by E. J. Mellow
The air is snatched from my lungs. “What?” Becca and I both say in unison.
Jared shifts his eyes to Becca, realizing that she’s still there, and then back to me. “I thought we were more than this.” There’s an edge to his voice.
“That’s not fair and you know it,” Becca says with a frown. “She’s sick. You can’t get mad at her for not wanting to be around the guy she’s dating after she just—”
“Becca,” I interrupt. She closes her mouth but doesn’t stop glaring at Jared.
“I’m not doing this to hurt you,” I say to him. “I just want to be alone right now. Is that wrong of me?”
“You’re not alone if Becca’s here.”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t. But you know what, never mind.” He takes a step back. “Call me when you decide you don’t want to be alone anymore.” Jared turns and stalks toward the door. I call out his name, stopping him before he walks through the threshold.
He looks back, and for a brief moment the wall he pulled up dips down and hurt shines through.
I feel like a shit sandwich.
He lets out a frustrated breath before he gently says, “Feel better.”
And with that, my door shuts and Jared’s gone.
“Well, that went well,” Becca says from my side.
I glare at her.
“I’m sorry”—she puts up her hands in reprieve—“but if you want to know my opinion, he’s being a little sensitive. That was ridiculous.”
I don’t respond, still in shock. Did Jared and I just break up? Or was that our first fight? I’ve never seen him get mad before. My stomach somersaults into more knots, and my head throbs from the sheer amount of emotions that spin through me. My whole life is falling apart. What’s happened to me? I’m lying to the one guy in my life that I’m starting to care about in a much-bigger way—and for what? To fake an illness to cover up the fact that I took sleeping pills and skipped out on work to go back to sleep? To go back to a place that only exists in my imagination?
My body rocks in panic, realizing what I’ve done. What I was willing to do. I stare at my hands—they shake with the adrenaline that’s pouring into my veins from fear. Fear of what I’ve become.
“Hey, hey.” Becca has her arms around me and is calmly speaking into my ear. “Everything will be okay, sweetie—I promise. Let’s get you a bath.” She guides me into the bathroom. “Nothing like steamy hot water to work out all this…stuff.”
“I’m okay, I’m okay,” I say more to myself than to her. “I think I can take it from here. You don’t need to stay.”
“I’m going to ignore that you said that because if I don’t, I’m pretty sure nothing will stop me from slapping you across the face.”
Like I said, harder nut to crack.
—∞—
After Becca fills up my tub with hot water, she leaves me to soak—and perhaps more accurately, to sulk. As much as I want to be alone, I’m thankful that she’s here. Having an able mind around allows me to relax into my unable one.
I lie there, loosening my muscles, and try to make sense of what’s going on inside my head. I took sleeping pills to go back to sleep—to try to finally force Dev to answer my questions. Yet here I am, with no questions answered. Instead, I have one best friend who most likely thinks I’ve gone off the deep end, and one man I care about who thinks I don’t feel the same way about him. Then there’s Dev.
I blow bubbles in the water with my mouth.
Could I really have chosen to go back to that place when I have a life to live here? This is what scares me the most. Did I really choose sleep over being awake? To be fair, I only wanted answers. Is it so wrong of me to want answers?
I stare at my toes that break the surface of the water. The familiar panic attack jumps with each rapid beat of my heart, and I splash water over my face to clear away the threat.
I can’t do this again. I can’t go back to that place and see Dev again, be in Terra again. I need a break. I need more time to get my life in order. More importantly, I need to get my mind in order. I need to stop being a blubbering mess who’s constantly in tears. I need to get back to being the Molly from before the lightning—the Molly who had a simple life, if a bit boring, with nothing that threatened her mental state.
I sigh.
I need a lot of things.
After a while of staring off at nothing, an idea floats in front of me. One that I was playing around with before but never took too seriously, probably for good reason. But after everything that’s transpired, of course this is the right thing to do. It all makes sense now. As soon as I make the decision, my chest relaxes and my vision clears.
I can’t go back to sleep.
Walking out of my bathroom, I find that Becca has put fresh sheets on the bed and made me some tea. “Here you go, little fish.” She hands me the mug, and I smile at another one of her ridiculous names. “You feeling better?”
“Yeah, actually.” My answer is hardly a lie this time. With my new decision firmly in place and the hot bath working its way through my tight muscles, I feel reborn.
I eye the drink warily as I grab new pajamas. This will definitely make me sleepy. Going to the bathroom to change, I dump a good amount of the tea down the sink. I’m not too worried about staying awake tonight given that I did just sleep for a solid sixteen hours. I’ll just need something to distract me.
With the TV on, Becca and I settle under the covers and watch in silence.
“I was thinking…maybe you should go see Dr. Marshall again.”
I glance at Becca, her eyes still trained on the TV.
“Yeah, I was thinking about it too.” Doesn’t mean I’m going to though. “But I really think I had a bad couple nights of sleep. I’m actually feeling much better.”
She carefully probes me with her shrewd green eyes. “Yeah, well, having someone look into it never hurts. We all know I’m in therapy and am much better for it.” She turns back to the TV. She must really be concerned if she’s mentioning her therapist—something she rarely does.
“Yeah, I know.”
Car horns honk below. “Are you nervous to go to sleep?”
“No.” Because I’m not going to sleep.
“Good,” she says with a little relief. “You’ll be okay. Don’t worry too much about it. Every interesting person I know has had a mental breakdown at least once in their life. Just think of this as your initiation,” she says with a grin while snuggling down into her pillow.
Silence.
“Mols?”
“Yeah?”
“You can always talk to me. You know that, right?”
“Yeah, I know.”
Silence.
“And that I love you?”
I smile. “Yeah, I know that too.”
Becca falls asleep.
I do not.
— 22 —
IT’S MIDDAY FRIDAY, two nights since I’ve slept. Yes, that’s my version of a sane fix to this insane situation—two nights where I’ve stayed wide awake. Too scared to shut my eyes and relax into a place that, for most of my life, has been a comfort.
It’s also been two days since I’ve heard from Jared. And I hate it.
After the night Becca slept over, we went into work together. She didn’t really say anything but watched me get ready for the day. There was no more mention of that night or of the things I admitted to her. But I knew she hadn’t forgotten. She stopped by my desk more often than usual, and I caught her more than once watching me when she thought I wasn’t paying attention.
The first day after going without sleep wasn’t as hard as I initially thought it would be. Having slept through most of Wednesday probably gave me enough energy to run on empty at work on Thursday. Jim was extremely happy to see me back, and I picked up my usual account to find it in a similar state as when I left it. Seeing the sleeping pills that caused a rift in my life did set me a little on edge every time I looked at them, but
other than that, I easily filtered into the agency like I was a normal, functional adult. I almost felt like myself again. Almost being the key word.
By Thursday night, my body definitely wanted to shut down and rest, but I refused. Becca practically forced her way into my apartment to stay the night again until, thank his sweet blond locks, Rae called her and asked that she play hooky with him on Friday to go to Coney Island for the day. With the promise of that early morning, it didn’t take much convincing to make her stay at her apartment instead, since she needed to pull together her perfectly casual but cute boardwalk outfit.
Now that it’s the second day of not closing my eyes, I’m definitely feeling the effects of my sleep protest. Jim has come by more than once to ask how I’m doing, probably because even I’ve caught myself in an unresponsive stare, like someone stole the brain from my head. Each time he asks about it, I just shrug it off, saying I’m still trying to get back into the swing of things. He politely smiles but gives me the same sideways glance that I’ve caught Becca doing.
It’s awesome.
While I sip my maybe twelfth cup of coffee, I think about the past two zombie-like nights and the lessons I’ve learned from them. The first being that I now despise the taste of coffee. Even as I currently drink it, I loathe every minute. I actually think it’s begun to reverse the effects of keeping me awake. I’ve also learned that QVC really does sell the most amazing products at 4 a.m., a couple of which are making their way to my apartment right now. I’ve had the awesome realization that no amount of eye drops can keep your eyes from burning with the knowledge that they haven’t been shut in a good forty-eight hours. And maybe, just maybe, the most important thing I’ve learned is that yes, people really do need their sleep to maintain a sound mind.
Come Friday, my head has had a dull throb since lunch, and I rub my temples while I stare down a stack of papers that sits on my desk. After all those crazy escapades in my dreams, my normal waking life seems even duller than I remember. Each time I sit through another mind-numbing status meeting, my resolve to try to stay awake weakens. To add to that, every second I stay awake is another second that I think about my dreams—everything reminds me of them, of him, of the things I could do there and absolutely without a doubt cannot do here. As pathetic as it sounds, I miss it; I miss my dreams that brought me to Terra. I miss how I felt there, the self-awareness and control that I find myself lacking here. Most of all, I miss Dev. I miss a man I only see in my sleep, his annoying confidence and wry smile, and yes, I even miss the way he can all too easily piss me off. I miss someone who doesn’t exist.
I catch myself going back and forth with various feelings of heartache, from thoughts of Dev to thoughts of Jared, both taking up equal space in my mind. Space, which I know for one, shouldn’t even be there.
I’m not going to be able to keep this up much longer, and that terrifies me. Everything terrifies me, actually. I terrify me.
The whole reason for not going to sleep was to get the old Molly back, but the person who sits at my desk is no one I like or recognize. She definitely looks worse than the Molly that wanted to believe her dreams were real. All these thoughts make me more and more scared to think about tonight and how I’ll make myself stay awake.
Again.
—∞—
It’s early afternoon when I make my way back to my apartment. Jim told me to go home early and rest, seeing that I was unable to do anything productive. I thanked him and blamed my tiredness on the accident. And really, I guess in a way, all of this is because of that night. That night that has somehow transformed me into this thing.
Dropping my keys on my kitchen counter, I check my phone—nothing from Jared. I don’t know what’s stopping me from reaching out to him, but I feel like I can’t until I have whatever is going on with me under control. And something tells me that won’t be any time soon. I know from the silence on his end that what happened the other night wasn’t something small. It’s very unlike Jared to keep quiet for so long, and this knowledge has my hands itching to dial his number. I want him to tell me everything will be fine, for him to do what he’s always able to do—make me feel like someone worth caring for. Someone who matters.
If that sounds pathetic, then it probably is, but hell if it’s not true.
The buzzer to my apartment rings and I drop my cell, saved from what I was about to do. That is, unless that’s Jared right now…
Shit.
“Yes?” I ask into the intercom.
“It’s me, sunshine! Oh, and Rae. Let us up!” Becca calls out on the other side.
Unsure if these two are much better, I glance down at my slightly disheveled work outfit, wondering if I look how I feel.
“Oh Molly, you look horrible,” Becca chimes as she walks in the door.
“Thanks.”
She drops her purse on the chair near the door and flips her fiery hair over her shoulders. She’s wearing a light-gray sweater and thin forest-green chino pants that only her legs can pull off.
“I’m serious. You’re like a homeless dog after a rain storm. Are you feeling okay?” She walks up to me in the kitchen as I try to imagine exactly what that would look like.
Rae enters through the door and practically has to duck his head so that he doesn’t hit the frame. He’s wearing a light navy wind jacket over a white tee and black jeans, all of which flatter him nicely. I immediately want them both to leave when his eyes go wide as they find me. Man, am I really that bad?
“Hey, Rae,” I say with a small smile.
“Hey,” he answers, still a bit stunned.
I try not to roll my eyes as I open the fridge to get out the Brita. “I’m feeling fine,” I answer Becca’s earlier question, and she gives me a knowing look. “Okay, maybe not fine,” I admit.
Becca opens her mouth to speak, and then remembering Rae, does something I’ve never witnessed before: she closes her mouth and indicates that we’ll talk about it later.
Wow. She must really be worried to not want to discuss this in front of Rae. This isn’t good.
“We just got back from our day of playing hooky, and we thought we’d see if you were here.” Becca changes the subject and practically skips to put her arms around Rae’s waist, a huge puppy-dog grin on her face.
“You guys have fun?” I ask as I pour myself some water. Pretending to be peppy is currently proving difficult.
“It was so much fun! I wish you could have been there. Well, kind of wish.” Becca gives me a suggestive wink.
I flick my gaze to Rae, perplexed by his slightly angry glare. What’s his problem?
Turning away, I walk to the open area of my studio as Becca fills me in on their adventures at Coney Island, and I find myself tuning in and out of her story, my eyes feeling like they weigh a thousand pounds. If I could just close them for a second…just hold one of my blinks a little longer…
“Becca, why don’t you show Molly what we brought her?” Rae’s voice snaps my eyes open. How long did I have them closed?
“Oh, yeah!” Becca jumps up to retrieve her purse.
I feel Rae watching me, and I use whatever small amount of energy I have left to not bring my attention back to him. Something about the way he’s acting unnerves me. I try swallowing the sleep-deprived taste in my mouth.
“We were walking on the beach and Rae found it. It’s so crazy to see something like this there—mostly trash washes up on that beach,” she says while wrinkling her nose.
I look to her outstretched hand, and my whole body seizes up. My scalp prickles with unchecked shock, and my legs threaten to give out from beneath me. There in her palm is a shell.
The shell.
The perfectly round spiral design probes a memory of Dev sitting on a beach, lifting up a shell and tracing the lines around with his finger. Tracing this shell with his finger.
This isn’t possible.
All those moments he was holding something in his hand, something small, out of my immediate view come
flooding forward. Was it this? Did he keep it since that first night? Could this really be that shell?
Oh my God.
A quick wave of relief floods me that I might not be insane, that my dreams aren’t just dreams. But how? What does this mean? The shell, my dreams, Dev, this being here in her hands while I’m not asleep…
I’m going to pass out.
“I know how much you like to collect small things from places you visit, and we thought this would be perfect on your trinket shelf,” Becca says, bringing me out of my internal paralysis. She pushes her palm forward again for me to take the object.
I watch my arm move of its own accord, reaching for what’s in her hand, and try to keep it from visibly shaking as I grasp the shell between my fingers, rubbing the cool surface as I continue to search for what this means.
My eyes involuntarily go to Rae. He holds my gaze intently, and I’m not sure if I imagine it, but I think I see him nod ever so slightly.
What the fu—
“Molly, are you okay? Do you not like it?” Becca asks, shifting her gaze between Rae and me.
“Uh…yeah, yes, I love it. Thank you. It’s perfect.” I know I sound off—my voice fluctuates unnaturally high in all the wrong parts.
Becca’s brows pinch in. “What’s going on?”
“Huh? What?” I ask back. My mind whirls, staring at the object and then back at Rae, making it impossible to focus on anything that’s happening in front of me.
“Molly, what’s up? You’re acting so strange.”
Before I can answer, Rae pushes off from the wall and drapes an arm around Becca’s shoulder. “I think Molly needs to get some rest. I’m not trying to be presumptuous”—his gaze travels over my form—“but it seems like you’re not feeling so well and probably need to get some sleep. We’ll get out of your hair.”
Sleep…
