Dream On

by Jennifer Hartmann

“Yes. I just got this car. It was my first day on the road with it.”

“The goody-goody type. Figures.” “No. I just like to sing.”

“Stevie,” he drawls. “Stevie who sings.” “So?” “Maybe I’ll call you Nicks.”

“I’m Lex. Lexington Hall.”

“Eventually, you’ll realize there are no good days. There are just days, nights, and all the monotonous bullshit in between.”

When my gaze skates from Lex’s shirt to his face, a metallic knot forms in the back of my throat. He looks at me. His glacial eyes lift, locking on mine as he leans back on his palms. And I know one thing to be true. It’s the blue I’ll remember.

“Underwhelming.” I can’t help the little choking sound that falls out. His opinion of me shouldn’t hurt this much, but it does, it really does, so it’s impossible to wipe the dumbstruck look off my face as I stand there in all my underwhelming glory, gaping at him like he just jammed a dull blade through my chest.

She says grudges hold power when you have no other leverage.

At dinnertime, we go around the table and share a highlight of our day. There’s always a standout moment. Something small, something buried, something hidden in the monotonous routine, eager to take center stage. We share an achievement, a milestone, or a breakthrough every night, even on the bad days.

It was my highlight. But to them, it was just a gaping absence that no swing set or sunny afternoon could ever fill. A reminder of everything we’ve lost.

He emanates anger and bone-deep pain, not from the lines he’s rehearsing but from something else. Something I’ll probably never understand.

But dreams aren’t always rainbows and sunny skies. Sometimes they clash with your worst nightmare.

tear my eyes away from hers and shove back the dark memories trying to claw their way through me. I can’t let her see. Can’t let her know.

“You’ve changed.” Maybe I have. But it wasn’t by choice. The world changed me.

Her audition took my breath away. Maybe I’ll tell her that. Someday.

“I’ve never seen anyone like you before.”

“Yeah. Bianca managed to set it up.” The name alone is sulfuric acid on my tongue.

We all have our coping mechanisms, and mine is dissociating—it’s an undervalued superpower.

While my father flashes smiles for clients and charms juries into setting monsters free, at home, it’s him—he’s the true monster. And I’m the one left to face the real cross-examination.

as sunlight from the dormer window hits her just right and makes her look like an angel. She sings like one, so it suits her, I guess.

“You look tired.” I take another sip from the mug, and it’s the only shot of life to these cold veins. “I’m always tired, Nicks.”

Underwhelming. Guilt eats at me. I don’t know why I said that shit to her, but I guess it’s because I’m a master at keeping people at arm’s length. Especially women.

“You’re more than that. You’re inspiring, compelling, and you’re…” His eyes become hooded, jaw tensing. “You’re beautiful.”

“And I’m sorry.”

I know exactly what he was doing: he was apologizing for the things he said on Friday. But that doesn’t change anything. At the end of the day, I’m the tragic artist in our real-life show. And he’s the sparkling diamond.

“I hate him. I hate him so much, and I wish I could hate my mother too, but I don’t. I know she loved me once, and maybe she still does, in some twisted way. But he never did.”

“I have nightmares,” he says, his voice plagued. “But then I wake up…and the nightmares don’t go away.”

“Anyway, I know what it’s like to lose love. Sometimes by death, sometimes by choice. Either way, the hardest part is that the love still lingers, even after that person is gone. You can’t escape it. You have nowhere to put it. So you just let it fill you up with all these hopeless feelings and memories, and it weighs you down. And it hurts.”

But deep down, I know we’re not the same. I’m afraid I won’t wake up. Lex is afraid he will.

Bianca. She’s naked on the bed, hooking an index finger at me. “Come, Lex. I want to play with you.” Techno music pounds. The closet morphs into a dark room. I glance down, and I’m not a little boy anymore. I feel drunk, confused, out of my head.

The ache between my ribs amplifies. But it’s not pain. It’s like my heart grew a couple of sizes and is pressing against my chest, making me feel lightheaded.

The black dress hugs her curves, and the burgundy stain on her lips has her skin shimmering like winter snow, her green eyes looking two shades lighter. “You look nice.”

“I want movie sets and bright lights and cameras capturing every detail. I want to walk red carpets and see my name in big letters on posters and marquees. I want to work with directors who push me to my limits and costars who inspire me. I want to provide for my family in the same way they’ve struggled, saved, and sacrificed for me. I want to be part of stories that reach millions, that make people laugh, cry, and dream.” Her eyes glaze over with star-studded galaxies. “That’s what I want. That’s my dream.”

“Dream on, Nicks.”

“You can help by taking your fucking hands off her.” Lex pushes back, angrier, with more force.

I love cold weather: hoodies, beanies, snuggly socks, and fireplace warmth. Give me snowflakes over summer sweat any day.

Sorry about your car. The light was definitely red.

There’s something else, something that cracks my heart into a million pieces and tapes it back together at the same time. Sitting inside the cupholder is a giant cup of iced coffee.

No one cares about my personality, about what makes me tick and cry and bleed and laugh. Not until…

As the song fades out, Lex whispers softly, “I’ve never seen anyone like her before.”

The motion has my eyes popping back open, gaze crashing with storm-licked blue. We stare at each other for a beat, for a breath, before he tugs me against his mouth in a wholly unanticipated kiss.

And he holds it, he does, but what he’s really holding is my heart in his hands. Lex…kisses me. His tongue slides past my lips and fuses with mine.

She’s just a background actor in my one-man show, and this life is a piss-poor stage.

Bianca’s eyes flash across my vision—deep brown with hints of gold, a deceptive sunny glimmer that masks true darkness. I trusted her. She was like a mother to me.

He kissed me. He kissed me like I was his, like I was everything, and part of me wants that to be true—to take our relationship to the next level, to experience heart-tingling romance for the first time, just like our characters.

“The quiet,” he says. “The quiet doesn’t sound as loud when you’re around.”

“Lex—please, let me go. I said I’ll be fine. It’s not that far.” My bruised ego is clearly doing the talking; I won’t be fine. It’s freezing, my heart is in shreds, and my tears are turning to icicles on my cheeks.

She loves me. She does. It’s impossible to simulate love when it pours from the soul in chords and lyrics. A lyrical love. It can’t be faked.

I fucking fell asleep and did this. I’ll never forgive myself. Pressure burns behind my eyes, my temples pounding with guilt. My self-destruction became her destruction. I did this.

Our eyes meet for a stopped breath, and we hold, something passing between us, something that sneaks inside my soul and rots it from the inside out. I’ve lost her. No more piano chords to mend my restless heart. No more rooftops, hand-holding, or catnaps beneath her walnut tree. No more comfort. No more music. In this moment, it’s clear—she’ll never sing to me again.