Point of no return

I have a final in four hours and I don't think I'm going to pass.  Should have started studying at three pm, should have--but then a message and a smile and a tear and after that it was all pillows and stuffed animals and sleep. 
Sleep, for hours upon hours and in my dreams I was nineteen again and I was a goddess.  Dream me thinks she's beautiful, she's never been told otherwise.  She puts on makeup and then wipes it off slightly, precisely tousling her hair and replying to her someone special "I was just about to go to bed, but if you want to come over...." Dream me was both a slut and an innocent. 
All of a sudden I'm awake and there is a name on my lips, the same one I've been calling out in my sleep for months now (so my roommates tell me) only now it's forbidden fruit.
Damn it, this is the first time in days.  I am happy, was happy, will be happy?  I know I get the twinges, the pain in my chest; outwardly I feign graciousness but inwardly I have to hate you, at least for a while, for self-preservation's sake. 
I know what happened, all that happened, I've known since the beginning.  I know that my friends have told me one by one that they wouldn't attend a wedding, if it happened-and still I dreamed in white organza. 
"Thank God," they say, and I parrot-
"Thank God, Thank God I'm only mostly broken, thank God I have a semester left to act like and idiot.  I didn't want love really, not now-right?  Thank God I finally admitted what I have always know the truth to be."  So, with all my thanks, why do I suddenly regret my acceptance of the truth?
I am worth more, I know.  I'm worth more than the fear, more that the pain, the mysterious bruises and the soreness that lasts for days. 
He tells me he's wanted this forever, he tells me that I'm beautiful, I'm sexy.  It seems a cruel game to me, the compliments of all the things that were once pointed out as flaws.  I can't have a nice derriere, my waist is too big and my eyes not blue enough.  He is sweet though, and yes it makes me happy.  Not loved, but happy enough to giggle at the sound of my phone's vibration. 
I said, the next time I gave myself it would be to the man I married.  I won't marry him, and it's hard-so hard, not to revoke my oath.  But I won't-I can't.  I know I'm purer than that, I know that I am still saving myself, in a way.  One day I will have my white dress with it's cap sleeves and Victorian corset and bustle; and when that man goes down on his knee I will tell him a thousand times yes-but only if I can take his last name and truly belong to him as he belongs to me.  On that day, maybe, I'll think about brown eyes and hair that sticks up too much in the back.  Maybe not. 
God knows that now the dreams started again, they won't stop.  I'll push away sleep for as long as I can in the hope that when I do fall into it, it will be dreamless. 
I am happy, so much happier than before- I am not scared anymore and I have rediscovered spontaneity and enthusiasm for life. 
Now though, it's 5:26 am and I am so scared of my immanent failure, I would give anything to hear one sound of comfort from a familiar voice.  The voice would tell me to stop stressing and get my shit done, and that would make me oh-so angry but even in my anger there would be comfort. 
Instead, I close my eyes and try to return to my dream world and the girl in it who is still loved.