Large wooden door, inner city that I don’t recognize. I knock. I’m answered by a smirk, and a door slam, and then the door locked from the outside, followed by yelling and a pile of things I don’t recognize. Two seconds prior, I have her pants. They are green, dark green, corduroy. This isn’t real, because this would never be her pants. How? Inside the pocket appears to be a license. No, it’s a credit card with her photo, I remember she is leaned back. This is why I walk to the door. And I’m met with anger and yelling.

“I gathered everything that reminds me of you, what the fuck do you have of mine?

Then why the FUCK are you here? I called you and hung up each time to show you it was me and to bring everything back. I also called each of tour best friends and hung up on them before deleting them.

I want you gone. That’s why I called you here. I want all of this gone. How the fuck will it look if it is still here when we get back from vacation?”

The yelling has made me stagger, and I’ve lost balance and composure. I’m weakening, and I can feel myself going elsewhere. I blink and move away quickly, and the walls are red brick. I hear her continue yelling, and very nearby. I see a pile of things I still have, but this isn’t right, I’ve never seen them before. I look at the credit card with the picture, wanting to keep it out of spite just to cause her a hassle. I’m staring at it, and see the picture is then a video. She isn’t leaning back, it is near a boxing ring or training gym. There is video, almost like an animation, and it is a string of “fighters” pretending each to hit her with boxing gloves and gear, and she pretends to be struck. The fighters morph between a cast of characters as if from a traveling show, featured fighters, and by the end she feigns a knockout and falls backwards laughing, arms outspread. She wasn’t leaned, she was posing sprawled from this memory of some boxing or MMA show. I hear the words in my head about how he is better with these things than I’ll ever be, that I’d never have the talent to make a video like that.

I’m still staring at this “credit card” when the stinging gets stronger, and then again it’s more pain. It’s too soon though, because I have no fucking clue where I am or what is going on, and especially WHY this is being shown this way. But I’ll not figure it out, the pain hits again.

It is my finger. I cant move the finger that’s in a sling, but I can move the finger that is taped. The breathing comes back next, followed by the jagged pains of my ribcage. The last thing I notice before waking entirely is a shuffling of feet from the hallway, stomping, and then past me, then back again. Angry, pouty footsteps, but it can’t be footsteps. It can only be my imagination, because now I’m awake, and I’m huddled in pain again with two throbbing broken fingers being pumped full of blood after being numbed from sleep, and a separated rib screaming for me to move my elbow away from my side.

Where was I seeing this? And still, why so much anger? Is this what haunts me and is still latched on deeply that I can’t remove? When I find it I’m going to cut it out.

And now I’ve got to go back to sleep.