Once Upon Now

by Danielle Banas

  KLS, Kleine-Levin syndrome, is a rare sleep disorder. It’s characterized by episodic bouts of hypersomnia along with cognitive and behavioral problems. The media, when they run one of those “Hey—a Rare Disorder!” stories, call it Sleeping Beauty syndrome. But nothing about my condition resembles a fairy tale. It’s more like being trapped in a repetitive nightmare. During an episode, I can sleep anywhere from twelve to twenty hours a day and only “wake up” to eat and use the bathroom. But even when my eyes are open, my brain is never fully awake.

  When I’m in an episode, I can’t do anything: leave the apartment, shower, cook my own food. I can’t hold a conversation, or even think, for that matter. I don’t act or feel like myself. I say things I don’t mean. I’m always famished, but too exhausted to eat. I’m a prisoner inside my own body, as if someone else has taken control. And that’s only in the fleeting moments when I’m awake—for the rest of the time, it’s as if I don’t exist.

  My old college roommate, Beth, was the one who found me during my original episode. Unable to wake me for class, she panicked and called an ambulance, thinking I’d slipped into a coma. Nobody at the hospital could figure out what was wrong with me, why I wouldn’t wake up. My mom was even less inclined to believe that something was actually the matter. She thought I was faking to get out of my exams.

  Of course, I don’t remember any of that. I hardly ever remember what happens during my episodes. It’s as if my brain is wiped clean. After that, it took two more occurrences, an MRI, and a revolving door of doctors before I received my diagnosis.

  For me, the worst part about KLS is the division it creates between myself and the real world. While having an episode, it’s impossible for me to tell whether I’m dreaming or hallucinating—or if I’m even alive. Everything about my surroundings seems wrong, distorted somehow.

  Nothing seems real.

  But nothing is a dream. It’s a constant nightmare.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Asleep

  WHEN I WAKE, I’m lying at the edge of a thorn thicket.

  But these aren’t normal thorns. They’re as wide and as long as hunting knives, swords even, and when I climb to my feet, I realize that the tangled bushes are taller than me.

  The panic of not knowing where I am lodges in the back of my throat, and for a moment, I can’t get any air into my lungs. It’s as if I’ve swallowed a rock. A few feet to my left is a boulder, and I clamber up to get my bearings. The thicket stretches farther than I imagined, like an ocean of broken glass. At its center sits a stone castle with three crumbling towers, still trying to stretch toward the moon.

  A sudden shadow passes over the fortress, and when I crane my neck back, my heart drops like a stone. The dragon has returned. As if to welcome me back to her domain, she does a lazy loop in the air and lets out a tremendous roar. I nearly fall off my rock when a blast of fire streams past her jaw. Then, with a flick of her tail and another loop, she’s diving toward me, dropping out of the sky at an alarming pace.

  I need somewhere to hide. Somewhere the dragon’s flaming kiss can’t reach me. Looking around, I know there’s only one place that can offer any sort of protection. The castle.

  I take a deep breath and plunge into the razor-sharp labyrinth.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Awake

  I COUNT THE DAYS on my calendar that have passed.

  Thirty-nine.

  This time I’ve lost more than a month.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Asleep

  I SHIVER AWAKE.

  The bed below me is as hard and freezing as a slab of ice cut from a winter lake. A second later I understand why. I’m not in bed, but lying on the cold, hard ground of the castle entrance hall.

  Like the rest of my nightmare world, this place is not inviting, to say the least.

  The air tastes stale, and I feel as if I’ve been sealed inside a crypt, forced to breathe in the powdered bones of the dead. Cobwebs drip from pillars like drapery, and the vaulted ceiling is clouded in shadow.

  This place must have been magnificent, I think. At one point . . .

  As if the castle can hear my thoughts, the curtain between me and the afterlife is lifted, and I can see them—the gentry who once lived here, dancing and laughing, adorned in the finest silk and jewels. They swept across the room like phantoms, fading in and out of existence. Another involuntary shiver rips down my spine. I don’t belong here. Not with these spirits of the past.

  I back out of the room as stealthily as possible, but before I reach the towering oak door behind me, I hear it—my name.

  “Rory,” a voice calls.

  Every muscle in my body tenses. Besides the ghosts, I thought I was alone.

  “Rory,” the voice sounds again. “Rory Briar.”

  It’s deep and silvery. A man’s voice.

  I glance around, wild with fear, and on my second pass of the room, I spot him. How I ever overlooked such a presence is mystifying. He stands across the entrance hall, smiling down at me from atop a flight of stairs. Golden warmth radiates from every inch of his body, as if he’s bottled up the sun and slipped it into his pocket. Just the sight of him makes my breath catch, and a feeling I’ve nearly forgotten blooms in my chest like a rosebud in spring—safety.

  In this place of darkness, he is a prince of light.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Awake

  I MUST STILL BE DREAMING, because when I open my eyes, the most beautiful guy I’ve ever seen is gazing down at me. His dark hair is wavy and thick in a way that makes me want to run my fingers through it. And his eyes. A light brown, almost golden color that reminds me of liquid amber. Something about him is familiar, although I’m positive we’ve never met. It’s almost as if I know him from a dream.

  A smile jumps onto his lips when he notices I’m awake.

  “Hey, Rory!” he says, and his level of enthusiasm is daunting. “Welcome back to the world of the living.”

  I want to say something witty to this beautiful creature, something that will keep the smile on his face, but when I open my mouth, “Who the hell are you?” is what comes out.

  It’s Kleine-Levin speaking, not me. That’s how it normally is with KLS patients, the filter in our heads is switched off. I may have woken up, but my episode isn’t over yet. It takes a few days to come down from, time when the wall between myself and the real world has yet to be lifted.

  Despite my rude greeting, his smile doesn’t falter. “I’m Phil.”

  “What are you doing in my bedroom, Phil?”

  Good looks don’t make up for the fact that it’s insanely creepy waking up to a stranger hovering over me.

  He must realize this, because he takes a few steps back and plops into my computer chair. “I was about to try and get you to eat something. It’s been twenty-two hours since you last had anything,” he answers. “But you’re up on your own. That’s great news!”

  He knows about my condition, I realize, and warning bells instantly go off in my head. Is he . . . taking care of me?

  “Where’s my sister?” I demand, pushing myself up into a sitting position.

  Phil hesitates, but then says, “She left for Germany last week.”

  His answer makes my heart twist. I know Hannah planned to spend her summer semester abroad, but she wasn’t supposed to leave until May first. I quickly count the days in my head. Last time I was awake it was March . . . which means I’ve lost two months of time. My longest episode yet.

  “What about Mil—my mother?” I ask. “Where is my mom?” She promised to cut back at work, only accepting jobs in New York in order to look after me while Hannah was away.

  “Chicago, I think. She’s so busy, it’s hard to keep track.”

  “You mean—she’s working while I’ve been out?”

  “Well, yeah. Isn’t that normal?”

  My lips purse. “I suppose it is.”

  God. I should’ve known better than to trust her, I think to myself. Because if there is one
thing about my mom I can count on, it’s that she will always be more dedicated to her job than to me. It wasn’t always like this, but Millie threw herself into her work once Dad was gone. I forgave so many things because of her broken heart, but I don’t know that I can let this go—that she left me.

  “So . . . I take it she hired you as my caregiver?” I ask, uncomfortable with the situation. Just thinking about Phil helping me do something as simple as eating—or anything, for that matter—makes the tips of my ears burn. Plus, I’m not wearing a bra and haven’t showered in God knows how long.

  I really hope he hasn’t sponge-bathed me . . .

  Raising my arm as stealthily as possible, I take a whiff and—yuck! Okay, that answers that question.

  “Yup,” Phil says, drumming both hands against his legs. “Right now I’m studying to become a nurse. I need real-world experience outside of a hospital to graduate, so this was the perfect opportunity for me.”

  He’s only trying to be friendly, but a bitter tang fills my mouth. “Glad my real-world problem is helping you earn a degree,” I tell him. I know I sound bitter, which is probably because I am. Ever since I was little, I’ve dreamed of becoming a doctor. KLS robbed me of that future. I tried to go to college, but after my first episode I realized it would’ve been impossible for me to get the grades I needed for med school with all the time I’d miss.

  Phil’s hands instantly go still. “Rory, I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “I can’t believe she pawned me off on a total stranger,” I mutter, shaking my head in disbelief.

  “Oh, don’t worry. I know your mom,” he says, as if that makes it okay. “I work part-time for Beyond Bread. The catering company she always hires for her New York events? I don’t have any aspirations to go into the catering business, but the gig pays well and I’m putting myself through school, so a little extra cash never hurts. Anyway, I was part of a crew who catered the silent auction your mom planned at the Plaza two nights ago. We ran into each other, got talking, and when she heard I was in nursing school, she offered me this job.”

  “That’s a wonderful story,” I say, trying as best as possible to control my tone. Which is almost impossible since I’m seething on the inside. “But it doesn’t make up for the fact that I don’t know you. Did you ever stop to think how traumatizing it might be for me to be left alone with a stranger when I’m not in my right mind?”

  Cringing, Phil rakes a hand through his thick waves. “It’s not like I’m totally incompetent. I have my EMT certification,” he says. “And I told your mom it wasn’t a good idea for me to start before we met properly, but she insisted you’d be fine. I think she was worried about a gala something-or-other, so she wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

  “No offense, but how’s that supposed to make me feel any better?” I ask. He opens his mouth to respond, but I hold up my hand. “I know you’re only doing the job you were hired for, but can you please get out of my room? I just want to be alone right now.”

  Shoulders slumping, he nods. “Yeah, sure.”

  I watch in silence as Phil stands and exits into the hall, closing the door behind him. Once he’s gone, I collapse backward onto my pillow. My brain is sluggish, still waking up from its sixty-day nap, and it takes me a while to process everything that’s happened. When it finally hits me that my mother has abandoned me, tears gather in my eyes like fluid crystal.

  I’ve lost so much to my condition: huge chunks of my life that I can never get back, a future career in medicine. And now it’s clear I’ll lose people too. First it was my boyfriend, Nick, who wasn’t interested in waiting around for Sleeping Beauty. Then Hannah, who left so she didn’t have to babysit me anymore. Now even Millie is gone.

  I know I’m bitter, but I hate KLS so much. It takes and it takes and it takes. I don’t know if I have anything left to give.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Awake

  THERE’S AN AUDIBLE GASP from the other end of the phone. “She did not.”

  “Yup. Millie’s in Chicago right now.”

  Hannah is quiet for a moment, but then whispers, “God, what a bitch.”

  This makes me feel a little bit better. After meeting Phil and learning that I’d been deserted, I needed to hear a familiar voice, one that would cheer me up. It’s nearly midnight in Germany, but thankfully she answered my call.

  “If I’d known she was going to dump you with the first random cater-waiter she ran into at a charity event,” she continues, “I never would have—”

  “Never would have what?” I interrupt. “Studied abroad? I’d have been pissed if you gave up this opportunity for me. You shouldn’t have to keep making sacrifices for me. It was supposed to be Millie’s turn.” As sad as I am that Hannah left, she deserves this trip. I don’t want to be responsible for holding her back.

  “Thanks, Rory. That means a lot,” she says. “But I’m still worried about you. I mean, you don’t even know who this Phil guy is. What if he’s a psychopath or something?”

  I snort. “Don’t worry. I still have a mean swing from my tennis days, and there’s a racket buried somewhere at the back of my closet. I think I can handle one psychopath.”

  “Well, is he cute at least?”

  “No,” I tell her. “A more accurate description would be ‘beyond gorgeous.’ ”

  “Good.” Hannah giggles. “Then I don’t feel so bad for you anymore.”

  AFTER SAYING GOOD-BYE to Hannah and taking a much-needed shower, I wander into the kitchen looking for something to eat. The TV is blaring in the living room, and I look over to find Phil sprawled out on the couch. His T-shirt and socks are strewn across the floor as if he tossed them any which way, and six Chinese takeout containers clutter the coffee table, along with multiple soda cans.

  Sure, just make yourself at home . . .

  He’s watching a baseball game, the Yankees versus some team I don’t recognize. When one of the players gets a hit, he sits up slightly, leaning toward the screen as if a closer view will help the outcome. Two seconds later, he throws his hands up in the air.

  “Are you freaking kidding me?” he shouts. “He was clearly safe!” Then, after a rude gesture to the TV, he slumps back into the cushions.

  “Comfortable?” I ask, stepping into the room and crossing my arms. I want to tell him he can go home now, that I don’t need him anymore, but given our last conversation, I don’t want to be too rude.

  “Oh! Hey, Rory.” Phil sits up and flashes me a full-face smile. Clearly our earlier encounter didn’t deter his amiability. “How you feeling? Hungry, I hope. Your mom mentioned that Jade Kitchen is your favorite takeout, but I don’t know what you like, so I just ordered a little bit of everything.”

  “Oh.” I’m completely taken aback by his thoughtfulness. “Um, thanks.”

  I peek at Phil’s bare chest as I cross the room. Maybe this won’t be so bad, I think. But when I move around the couch and see what’s lying at his feet, I freeze.

  “What the hell is that?” I asked, pointing at the big white mop of hair that’s drooling on the floor.

  “This is Samson,” he says, reaching down and scratching the creature behind the ears. “Haven’t you ever seen a dog before?”

  I shoot Phil a pointed look. “Don’t be a smart-ass. What I meant was, why is it here?” Millie would have a field day if she knew.

  “Where else would he be?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe your apartment?”

  “About that . . .” Phil says. He rubs the back of his neck, and I can tell he doesn’t know how to say what’s coming next. “Well, um. I kinda live here now.”

  “WHAT?”

  “Your mom didn’t know how long you’d be out for, so she asked me to move into Hannah’s room for the summer,” he explains, words pouring from his mouth as fast as possible. “Told her that Samson and I are a package deal, and she agreed to let him stay so long as he doesn’t chew on the furniture.”

  I momentarily consider the po
ssibility that I’ve woken up in an alternative dimension. Because under no circumstance would she ever allow an animal in the house. I wasn’t even allowed to have a goldfish growing up. Unless, my mind whispers cruelly, she was that desperate to be rid of you . . .

  Phil mistakes the shock on my face for fear. “You’re not afraid of dogs, are you?”

  “No,” I say, although I take a spot in the armchair as far away from the huge animal as possible.

  “Allergic?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Then don’t worry,” he says with a dismissive wave of the hand. “Samson likes everyone. You guys will be best friends in no time.”

  In response, Samson lets out a loud snore, and I surprise myself by laughing.

  Later that night, I pull my sketchbook out from the drawer in my nightstand and climb into bed. Since the start of my episodes, I’ve taken to illustrating the tiny fragments I can remember from my hallucinations: a castle on a hill, foot-long thorns, the wings of a great beast. The collection of drawings looks like some kind of demented fairy tale.

  I’m not very good, but putting the nightmares down on a page helps me cope, and I find the sound of scratching pencil soothing.

  My sketches are normally rough and out of focus, half-realized images that will never come to full fruition. But tonight I have a clear memory. Tonight I can see every detail of my subject from the gleam in his eyes to the freckle on his temple.

  I flip to a new page and draw my prince of light.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Awake

  THE NEXT MORNING, I’m in the process of making coffee when Phil pads into the kitchen wearing nothing but a pair of low-hanging athletic shorts. He yawns and does one of those over-the-head arm stretches, and I try not to drop the can of Folgers clutched in my hand. Before he can catch me staring, I turn back around and focus all my attention on getting myself some much-needed caffeine.