably contributed to their perpetual bachelorhood.
“Oh, don’t go!” Chris complained loudly. “I said I was sorry!” He looked genuinely distressed. Jensen smiled as he stood and patted the top of Chris’ head like he was a puppy, or a small child.
“It’s not all about you, Kane,” Jensen said, addressing Chris by his last name. And then, “Get over yourself. I have to work tomorrow. Y’all are lucky I came out on a weeknight at all.” The tone was fond, though, teasing and Chris pushed Jensen away.
“Screw you, Jen,” he laughed. “Go to bed then, you pussy.”
Jensen flipped his friends off as he left the bar, knowing they’d take it with good humor. He smiled again; it was good to have friends.
Jensen found himself standing in a doorway, looking in on a long, rectangular room that exuded old world class. The off-white walls were subtly embossed with a shimmering floral pattern, offset by the exposed rafters overhead which were polished to a smooth chocolate glow. Rows of windows on each side of the room looked as if they belonged in a church despite the lack of stained glass - they were narrow and arched, pointing towards heaven, it seemed. Outside, it was dark, but Jensen could still make out a leafy frame of foliage - evidence of the ivy that must have grown on the outer walls. Sconces mounted between each window bathed the room in warm, if dim, light. Jensen moved forward into the room proper and took further stock of his surroundings.
Everything was a bit blurred, as if viewed through a soft-focus camera lens. There were people here, milling about somewhat aimlessly. Gentle, soft chatter pervaded the air. Eyes and lips were downcast; the mood was somber. Jensen’s feet sunk into the plush burgundy carpet with each step. The crowd of people parted for him, moving quickly and gracefully out of his way, even though not one of them acknowledged his presence. He passed through the crowd like the ghost he was afraid he was.
As the people moved aside, Jensen’s gaze was drawn unobstructed to the other side of the room. The reason for the gathering was at once apparent. He was at a funeral, or a wake.
The coffin sat underneath a giant bouquet of calla lilies. To either side two large bouquets of white and blue flowers rested on decorative pillars. The top half of the casket was open and a few people were standing beside it, looking down at the corpse. One of them was a woman who looked remarkably like his sister - if his sister dyed her hair dark and wore glasses. There were tears sliding down her face, but hers was a quiet pain.
Off to the left of the coffin stood a small assembly of men, and Jensen would swear that it was Chris and Steve standing there with two strangers - one a scruffy blond and the other a tall brunet. They all wore grief-stricken expressions, but the tallest of them seemed the most affected. His face was a combination of indescribable sorrow and disbelief, as if he were waiting for the person in the coffin to sit up and declare it all a jest. The tall man pushed away from the group and stumbled almost drunkenly over to the casket. He leaned over and draped himself across whoever’s corpse was lying there.
The room went silent as the three other men surrounded the first and pulled him back from the coffin, setting it off balance ever so slightly. For a horrific moment, Jensen was almost sure the coffin was going to flip over and spill the unfortunate body onto the floor. It didn’t happen, thank God. The tall brunet struggled weakly against his companions to get back to where he obviously wanted to be, but they prevailed and hauled him away. His behavior was drawing looks from the other attendees - looks of pity, looks of sadness and looks of outright disapproval. The man leaned back against the wall and covered his eyes with his hands. Jensen felt his stomach twist at the scene.
He decided then that he needed to see who was in the coffin. Jensen surged forward but then, something changed. It was like a switch was flipped and the people in the room suddenly became aware of his presence. Their eyes all fixed on him, expressions intense and unreadable; all except for the tall man who had used the distraction to make his way back to the coffin, sobbing openly.
“Get out of here,” an unknown person hissed.
“You don’t belong here,” another said, and Jensen did a double take. Was that his father? What the hell was going on here?
“You’re only making it worse!” the scruffy blond at the back of the room shouted. The people started to crowd in on Jensen then, pushing against him as if to force him backwards and out of the room. Jensen started to withdraw, no longer caring who was in the coffin. He needed to get out of there, now. A sense of something wrong settled deep in his stomach, and it wasn’t only because of the reactions of the funeral goers.
Through the throng of people, Jensen saw the tall brunet in the back snap his head up and look at Jensen. His face was blurred like everyone else’s, but he started toward Jensen with his hand outstretched.
“No, Jensen!” he cried, pushing people out of his way. “Jensen, stay; don’t go. Jensen, please?” His voice was ragged with grief and tinged in desperation.
Despite the pleas to stay, Jensen understood that he had no business here. He was intruding on a private moment that was not his own, and he retreated. He’d just passed the doorway when the pain hit him; red hot pain that bloomed in his chest. He couldn’t breathe. He hit his knees and looked down - saw blood blossom under his shirt. Jensen grasped at the fabric of his polo shirt (when did he change into a polo shirt?) and tried to pull it away from his chest. It didn’t help. Panic set in as he fell to the side. His body wasn’t working. He couldn’t even move his fingers and in the distance, growing blurry, he saw what looked to be a piece of fruit and a bottle of apple juice sitting on a counter.
That’s mine, he thought. That’s mine and now I won’t have it.
Jensen was sitting up in bed with his covers thrown off even before he fully awoke. Blearily, the details of the dream seeped into his conscious mind as he sat in his dark bedroom, trying to calm his breathing. What a crazy dream, he thought, and then shivered. It had been ages since he had a nightmare, and he blamed Jennifer for it. That had to be the reason. Stress caused by the breakup being completely done, completely over. There was a good possibility that Jensen might never see her again. It was a weird thought, to know that there was absolutely nothing connecting him to Jennifer save for their shared history. Maybe that was why his subconscious mind decided a funeral would be a fun setting for a dream.
Scowling, he looked at this clock to see what time it was and stared uncomprehendingly at the blinking 12:00 before he realized he needed to reset it. First, though, he needed to take a piss and use some mouthwash, because my god, it tastes like I licked a squirrel - a dead squirrel. Not that Jensen ever actually licked a dead squirrel, or a live one for that matter, but the analogy seemed appropriate for the thick film of what the hell that was currently coating his mouth.
He handled his business in the bathroom and then recalled the blinking clock. Dammit, he thought and then took a second to try to decide what was closer - his phone that was on the coffee table or the microwave, both of which would tell him what god-awful time it was in the morning. He just wanted to reset his clock and his alarm and go back to sleep. He flipped on the light switch, and immediately realized who the alarm clock saboteur was.
A furry orange donut was curled up at the foot of his bed. The ginger cat lifted his head and blinked at Jensen slowly as if to say, How dare you disturb my slumber, mortal?.
“Misha, kitty, you know you’re not supposed to be in here,” Jensen grumbled as he scooped the cat up into his arms. He scratched the top of Misha’s head until the cat started struggling to be put down. Misha was a friendly cat, but he seemed to hate being held. Jensen was still learning the cat’s quirks. He’d found him out by the dumpsters one day after Jennifer had left him. The cat had been wearing a collar that bore the cat’s name, Misha, but no contact information for his owners. Jensen had tried to find them, to no avail, and ended up deciding to keep the cat.
“Come on, out you go.” Jensen deposited the fur ball into the hallway as he went to check the time. It wasn’t the first time Misha had unplugged his stuff; the animal had a bad habit of messing with wires when he wanted Jensen’s attention.
“What did you want this time, Meesh?” Jensen asked as he walked to the kitchen. Microwave it was, then, and he could dump some food down for the cat while he was in there, maybe check to make sure he had water. “I better have more than 30 minutes left to sleep, cat,” Jensen grumbled as he put down food. Misha circled the dish, happy with the offering. By now Jensen knew that Misha wouldn’t eat the food while Jensen stood there, so he just patted the top of the cat’s head once more and padded back to his bedroom to sleep. He shut the door firmly behind him and double checked to make sure it was latched before turning off the light and climbing back into bed. Reaching over, he reset his clock for 3:46 AM, and then set his alarm for 6:00 AM. The firm opened at 7:00 but Jensen wanted to get an early start. He was asleep in minutes.
This time, Jensen found himself standing in his apartment. He felt at home here, but something was off. Something wasn’t right. It’s the walls, Jensen realized. More specifically, it was the way they were changing colors. Shimmering somewhere between blue and grey, they were at one moment one color, the next another. That could only happen in a dream, right? Of course, Jensen reasoned. I’m dreaming. Okay.
Jensen had never been a lucid dreamer - in fact, he’d always been skeptical of anyone who claimed they were. He wondered, briefly, if he could fly if he wanted to. He decided not to try, because he’d rather get to the bottom of the sense of wrongness permeating the apartment.
He studied the walls for a minute and they settled from his pale robin’s egg blue into a soft grey. Jensen remembered this color as the one he almost bought when redecorating his apartment and had decided to repaint. Ultimately it was Alona Tal, his interior designer, who’d changed his mind, saying that the grey was too impersonal. He liked it though, this color, especially with the white molding at the top and bottom. It was relaxing, not impersonal.
Just past the kitchen, at the mouth of the hallway that led to the bedrooms there was a cluster of unfamiliar photographs hanging on the wall. All of the photos were of him, or of him and a tall, handsome man whose grin seemed to almost literally stretch from ear to ear. He had adorable dimples and in every picture he was standing as close to Jensen as he could without being inappropriately intimate. Jensen’s brow furrowed as he looked at the pictures. They wore tuxes in most of the pics, both men supremely happy. With a shock, Jensen realized these were wedding photos. He was sure of it.
It was obvious now when Jensen looked at the pictures. In one, he was standing next to this unknown man, staring up into his eyes with such adoration that he felt an ache of loss. This is a dream, he thought. He reached out and rested his fingertips on the cool glass that covered the photo. It felt so real. When he pulled his hand away he left fingerprints that soon evaporated. There was a flash of memory, of seeing this man next to a coffin, but the memory was gone as quickly as it came and Jensen knew he’d never seen this man before in his life.
He quickly looked over the rest of the pictures. Jensen and this unknown man standing next to a cake, in the next trying to feed said cake to each other as messily as possible. A candid shot of Jensen standing on a beach in swim trunks, smiling shyly at the camera, and in the next picture both of them stood on the same beach, but the tall man had attempted to sweep Jensen into his arms as if Jensen were a bride being carried across a threshold. Jensen’s face wore an expression of both amusement and shock. A wedding and a honeymoon, Jensen thought.
As he turned to take in more of his surroundings - the couch was different; didn’t look as comfortable as the one he had in real life -he became aware of how very dark it was in the apartment. It was more than just the lighting, too; there was a heaviness he could feel on his shoulders, in his stomach, and in his bones. He rolled his shoulders as if to cast off some of the weight, but it didn’t help. The heaviness was pervasive. It threaded through his veins and settled in his lungs. Jensen wanted to run from it. He wanted to turn tail and get the hell out of this warped version of his apartment.
It was then he realized that someone was sobbing - deep, hiccupping sobs that were so raw they twisted up Jensen’s insides just to hear them. He turned away from the photos as the walls flashed to blue to grey again and followed the sound into his bedroom. It was strangely dark in here as well, even though beams of light from the setting sun streamed through the window. The sobbing man on Jensen’s bed seemed to be the same guy from the photos on the wall, but to be absolutely sure Jensen needed to see his face, and it was currently buried in a pillow while the guy’s broad shoulders shook with emotion.
Well. This was awkward. Jensen bit his lower lip. Should he say something? He certainly couldn’t just stand there while this guy sobbed like his heart just got ripped out. He rapped two knuckles against the wall.
“Um, hi?” he said uncertainly, and it seemed a ridiculous thing to say to someone who was emanating so much sorrow and grief. Jensen would’ve bet money on the guy being the source of the darkness and heaviness in the apartment - it radiated from him, palpable if not visible. The man jerked his head toward Jensen, his sobs abruptly ceasing. Apparently Jensen caught him by surprise.
Maybe he has the wrong apartment, Jensen thought, and then, probably not, since this is a dream and my walls keep changing color.
“J-Jensen?”the man stuttered, staring at Jensen with wide, red-rimmed eyes. Yeah, he was definitely the guy from the photos.
“Yeah, that’s me,” Jensen smiled and tried for a bit of levity. “Do I know you? What are you -?”
Jensen’s words were cut off abruptly by the stranger launching himself bodily from the bed, hauling Jensen into his strong arms and claiming Jensen’s mouth with his own, all in the space of a few words. Shocked, Jensen stood rigid, yet for some reason he allowed it, letting this stranger hold him close and maul his mouth with his own. The kiss was sloppy - hot, wet and salty with tears. But then, something changed.
It was the most intense, heated kiss Jensen ever experienced. It stole his breath and he started to melt into it, closing his eyes and returning the kiss with fervor. He figured he may as well, since it was a dream. Finally, after thoroughly exploring each other’s mouths, the stranger pulled away and just stared at Jensen. It was a little discomfiting. Jensen struggled to form coherent thought - he felt dazed and off-kilter, like the only thing holding him on his feet was the sure, tight circle of this man’s arms. He tried to catch his breath, or say something, and failed at both.
“How are you here? Are you here? Am I dreaming?” the guy started petting Jensen’s face frantically. He threaded his fingers through Jensen’s short-cropped hair before encircling him once again in an embrace.
“I’m pretty sure I’m the one dreaming,” Jensen finally managed to say with a wry smile. “Who are you?”
The man’s brow furrowed and he pulled back a bit, loosening his grip on Jensen.
“Jensen? I’m Jared, your husband. Don’t - don’t you know me?.”
Husband. Of course he is, Jensen thought, remembering the photos he’d looked at earlier. Jared looked at him fondly and leaned in and kissed him again. This time Jensen didn’t reciprocate, but pulled away. He felt a bit like he was leading this man on. Sure, he was gorgeous and completely Jensen’s type, but he had just been sobbing on Jensen’s bed and was very obviously confused.
“J-Jared?” Jensen stammered as he lifted his hand and splayed it on Jared’s chest. “I don’t have a husband. I’m single; actually that’s a pretty recent development - a good development, if you ask my friends, but - um,” Jensen realized he was starting to ramble and this Jared guy looked stricken. “I don’t think. you should be here. I think you have the wrong apartment.”
A tear slipped from Jared’s eyes which were closed tightly now. “Please be here, Jensen. Even if you somehow don’t remember me, please just be here when I wake up. Please. Please.” The last words were barely whispered and Jensen was pulled tightly to Jared’s chest.
“Jared? I don’t understand what’s going on,” Jensen said, his own confusion evident in his voice. The hands were back, petting through his hair and tracing his features.
“Jen, my Jen,” Jared breathed and rested his forehead against Jensen’s. His eyes were still squeezed shut. “Don’t you know? You’re dead, Jensen. I buried you today.”
Previous
Next