Not Today | ✔️

Chapter Twelve.

"If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?"

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The night started relatively normal. At least the version of normal she was beginning to grow accustomed to, a version of normal where Tristan was a fundamental part of it. A version of normal where it was normal for Tristan to walk through the front door with her when her parents were on a work trip, and he'd climb through her window when they were home. A version of normal where they'd spend a while doing homework, then watching a movie, and, finally, having them take their respective places. Her on her bed and him on the floor.

So, yes, the night started out normal. Better than normal, if Evelyn had to label it, honestly. And the reason it was better than normal was because of the time they'd spent at the restaurant. It wasn't only the most fun she'd had in a while, it was also the most like a run of the mill, carefree teenager she'd felt. It was the most normal she'd felt.

The word normal did float all around her all evening and night, until around 2 AM came. At that time, both her and Tristan were asleep, but her state of sleep was exactly what turned her night from normal to the very opposite.

It wasn't often that she got nightmares anymore, especially if she took her medicine everyday, but nightmares would slip through the cracks every once in a while. When they did, they were borderline unbearable, transporting her into the situation that haunted her conscious mind enough, she didn't need her subconscious doing it, too. The thing was, at least when her conscious mind thought to the memory, it was just thoughts. But her nightmares were visuals. Vivid, realistic visuals that felt too real. She didn't feel like she was dreaming, she felt like she was reliving it.

Tonight, she had a nightmare.

Unlike before her new normal, though, she wasn't alone in her room. Tristan was there, too, and the nightmare didn't evade his observation, judging from the way he shook her awake, panic in his eyes.

"Are you okay, Evelyn?"

The seatbelt made it so hard to breathe. Was she even breathing at all? She clutched her torso where the seat belt would be, but she only felt the soft cotton of her shirt as she gasped for breath. She looked down and blinked rapidly, disoriented.

She wasn't in the car, she was in her room.

She wasn't in the car, she was in her room.

She wasn't in the car, she was in her room.

"Evelyn?" Tristan said again and she finally registered his presence fully, looking at him, rather than through him. She parted her lips to speak, to let him know she was okay but nothing left her voice box, because she wasn't okay. A choked sob she couldn't control escaped her throat. She couldn't seem to control anything in that moment, like her shaking hands and her teary eyes.

"Shh," Tristan said in a soothing way, nudging her to scoot over so he could climb into her bed. He gently lifted her head so he could slide his arm around her, pulling her close enough that her cheek was pressed gently atop his chest. She gripped some of the soft fabric of his shirt, his presence grounding her when she felt like she was drifting in an endless dark space.

"Bad dream?" he murmured, keeping his voice low and even.

Evelyn just nodded.

"My mom used to do this when I was little and I'd have bad dreams," he said, referring to the position he put them in, her head against his chest.

"Or she used to put on The Little Princess and we'd eat mint chocolate chip ice cream, but that's a secret, shh," he said, making her giggle slightly, though she was still in a state of panic.

"'Focus on my heartbeat,' she used to say. 'Let it steady you, remind you that you're here, safe, and with me, not in your nightmare,'" he whispered, his voice soft and drenched in a reminiscent, fond tone.

Evelyn followed his advice, focusing on the steady rhythm of his heart, each beat like a tug, tugging her further away from the depths of her mind and closer to the boy next to her. After a while, she felt her heartbeat match the rhythm of his own. Slowly, her death grip on his shirt loosened and her tense muscles began to relax.

"Better?" he murmured, keeping his voice so soft it wrapped around her like a blanket.

Evelyn tilted her head so she could meet his eyes.

"Thank you," she whispered, hoping two simple, monosyllabic words could convey the endless gratitude she felt, even though she knew no words, no matter how complex or how long, could ever truly match the fierce gratitude in her heart.

Tristan didn't reply, he just shot her a soft, sleepy smile.

Evelyn sighed. "I'm guessing you want to know what the nightmare was about?"

Tristan's answer was immediate. "No. You told me today that you didn't trust me. I don't want you to tell me just because you feel like you have to. I have faith that one day, you'll trust me enough to want to tell me, but until then..."

"Not today?" Evelyn guessed.

"Not today."

As they fell into a comfortable silence, much needed after the loud nature of her mind, she looked over at Tristan and realized he had fallen asleep. For a moment, she just stared at how peaceful his features were, but she came to a realization that had her eyes looking away from him. Evelyn felt a feeling she hadn't had since she was little, looking out the window in the backseat of her mother's car. It was her first real roadtrip, and as she felt the sun kiss her skin, while the wind made her hair fly in every direction, she watched each mile as they passed an incredible mountain. At that moment, Evelyn knew she wanted to travel. She had wanderlust for the first time in her life.

Evelyn had wanderlust again.

Only this time, it wasn't the world she desired to wander.

She wanted to slowly submerge herself within his pools of melted, decadent chocolate-colored irises like a traveler would do with each sea they encountered.

She wanted to run her hands through his thick hair like she'd run through a field of marigolds.

She wanted to use the tip of her finger to trace each and every line that he was composed of, like she would trace the varying lines on a map to find her destination.

She wanted to get lost in the feeling of freedom and peace he seemed to provide for her, like the feeling of driving at nighttime with the windows rolled down, wind through your hair, making you feel invincible.

She wanted to commit to memory the faint constellation of the freckles under his eyes, just along his cheekbones, the way one might commit countless constellations of the stars to memory.

Most of all, she wanted to travel the road that led to his heart.

Each broken line, every solid line, each crack, and every speed bump. Asphalt, cement, or gravel, whatever texture to whatever strength, she would gladly travel. Whether he would give her a flat tire, or four, didn't matter to her.

She had wanderlust, but the only place she desired to leave footprints was within his memory, rather than the sand of 100 beaches.

She had wanderlust, but didn't want her name to be carved into a tree, at some beautiful, new place, but carved into his heart.

She had wanderlust, but it wasn't the Earth she desired to discover and uncover.

It was him.