In her dream she is lying down, on her bed.
The dreams are confusing and full of flickering images. The world spins fast, too fast, died blue by the colour of the very last vodka shot.
Why was it blue? What makes vodka blue?
Chemistry. Blue chemistry powerful enough to die dreams.
When she wakes up she is lying down, on her bed.
She keeps her eyes closed. The world keeps spinning. It is still blue. She waits for the usual wave of emotion. The normal state of anguish and regret she always gets after a visit to the vodka bar.
But something is wrong. Neither anguish nor regret. This feeling is new. She can not yet define it.
The blue shot was actually the first, not the last.
Memories shaken up in a stainless steel shaker, and sieved out into a too small cocktail glass. Some thoughts are missing. Did not fit in the glass and spilled over the edge.
More shots followed, in that dreadful place with all the vodka. All the cheap vodka, which leaves burn marks and regrets, but no memories.
She still waits for the anguish to engulf her as she is lying on her bed. The usual wave of panic and memory loss and confusion. It still refuses to come. Her lack of confusion makes her confused. She still can not pinpoint what she is feeling. That new emotion.
The vodka kept flowing as freely as the conversation and the laughter. The arm around her shoulder walking up the narrow alley. Scary narrow alley in a gothic city. Ghosts and ghouls hovered around her head, stirring all the vodka, on their the steep climb up the wet cobble stones. But she was safe. Held.
Is this new emotion safety? Yes. A fragment of it is safety. But it is more complex. Hard to define.
After-parties with guitars are the worst. But this one was ok. Not too many riffs, complex finger movements and general wanking of the frets. Instead it was filled with blues and soft notes, wrapping the vodka-filled skull in cotton balls, straight off the cotton fields. The arm was back around her shoulder and the laugh was back in her throat. Her lips felt too dry.
Now she knows. When she has identified the new emotion, she opens up her eyes. The world spins for another second or two, still faintly blue. He is there. The arm over her shoulder. And she knows.