⁂plane of lust
"Mmhmm." Dr. St. Claire nods and taps her pen against her chin while deep in thought, "And do you feel that there are two sides your psyche perceives? Different realities playing out at once?"
It was an arduous affair to try to explain such a notion, especially after your therapist's initial prognosis; that your subconscious wishes for both pleasure and pain, simultaneously. Manifesting as a dichotomy, it creates an unfathomable landscape in which your mind ends up searching for safety through fantasy? Yet, despite St. Claire's conjecture how then does this phenomenon seem to leave behind tangible traces upon your perception...?
Words often seemed inadequate to describe your experience: a completely separate reality but a simultaneous occurrence; a singularity occupying the same space where an action manifests its perception differently according to what world you exist within; the 'side' you perceive where reality becomes muddled with ecstasy or agony... you digress; it all feels like overthinking things—like your brain is trying to use fancy words to justify a state you don't fully understand yourself.
"Well," St. Claire leans back again and sighs, "that sounds quite complex. I'd imagine that would make it hard to articulate. Maybe if we tried something else..."
St. Clair continues to scribble notes onto her pad without looking up until she reaches the end of her page, "Let me ask you a question instead; tell me about the first time you realized that you were seeing alternate worlds?"
'The loveseat' you recollect, the moment you became aware of your predicament. It wasn't long ago really, less than two years. In hindsight it seems so obvious that everything that had happened prior was nothing compared to the shock you felt upon discovering what lay beyond the veil of sleep.
memoir; day one—
⁂plane of lust
Your muscles relax as you sink into the soft cushions. Cold to the touch, they offer little resistance to your weight. As you sink further into the couch, the surface begins to feel more like a bed than a couch. Only the faint whirring of a clock is heard as you nod off.
⁂plane of agony
The whirring desists. A slight pressure diffuses across your skin, like someone is breathing down your neck. It sounds as if something's being dragged across the floor. You open your eyes slowly; head spinning slightly from the abrupt change in perception. You take purchase with your elbows against the...cushion? It feels like you're sunk in a warm gelatinous cradle. The air is hot and thick, the sourness of blood in your mouth and warm condensation against your cheek. Your thoughts are scattered and drowsed.
The macabre surroundings are dark, but there are faint hints of light in the distance. A deep red hue permeates the air around you. Slickness seeps from beneath you, giving off a foul stench. You hesitantly pivot your head towards the source of the smell. A mass of flesh squirms beneath you. The skin is slick with sweat, but the underlying muscle feels fresh and supple in your palms. Flush up against a moist, wet mound; warmth radiates over your cheek. You reorient to a vantage position with your legs are perched over something that vaguely resembles a back with hard ridges and protrusions running along a column that reaches to the 'arm' of the couch. The 'arm' that had hugged your cheek can now be discerned to be a woman's pelvis; the soft derrière you'd used as a comforter. You push your body upward to escape the repulsive flesh only to stumble forwards into its seating as its spine shifts its weight beneath you. Your nose sits perched over the wellspring of dank pungency, while your lips meet the flesh of its hind cleavage. Warm, sticky fluid flows freely from the aperture of the vulva. You recoil in disgust, falling backwards as your head hits the floor, leaving you lying flat on your back; a brief period of lucidity passing.
⁂plane of lust
A low hum fills the air. The clock ticks like a metronome, low and rhythmic unlike the disconcerting quietness of before. A sensation; cold to the touch and rigid from beneath. You rouse in your prone position same as before, yet the macabre sights of the 'other side' no longer fills your vision. Instead you find yourself staring back into your familiar loveseat. Memories of the other plane torrent your conscious as you scrutinize the loveseat. The events that transpired on its flesh-filled variant: the sensations, smells, sounds, sights, and tastes; all those details come rushing back to you in a single, disjointed flash.
'What the hell is going on with me?!' You're left bewildered; tentatively approaching the anomalous furniture. With an apprehensive hand, you gingerly press the edge of the cushion to your face. A dour musk wafts from the fabric. You sniff again, but there's nothing there. In the comforter a small tear in the fabric, large enough for a finger, ripples and writhes as you poke through.
Something slick and rubbery lies beneath, like slipping inside of a glove, but the texture is full of ridges. You pull your hand away, but you can't help but return to it again; feeling the surface with your fingertips. A slight resistance gives way. Cotton; cotton is all you feel.
—memoir; day one
⁂plane of lust
Dr. St. Claire continues to scribble notes into her pad with her pen as her gaze remains focused upon the ceiling. Her brow furrowed as she concentrates on her task. She glances at you every now and then with the occasional glance at her watch. You continue to recount the story of what occurred when you woke up and discovered what lay beyond your sleeping mind. "You said it's always been this way?" she asks after several minutes of silence has passed between both of you.
"Always," you reply, a smile creeping onto your face, "I'm not sure how I can explain the intricacies, though."
"I can see that," Dr. St. Claire says, nodding, "but I think that might be part of the problem in understanding exactly what's happening with you; maybe we should try to simplify things; strip out anything unnecessary until we get down to the core elements of your condition. How would you describe it if I asked for a simple description?"
"Simple?" you pause for a moment and look at her for a moment, "well...there are three aspects that I've noticed are commonalities amongst these realities: anomalous furniture and other utilities, the presence of creatures within these worlds, and my own physical form being changed."
St. Clair looks at her pad and makes a few more notes. She turns and stares at the ceiling for a moment before turning back to you, "Your own form changing? What do you mean by that? Do you see yourself in an unfamiliar body or is it just a matter of appearance?"
"It's...a bit of both, but mostly appearances..." The recollection sends a shiver down your spine. It would be the first and last time you faced a mirror in the agony realm. Your distorted visage is something that would better be blotted out with alcohol than contemplated further. "Not a sight for the faint of heart," you chuckle nervously, shaking off the memory, "...and yes, I saw myself transformed in a way that were far from pleasant."
Dr. St. Claire's expression falls, her tone becoming grim, "You mentioned the creatures too. Are they humanoid creatures? Or something else entirely?"
"I can't tell what they truly are, but I am certain they are connected to us somehow," you say, "I believe they're our counterparts from the other side; mimicking our routines, yet deviating from us in many ways. They seem almost like a parody of humanity itself; the fleshy golems of the other side. I am no different from them when in 'the other side'; it's a reflection of me but grotesquely distorted. However, I feel as if there's something unique about me within 'that side' as I don't behave in such an irrational manner there."
⁂plane of lust
Dr. St. Claire leans forward and rests her elbows on her desk once again. She takes her time to compose herself and speak in a somber manner: "So, let's break it down. Let's start with the most basic and important aspect of your condition. Your dreamlike experiences are occurring during a period of sleep, correct? Is that correct? And your lucid dreaming is limited to only these particular moments. Is that correct?"
"Yes, and no. More like a trigger of some kind; a sort of switch being flicked in my brain, so to speak," you answer, "I don't believe I rest in any one plane of existence, so to speak. Like sleepwalking, it feels like a split in consciousness; a sense of dislocation from reality. Yet it is still me who is in control, even in a dream like state; I just experience the same reality, but with altered sense and perception."
"How long does this effect persist?" The doctor pauses briefly to take another sip of water before continuing, "how long can you maintain these states without waking up?"
"Until the next trigger that flips the switch, any period of unconsciousness will bring me to 'the other side' or back," you respond, "To be rested in 'this side' I have to be awake in 'that side' for the duration. I was hesitant to sleep at all for weeks on end, but sleep deprivation only brought the onset of the other plane sooner. Eventually, I adapted to a routine of taking stimulants to stay alert, but the effects wear off quickly and it can be difficult to keep the focus necessary when performing tasks. Sometimes, I can become disoriented and see anomaly in the mundane and mundane in the anomaly. It gets hard to distinguish between the two."
The doctor nods along as she writes down each point you make. After a short while, she sits upright in her chair. You notice the dark circles under her eyes and wonder if she'd slept at all. Her hair is a mess and she seems uncharacteristically distracted; not the usual level of enthusiasm you associate from the normally cheery woman.
⁂plane of lust
"Are you okay?" You ask with a concerned expression, "You seem very distant."
Dr. St. Claire glances up and meets your gaze, her face is devoid of emotion; she's wearing the mask of professional detachment that she wears when working with patients. She fidgets slightly before speaking again, "I've been having some disturbing dreams lately. Nightmares in fact, but not ones I can easily dismiss because I'm not sleeping well due to them. As for why I'm so detached today; it could be fatigue from lack of sleep, or perhaps I'm preoccupied by the nature of your condition and how similar we might be in our affliction."
"What do you mean?" you inquire, confused by Dr. St. Claire's odd behavior.
"I've been having troubling dreams too," she says softly as she looks away from your eyes, "a world as you've described it has started to manifest itself to me...and it isn't one I want to wake up to; it frightens the life out of me."
You look at the floor for a moment with a pensive expression, "Then shall we see it together?" Dr. St. Claire gives a nervous laugh at the absurdity of the notion, but you can see she's intrigued. You stand abruptly from your seat and walks towards the door turning it's lock, "No need to worry," you reassure her with a reassuring smile, "Two years have done me good."
⁂plane of lust
As soon as the door is shut behind you and locked, you turn to the doctor with an impish grin on your face. She has her hands clasped in front of her in a pleading fashion as her grey irises scan your eyes with an uncertain expression. She doesn't move for a few seconds after you close the distance between you two. "I'll nod off first so that I can lead; I don't know I'd be able to hold a conversation in that state...the other me."
St. Claire looks at her desk and back up at you, her brow furrows in a frown, "Is that wise? I wouldn't mind going in tandem, in case something happens to you..." She trails off as you smile, revealing your anesthetics in the process.
"The other side won't harm me as much as it might harm you." You wink as your voice deepened, "Besides, there are things here I would rather show you than tell you about. I promise, everything will work out fine."
⁂plane of agony
Dr. Melinda St. Claire; quite a beautiful woman, but in this plane of existence, her beauty is tainted by a gaunt visage that is bereft of all hope. Her lips are stained red with blood as her fingers dance around her throat in a macabre parody of auto-asphyxiation. Her head hangs low, its weight bearing down upon her spine as her hair dangles to the ground. The lines of her face appear more pronounced as if someone had drawn them onto her skin, giving her the appearance of a corpse.
Thankfully benign, she's not the aggressive type in this plane; instead, she merely appears lost within the tormenting realm of existence; unable to comprehend what is happening to her. You wait, abated, for the doctor to rouse in this plane until her hands fall limp. It's odd to see the queer contrast between her inhuman form in the dreamscape, and the mannerisms of the soft spoken woman who sat across from you in her office.
⁂plane of agony
"Hello, Doctor," your voice sounds like gravel scraping against the inside of a stone. She stirs beneath your touch as you grasp her shoulders to pull her up from the bed, her cavernous eyes open wide at her awakening. She lets out an involuntary scream at your touch and struggles to free herself; jolted by your disfigured appearance.
You release her and step back to observe her reaction to her surroundings and yourself. "It's alright; it's just us now." Your words barely leave your mouth when her hand shoots up and grabs her neck. In the dreamlike plane, her actions come as natural as breathing. Her pale skin is covered with cuts and bruises and the remnants of dried blood stain her fingers and palm. She's trembling timidly as crimson tears stream freely down her cheeks and her chest heaves with labored breaths. "Dr. St. Claire," you call her name with a soothing tone, hoping that would calm her down enough for you to explain what is going on, "please, it's just me."
"Just you?" she asks in a hoarse whisper, "Your so-" her eyes dart away from your face; she turns to the window to avoid looking at your distorted visage, "This is you?"
⁂plane of agony
"Yes," you reply in the same monotone, "this is me...this is what I am," The doctor swallows nervously as her void-like eyes scan your features. "and what you are, Dr. St. Claire. Not a suggestion, avoid mirrors for your own sanity." She gasps at the revelation and her grip tightens on her neck once again. "And refrain from doing that, please."
She releases a sigh as her body relaxes and her hands drop to her side, "I see. So, we're here," she nods slowly, "in hell or so it seems."
"Does this place not seem familiar to you?" You ask her as you examine the room pointing out all of it's discernable parallels with her office. "We haven't left, you know."
The doctor looks away as she shakes her head in confusion, "No, I mean yes but no..." She trails off as realization dawns on her features, "...I see now."
"Do you understand now?" you ask the woman who stares at you with rapt attention. She gives you a sad smile, her hollowed eyes are fixed upon yours, unnervingly. She nods slowly and takes a hesitant step closer to you, "Then let us begin." Her voice cracks and her lips tremble when she speaks, "