When I awake it’s dark outside, it always is. I know this dream by now, it’s the same sequence of events with a little embellishment here and there, just enough to keep things interesting and allow my subconscious to express itself in a montage of death and terror.
Frustrated, I yank back the sheets and stumble upright, my legs shaking and my head still reeling. My mouth is dry and my tongue swollen; lips glued together with drool. I hunt in the dark for water, but there’s nothing nearby I’d want to drink from. I make out the shape of the bedroom door and head for it, failing to avoid several heavy and painful objects that are spread across the floor. I flail for the light switch, and as my hand makes contact I realise there’s somebody else in the room.
Nina is in the bed, I can see the curve of her thigh and hips beneath the covers, her raucous laugh echoes around the small room as she squirms. She’s calling me back to bed, and my hangover is suddenly forgotten. I step over the lumpen objects that are sprawled across the floor and reach out to run my hand over the small of her back. My fingers make contact with warm, soft skin, running from the base of her spine to the nape of her neck, eliciting a long, deep sigh.
Nina moans, a noise that stirs something deep in my heart, and her leg appears from the corner of the sheets. The white cotton slides back in slow motion, every inch of flesh pulling the breath tighter in my chest. This is wrong, there’s something different here that I can’t control. Clare’s naked body lies exposed on the bed, her limbs writhing with pleasure as my fingers work between her legs. She comes with a scream of ecstasy, pressing her thighs together so tight that my hand is crushed between them, the pain sweet, beautiful, overwhelming. As I fall to the floor the last thing I see is Clare’s face smiling up at me.
Outside the house, the bus is waiting. I’m not dressed, not ready, but I know the driver doesn’t want excuses, so I step out naked into the street. Clare is right there with me, and she passes an approving eye over my bare skin. Gripping her hand, we step onto the bus together.
The driver is waiting, his bleached skeleton dressed in the ragged remnants of his black clothing and white dog collar, a wooden crucifix hanging from his neck. I don’t have my Oyster card, but that’s not important any more, so Clare and I just walk aboard. My hand holds Clare’s in a loose grip that she slips out of, only to interlock our fingers. The seats of the bus are empty, and we climb up the steps to sit at the front on the top deck. Clare winks at me and dips her head down to start sucking on my cock. I take a long, deep breath, and tell her how much I love her. The bus starts moving.
I’ve fallen asleep again. I know this because it’s light outside now and the bus isn’t moving. Clare’s head is resting in my lap, her long blonde hair draped over my thighs. I wake her, and we descend to the lower deck. Each of the seats now holds a small pile of clothing, neatly folded, and a small gravestone. The dates all show that the person died on February tenth, two thousand and eight. There are no names. One seat has no gravestones, but instead has two leather collars. Clare picks one up and examines it, handing it to me. She takes the other and puts it around her neck, a perfect fit.
Outside I know that there’s nobody moving. I can smell smoke in the air, and somewhere in the distance a church bell is sounding. The Colosseum is empty apart from the pyre, which is blazing with a heat that warms us even at this distance. A bellowing laugh comes from the blaze, a fond farewell with a thick Russian accent. Clare and I turn to each other, and within moments we’re kissing, touching, her legs wrapped around me as we fuck desperately on the dry, dusty stone floor.
London’s on fire. That’s pretty much all I can see from this far away. A plume of smoke about a mile wide is rising from the direction of Kensington, and on the breeze I can hear the laughter of a young woman, her voice calling me to join her. I take a deep breath, willing the fire to engulf the city, and it does, rising up to burn away the last remnants of my old life.
I awake to find Clare cradling my head against her breast, her fingers running through my hair. I turn to be able to see her face, and she’s smiling down at me, a vision of beauty in the pre-dawn light that fills the room. I know at that moment that I love her more than anything.
She’s my salvation.