by Anne Eliot
I shake my head ‘no’ and reach up and grip his forearm. Desperate. “Gray…” I'm afraid to ask him this question but I have no other choice. My level of exhaustion is terrifying to me. I meet his gaze.
“What is it?” he frowns, concerned.
“You have to wake me up if you think I'm having a dream. Any dream at all. It's dark outside and I…you know. Please. It's important. Don't leave me here alone.”
He nods and his face goes pale. “Of course. Don't worry.”
“Promise?”
He takes in a deep breath and gently takes my hand, giving it a squeeze. “I'm not going anywhere. Because when you wake up, we are going to talk.” His voice already sounds too far away. My eyelids feel as though someone or something is turning a crank to force them shut.
“Just don't leave me. Please.”
...
Wait. Don't leave me. Please don't leave me here.
A white sheet floats suspended over me like a cloud…like a snowstorm, a shroud.
It descends over my body and I'm cold. Afraid. Alone.
Wait. Don't leave me. Please don't leave me here!
I fight and claw against the white but I can't move my arms or my legs. Terror sets in.
I do not want this. I do not want to be here. I shouldn't fall asleep. I think Gray's hand is still holding mine …but the white has already taken over and I'm crying but I mustn't… I shouldn't… I need to stay in control.
Gray, please. Don't leave me. Please!
You're a very lucky girl. Lucky. Lucky girl.
Let's go. Dude. Nothing happened. Let's go.
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I can't untie the knot.
I'm sorry. Jess. I'm so sorry… Jess…
...
“I'm sorry. Jess. I'm so sorry. Are you okay?”
Someone's screaming and crying. Is that me?
I open my eyes. Gray is holding my hand and his eyes… his face… his voice are inside me and outside of me all at the same time.
Oh God. His voice. His face. Why is he here? He looks as frightened as I feel. I don't understand anything beyond the images pulsing through me. A silver belt buckle. Seashells in a crystal bowl. The line of my own blood seeping down my arm. I can't figure out what's real. I let my gaze travel past Gray's face to the room. I'm searching for my clock, my jellyfish lamp. My posters. The shaking sets in like I've been hit with a train.
Suddenly the sounds in the room are all too loud as I realize what's happening.
I'm crying uncontrollably. Awake in Gray Porter's room. He's holding my hand and I've had a terrible nightmare. I'm not okay.
I try to gain control of my body but it's too late. I'm crying so hard I can hardly begin the counting…one… two… three…
Everything goes black as the nausea sets in and my stomach rolls. I bite the insides of my cheeks as hard as possible.
Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
I haven't vomited after this stupid nightmare for almost two years. No way am I going to do it in Gray Porter's bed!
Nine. Breathe. Ten. Breathe. Eleven. Breathe. Twelve…
My focus clears a little when I reach 100. For the first time, I notice Gray's grandmother is standing in the doorway. Her face is distorted with anguish, fear and possibly repulsion.
All for me.
Gray hasn't left my side. His mouth has been moving constantly. I strive to make sense of his words.
“You were sleeping so deeply—and then—shit. Jess. Talk to me. I'm so sorry,” he says, like this is somehow his fault.
Make him stop saying that!
I want to scream as the images return: The police officer's gun snapped to his side, a blue tie on my wrist and white. Too much white.
I purse my lips and work to swallow the lump of bile.
I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry.
You're a very lucky girl.
I'm going crazy. Someone help me stop my thoughts. The images. Stop everything.
I place my hands over my ears and press as tightly as I can until my ears throb. I count and count until the only sound I hear is a rushing river of buzzing. Until floating numbers are the only images flashing through my head.
I take stock of what I can feel which is mostly a terrible ache in my bones from trying to suppress all my shaking. My heart hurts as well.
There is also Gray's hand gently smoothing-smoothing-smoothing the hair against my temple. Knowing Gray has already seen the worst, I meet his gaze and let the tears fall unchecked.
“Shh. Shh. You're okay. Jess. You're okay. It's over.”
I cry until the pillow under my head is soaked—until I reach number 789. But still the terror won't fade away. I wonder if there's a possibility I'm on the brink of remembering, or if this is simply me, running through the last shreds of my sanity. If I've transposed Gray all the way into the end of my nightmare then I've gone over the edge. I'll never be better. I'm worse. Way worse.
789 is beyond any number I've ever recorded. Maybe I'd gone too far, not sleeping and imagining things I shouldn't. Like, me being with Gray.
And now, whether I'm asleep or awake, I can't sort out what is real and what is not.
I cry louder. Harder. This is totally my fault.
“Honey. Are you going to be okay?” Gray's grandmother moves closer to the bed.
No. No. I'm never going to be okay. Never!
I continue to sob and count. I'm at 862, with no end in sight.
God, how I want my jellyfish lamp right now.
“Jess. I'm right here. Look at me. You're not alone. I'm here.” His hand is the only thing that feels right in this whole mess. I work to focus on the little specks in his irises. I tell myself to wait until I see the gold appear, and then I'll be able to talk.
“Jess. Can you hear me?” I grip his hand and hope he understands that I do.
He's using the back of his other hand to gently wipe away some tears. “Don't cry anymore. It's breaking my heart. Should I call your parents? Nod if you need them here.”
I shake my head and stare only at his eyes. They're helping.
“I'm going to call an ambulance and her parents. I think she's having some sort of breakdown. Gray, this could be dangerous.” Gran walks nearer and bends toward my face. “Honey. Can you hear me? Give us some sign that you can hear us. Please.”
I gasp, trying hard. “Almost over. Wait. D—don't call anyone.” I finally find the strength to pull in a full breath. The images fade slightly and the shaking begins to subside. “I'm okay,” I manage to lie.
I stopped at 932. There's nothing okay about 932.
“I screamed.” My throat feels like shredded sandpaper. “That was me, right?”
“Yes. But mostly you cried. I couldn't wake you.” Gray's voice is shaking too. He looks so distraught, I feel sorry for him.
Though I'm not near ready, I sit up, hoping to assure him and Gran that I'm okay.
It's a mistake. The room and the bed spin in opposite directions. The black spots return with a vengeance. I can't balance at all. Gray moves to sit beside me, places his arm around my shoulders and draws me into him. “Jesus. Hang on.” He says, voice lower than low and tightens his grip.
“Don't worry, I know how to do this,” I lie again, leaning all of my weight on him, beyond grateful that he's there.
Gray grabs the blanket, covers me back into the soft blue warmth and rests his chin on my head.
“I've got you.”
Gran appears, offering me a damp washcloth. I take it and wipe my face. “Thanks.”
“This happens often?” Gran asks.
“Gran! She doesn't have to talk about it. You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, Jess.” Gray takes the washcloth out of my motionless hand and wipes away the latest flood of silent tears.
I meet Gran's gaze. “The screaming started this summer, but the nightmare is not. Unfortunately the crying part is a constant, lucky side effect. Sorry you had to wi
tness it.” I pull in a ragged breath. “I've gone through endless variations. When I wake up, it's always like this. Shaking, zero balance, inability to walk or speak. But not for long. You'll see. It's almost over.”
I eek out a small smile and try to make light of it, but my voice is not quite ready to rally into quip mode. I sound like a rusted gate, as I continue, “I'm like a CD that plays only one song. One with a skip in it. It's not so bad. Really. Lots of people have recurring nightmares. I'm just one of millions, I suppose. Hope I didn't scare you too much.”
Gray's breath moves the hair on top of my head. I wonder what he and his Grandmother really think now that they've seen me like this.
“I'm… um… do you have anything I could drink?” I ask, when neither seems able to respond.
“Oh. You poor, poor dear. I'll go re-warm that pot of tea. Gray, will you be okay with her alone?” Her voice says she thinks there's still a chance I'm going to float up to the ceiling, let my head spin around, and spit knives at him or something. I feel him nod. When Gran leaves the room, I lay my head on Gray's warm shoulder and close my eyes.
He holds me like this until the shaking stops.
He holds me until I can't imagine facing another nightmare without him holding me—just like this. I shudder at that thought. It's a bad thing for me to stay in his arms, feeling this safe and good. I need to stop leaning on him. When did I start relying on him so much? He's made me so weak. I can't find the girl I used to be before I'd hired him. The one who'd been able to haul loads of personal crap around all alone and still maintain a 4.0 GPA.
The girl who is not and never was in love with Gray Porter.
This guy being my boyfriend is fiction, so my love must be fictional too. Right? I have to close the book and find myself again.
I pull away from him. With the terror gone, all that's left is my shame. I think I slobbered gallons of tears onto his pillow and shirt. I'm also embarrassed because of how I still feel about a boyfriend that isn't even real. I suppose that might never go away. I mean, I still love Mr. Darcy, and it's been years since I read that book.
I stand, but stumble a bit.
“Whoa. Are you steady enough?” His voice sounds different—stiff. Awkward. He's probably embarrassed too. This time, he doesn't move to catch me.
“Fine. I'm fine.” Cold slams into my back. Gray and I both stare at the goose bumps on my arms—like we can't look anywhere else. It's making the humiliation of what Gray just witnessed—how I'd behaved—even harder to bear.
I step away from the bed and try to read his expression through my lashes, but his eyes are unreadable as usual. Had he seemed almost relieved when I'd moved away? I'll make it easy for him—for both of us. I cross my arms over my stomach and choose my coldest tone. “If you don't mind. I'd like to go home. I can still make curfew.” I pretend to study the clock.
“Jess. You promised we could talk. Gran's getting tea.”
“You're delusional if you think we're going to have some chatty tea party right now.” I suppress a shiver and met his gaze. “I'm tired and I absolutely don't want to talk. Not about this, or us, or anything.”
“Well, what if I do?” He's hurt. I can tell.
“I'm the one in charge of this.” I fling my arms wide. “Of how us, progresses. It's in the contract, remember?”
“I know you've just been through hell, but that gives you no excuse to suddenly act like some sort of evil dictator.” Gray stands as well, and his eyes are snapping. His voice has lost its carefulness. Good. This will be easier on both of us if he's pissed off.
“The correct term for me is: boss,” I reply. My own anger is building and giving me strength. Gray doesn't need to know that I'm mad at myself, not at him. Any anger will work. “Our friendship, or whatever it is between us, is over. I can't do it. Not after tonight. I'm sure you'll agree one of us doesn't have enough marbles to balance the load. Friends should be give and take. I only have enough to take.”
“You're just upset. Of course we're still friends. You'll calm down and we'll talk. If not today, tomorrow.”
“No. I've talked my ass off in therapy for three years. It never helped. Why in the world do you think me, talking to you, is going to make me or what happened in this room any different, or better? ”
“I'm not trying to make it better I'm—”
I don't let him finish. “Newsflash. I pull this same freak show once or twice a week. Sometimes more. I'm sorry if it surprised you, and I'm sorry if I'm hurting your feelings, but I can't, won't be your friend anymore.”
“But—”
“No, buts. We only have to survive three more weeks plus working the DigiToyTech conference. Then I'll break up with you in front of everyone, as written. I'm cutting out all other extra hanging out, including my time at the complex. You should be happy to have some of your life back.”
“What will I tell Michelle and Corey? What will you tell your parents?”
“How about we both just tell them the truth. I'm sick. Sick and tired. Really tired. It's the truth, let's try to use it to our advantage. My parents will believe me as long as you keep texting me to string them along. I'll send myself some flowers once… or maybe twice. And then, I'll see you on the weekends. That leaves only two ‘dates’ until the tradeshow. In the meantime, I need space.”
“Space?” Gray crosses his arms and yells, “What about the internship and all of the work days ahead? Are we not supposed to talk during that? What about the fact that we're building the ten-zillion LightSticks together in the same room next week? We're a team. We're supposed to man the tradeshow booth together. We have fun together. We are friends, no matter what just happened, no matter what you say! You can't just turn me off like you've flipped a switch. This is just a front. I won't let you get away with it. It's not fair.”
I don't yell back. There's no point. “You don't have a choice. It takes two people to be friends. It was a mistake for me to mislead you. I just thought….” I sigh and look away. “I forgot that there are some things I can't handle. Friends are exhausting. I'm sorry. I take the blame for hurting you. Shouldn't have tried.”
“Don't say that. You don't owe me any apology. Ever.” His voice has also lost its fight. Gray walks to the window and stares out. When he speaks again he's so quiet I'm not sure if he's talking to me or to himself. “I'm not a puppet, you know. I don't know if I can do what you want anymore. Maybe we should end our contract right now.”
“Please.” I walk over and look into his eyes. “Don't blow it all now because I'm finally being honest—because you finally believe me about the crazy stuff. I'll figure out a way to make it so it's not awkward at work. If I can't, then I'll quit the internship—if that makes this easier on you.”
“What?! Easier on me?!” He turns red. I can read that he's truly upset but I don't know why. I'm offering back flips and a red carpet exit. What does he want from me?
“Don't quit. Don't do this…Jess.” He's lowered his voice into that voice, and he moves toward me.
Butterflies whisper down my spine and flood my head.
I'm ready. Every step he takes, I make sure to back away one.
He stops when he realizes what I'm doing. My next step will have me exiting his room. I murder the butterflies, and take on his green-gold gaze as though I'm suddenly at war with him. Because I am. I layer on my coldest glare. “Back the hell off. I'm serious.”
“You won't mean any of this tomorrow. You're still wrapped up in your nightmare. You could try. We…could try? C'mon. So what? So you had a bad dream in front of me. Jess we are friends…”
I shrug, but his earnest expression almost crumbles me. I allow my gaze to travel over him, memorizing each line of his face. I'm thankful he can't see inside my mind right now. The terrible images of him inside my nightmare still float there, threatening to resurface. That alone is strengthening my resolve. If he's in my nightmare again, it will completely destroy me. I need to make him understand this is life or death. I
f only Gray Porter had never wandered into my dreams.
Including the good, waking ones.
I want to let him hold me again—to fling myself at his chest and cry in his arms. Try to explain. But none of that was real. And he knows it too.
My heart wrenches as a new round of shivers return. The goose bumps increase and I wonder if I'll ever be warm again. “I will not change my mind,” I say, finally swallowing the huge lump in the back of my throat. “Can't you see…I did try, and…” I bore my gaze into his and tell him the truth. “It's hurting me. Inside and out…please. You don't understand how much.”
He sighs heavily, and he looks at me like what I've been saying has finally sunk in. “I—yeah. Okay. Okay. Hurting you in any way—it's the last thing I want.” He runs a hand through his hair and meets my gaze dead on. “Tell me exactly what you expect, and I'll deliver. What do you want? Need. Just say it.”
I want you. I want it all to be real. I want to be someone else.
Somehow, I answer in a steady voice. “I want to complete the contract. I know you're honorable enough not to blow that off as long as the paychecks keep coming. I want us—I want you—to stay away from me unless we're out in public.”
“You're seriously not going to ever let me talk to you about this—about what happened here tonight?”
I shake my head. His eyes grow dark and he looks away. I continue to press it home. “This is not about you. It's for my personal survival. Despite what you witnessed, I still think I deserve the chance to follow my dreams for college, and so do you. The contract will get us both what we want. Let's just stay focused on that. Everything else muddies our goals. You have to admit that's true.”
“Okay. I'll do anything.” He looks lost. Deflated. Resigned. But it seems he's not angry at me anymore. That's something, at least.
I answer sincerely, “If you mean that, truly, then take me home so I don't get in trouble with my parents for being late. If I'm grounded from my boyfriend then I'll miss more normal teen activity and that will delay my progress. Okay?”
“Fine,” he says.
“Fine.”
