2.2.18

The neon lights of the club dripped down fluorescent liquid, landing in splotches on the black floor. Aside from this, everything was dark through the various flashes casting spotlights on the black leather couches and those who occupied them.
Still, stumbling through the dark I headed to the bathroom.
The doors of the stalls were mirrored, but two-ways.
Blue fluid, like melted candy, yet tasteless, sticky and slow poured out of me, falling slowly into the porcelain thrown my head hung in.
She waltzed into the bathroom, I could hear the door slam shut.
Despite the mirrors, I could still see her while still seeing my reflection.
My reflection... I saw it perfectly.
That was the first thing that made it hard to recognize it as a dream -- my reflection was the same as real life, none of it was off, all of it made sense.
"I still hate you," she said.
I came out of the stall, the bathroom was brightly lit, perfectly lit, actually, unlike the main club that took place outside.
I stood in front of the sink, once again looking at my reflection. I pulled my phone out of my pocket to check the time twice, both times it stayed the same.
That was another thing that made it feel just so real.
A guy barges into the bathroom and stands right next to me.
I could feel my own confusion.
Then, he puts his hands on my waist, while I stare at our reflection in the mirror, watching him do this. He spins me around, forcefully pulling me towards him.
I woke up with tears running down my face, grasping at the side of my waist and touching my lips to a beautiful relief that the only hand on my waistline was my own, the only lips on my face were mine, too.
This part made it feel too real and too afraid to go back to sleep for another four hours because once again, I'm not even safe in my own dreams.
They're nightmares in disguise until I reach the very end.