Dreamland

Finally, after some time, everyone began to calm down.

We sat down to eat and chat, though my father tried to avoid looking at my face, which now bore that tattoo. Despite catching him stealing glances, he said nothing about it. My mother had strictly forbidden any discussion on the matter, and I was grateful for her intervention.

As the night wore on, they came to realize that the situation wasn't as dire as they had first thought and decided to return home early the next morning.

We talked at length, and in the end, I gathered the courage to ask some questions to get more info from them about my specific problems. Though I asked about any unusual family members, their answers left me feeling disappointed. They were a bit surprised but pleased with my newfound interest in our family's history and provided me with a wealth of completely useless information. I learned that one uncle was a painter and struggled to survive, and the relatives were helping him by secretly buying his paintings, a cousin was working in a music studio, and so on.

When it came time to sleep, they settled into the living room, with Clara in Lola's room and Lola's parents in Clara's room.

After I went to bed, I could not find rest. It was already late in the night as I turned left and right, trying to sleep, but my thoughts were, again and again, wandering at the day's events, not giving me peace.

It was then that the door to my room was opened with much care to make any noise. In the doorframe, I saw the apparition of Lola barefoot and in a nightgown. She closed the door carefully, came near my bed, put a knee on it, and whispered in my ear:

“May I?”

I shrugged. She was already half in, so why ask?

“Sure.”

I made her some room near me, and she crawled hastily under the blanket. She breathed satisfied, turned, looked at me with her big blue eyes, and flatly said:

“I cannot sleep.”

I huffed.

“Me neither.”

She prodded me in the chest with her finger and asked,

“And you, have you told that doctor about your tattoo? What did he say?”

I did not expect that question. I hastily replied that yes, I did it, and the doctor had explained to me that this was a washable tattoo that would vanish in about two weeks.

I wanted her to stop asking about my tattoo, but that was the wrong answer.

Lola was taken aback.

“You're kidding me? And you told me it happened with the dream interface? So this is not psychosomatic or something? How did you get it?”

Uh, oh. What do I say now? I needed a bigger lie to cover that lie.

“Yeah. That's what I thought, but it came out it was different. You know, I played together with some guys last time when I was in Dreamland. When I got the tattoo there in Dreamland, they put it on me in real life as a prank. I think the Dreamland tattoo was already part of the prank. Those idiots! Those guys are gonna suffer!”

There, I saved it! I already felt beads of sweat gathering on my forefront. Her eyes went round in surprise.

“Some guys did this to you? How did they manage it? Were you naked when you played? If you had the interface over your head, would you be unaware if someone touched you in real life? They could have done anything while you were unconscious!”

Oh. Uh. Ahm. Preoccupied and sweating about my temporary tattoo lie, I did not realize I was implying that those guys must have painted my body freely to make this damn tattoo. Why did I not properly prepare the lie before?

“No, it was a girl, ah, normally you do feel, ahm...they… ahm… maybe I drank too much, and I did not feel it?”

OK, now I implied that I was drunk. She's gonna think that I was so drunk that they could paint me freely. Oh, fuck, could I invent something else? What could I say?

Ugh, now I'll have to stay with the lie.

Oh, double fuck, my parents will hear about this garbage soon enough.

She saw my fear, and she grinned.

"Don't worry; I will not rat you out."

I sighed. She will tell Clara, Clara will tell everybody else, and my parents will be the last to learn it from their parents.

However, the theory was not absurd, even if not true.

If I didn’t have the-fairy-that-could-spell inside my head, I would think something like this happened: I was given KO-droplets, and somebody tattoed me.

But the spelling-fairy changed everything.

She found it amusing:

“I want one too! What pencil did they use? Who made it? How did they do it? It is very intricate, with so many small details! It is an artist's work, done only for a prank!? How long did it take to make it?”

Oh shit! At least now I do not have to further invent anything; I explained that I had no clue, it was a prank, but I'll investigate.

I was happy that she had bought my lie. Forgotten was the panic with the dream interface; she was only a bit disappointed about that, but she warned me that bad things might happen if I'll continue to play.

Yes, I know; she belongs to those people who hate the dream interface and would never use one. Not everybody can use one, but the number of people who refuse to use the dream interface is greater than the number of those who genuinely cannot, for various reasons, use it. Some incompatibilities exist; some people cannot simply work with one; they start panicking instead of falling slowly into the dream state. I think it is primarily psychological, but what do I know?

Well, in the end, she fell asleep, and shortly after that, I did.

Pain from my burned hands woke me up a couple of times.

Near me, Lola was weeping and mumbling in her sleep. I think she was also suffering from her burnings. Self-inflicted. Don't remind me!

When I could not sleep, I chatted with my alter ego in one such episode. She could not understand why I refused to heal. She even promised she could make the wounds look the same, but I could be completely restored underneath, but I still refused.

I had a long conversation with her.

“Did you save me from the car? How did I land there unharmed? Or did you heal me?”

“No, it does not work like this; I cannot heal you or do anything unless you let me lead. This is why I asked you to heal Lola. I could not do it myself. I haven't done anything. All you have done, you did it yourself.”

Yep. And that is the point. All I have done, I did it myself. I. Did. It. Myself. I am a witch. Talking with the creation of one of my spells will not help me solve my problems. She cannot tell me more than what I know already. I cannot unspell her like this; I need to be careful not to do more harm than good. I have no idea how this shit works, how it did happen, or where was the relationship with the game.

Because she is from there, so I did something being 'there.'

However, if I did this to myself there, in 'the other world,' the fix could also be there 'in the other world.' I'll go there and get rid of her, as she already said it could be done. Once done 'in the other world,' I should be free of her here too. As simple as that.

There is this little problem that the game is currently inaccessible. I'll see if the gamers find a solution; maybe there are still clusters of computers running with enough of the game to have at least part of the world active. If not, I'll find another solution.

With this in my head, I could finally sleep.

After they saw that I was still in one piece and after telling me a thousand times to be very careful, my parents had to leave as pa had to go back to his shop. I was not very sorry that they left, as I would not be able to bear so much extra care and worries comfortably.

I do love them a lot, but I got used to my independence, and having them living in the living room was a bit too much of an oversight for me.

I did not dare to talk to them about my real problems. I tried to make them talk about our relatives; I asked questions if we ever had something unusual in the family, but there was no such case they could think of. They only looked at me, not understanding what I wanted. Was there any problem?

When ma kissed me goodbye, I saw it in her eyes. She only said:

“Take good care of yourself. Love you!”

I watched their taxi until it disappeared around the corner with mixed feelings: on one side, I was sad to be left alone. I will miss them. I already missed them. On the other side, I was happy to be left alone.

It was a lovely sunny day. Everything looked so innocent around.

I sighed. I felt guilty.

I haven’t told them all the truth, and ma felt it. She knows when I try to hide something from her. Pa cannot imagine that I could lie to him or hide anything from him. He is so naive. But ma knows somehow, 'take good care of yourself,' she said, but there was much more that she wanted to say in that sentence.

I spent most of the next two days in bed. It would have been a lie to tell that the accident, especially the burned tissue, did not affect my health. Even if the fairy did a little spell to accelerate my healing, I was still recovering when Lola came to me. It was Wednesday, the third day since the accident.

My hair was no longer such a mess as ma had helped me cut it short, and I was just thinking about painting myself some brows when she entered the room.

As she saw me, she took a deep breath.

“I think we both need some fresh air. Tim sent me a mail to remind me to go to his party. We should both go!”

I laughed out loud.

“We both look pretty well for a party, don’t we?”

She looked at her hand, then at mine. Well, actually, her hand was looking better.

“Your face looks good on one side; you should show only your profile for any photos.”

Fuck, is she speaking seriously!?

She continued:

“I need to go to the party. I need to see what Tim does!”

Ah. That's the point. Well, as little as I know her boyfriend, I think that he will not miss her that much… or, better said, he will find ways to find solace and comfort.

“Look,” - I finally answered - “... about Tim, sooner or later you’ll find out what he does, don't take it too seriously...”

Now, this was a reasonable sentence I managed to put together, but her reaction was not very enthusiastic about it:

“How can you talk like this? I love him. What is he doing? Why was he not visiting me today?”

“He was here yesterday.”

“Yes, yesterday. But today? Why does he send me a mail: I know dear that you are ill, sorry you can’t come….”

Wait, did she not say before that he reminded her to go to the party? Never mind, if I would ever mention this, she would only start to cry...

“He was probably busy with work from the school... Anyhow I hate these parties during the week.”

“He previously said he makes the party only for me...”

“Oh...”

“And now he is making it even if I can’t go. This drives me crazy. Why does he do this to me? Why?”

“Maybe he invited a lot of his friends. Should he cancel the party if you don’t go?”

“Yes, he should. Wouldn’t you do it? If you knew your boyfriend had an accident and was sick, would you not cancel your party and stay with him? “

“Hm. I think I would.”

“Why is he having the party?”

“What did he say?”

“Well, he said that it is not only his party, but it is also organized with his connection together, and they have to help each other; therefore, he 'must do it.'”

“Well, that explains it, isn't it?”

“What would you do? Would you stay at the party or go to your loved one?”

“If you would make a party with Clara and Tim would stretch his hand playing basketball, would you cancel the party for him?”

Bad example. She proved it immediately:

“He would come here with his stretched hand; that is no excuse not to come to my party. Look, I want to know what he does. I need to see him. I want to go!”

Fuck, why do I try to convince her? It is her parents that do not let her go.

“You’ll have a problem with your parents; they do not let you go.”

“I thought we could go from your room. We could leave….”

Oh, this is what she wants!?

I cut her short.

“No!”

“Please?”

“No. It is not possible; Clara will come looking for you. She will find out that we left.”

“She didn’t the other night? She is happy if I leave her alone!”

“It is afternoon now.”

“Yes, we will leave only in the evening. I'll go alone if you do not go; you just need to cover for me as long I am missing.”

Now this is just asking for trouble. I could imagine hundreds of ways how it would happen; if she would not fall down from my window when leaving, she would probably do it when coming back, or she would be back too late because she would stay there with Tim for just a nap, or there will be a meltdown scene, and she will come back running through the main door crying, or her sister will have something essential to talk with her when she is supposedly in my room. No way I can do that for her with the Robertsons here...

But I know Lola, and if I try to say no, she'll just keep pushing until I give in. She always does that, and I always lose.

“Look, I will do it for you; I will see what he does. Is this OK.?”

“Will you do this? Will you tell me whatever he does? But please don't lie to me!”

I hate to do this. But I will do it.

“Sure.”