Emergency Medical Dad

II: 4:45 AM, present

surprise lmao. i haven't graduated yet it's just school vacation week and i'm bored.

JESSIE

Being a single mom and an insomniac has to be a punishment for something. I wasn't always one, I slept fine most of my childhood and most of high school, but after Connor was born, honestly I don't think I've had much sleep since. It was normal at first, I had a baby, he needed constant attention, that was that. And then it never came back. I would wander the house at all hours of the night, play on my phone, read a book, anything to try to coax myself to sleep but nothing worked. I even tried melatonin supplements but something kept me up. Stress, I assume.

    That's what everyone told me. Insomnia from stress. Insomnia from being in an uncomfortable environment. Insomnia from overthinking. Insomnia in general.

    Then I changed houses.

    I ended up at the Barn. I ended up with His old friends. It's a story for another time.

    It's easier to be an insomniac at the Barn. Pitty is too. So is Kazian. They play cards at random hours of the night and when I started wandering around in this house instead of my old house, they seemed to be alright with letting me join in on a few games.

    Tonight they aren't downstairs and when I check their rooms, Pitty is curled up tight around his boyfriend, Ian, and Kazian is laid out haphazardly on his mattress on the floor of his room.

    Half of the staircase creaks but being in this house for this amount of time means I know which stairs do and where to put my feet on them. I skip every other, stay to the edges, then, the back board on the last stair before placing one foot on the very side of the floor by the wall of the kitchen.

    I creep around by the counters, then hop up on one of them, knowing the floor in front of the kitchen sink is too creaky to be trusted.

    The pipes are the loudest thing about the whole maneuver, they groan slightly, shuddering in the basement before spitting out a little water into my cup. It's an old Pepsi can with the top removed. It would be stylish if this weren't a poor household. That's common with a lot of things here. Using old t-shirts as rags is 'upscale' and 'recycling' when it's in a rich person's hands. When it's here, it's just another symptom of poverty. Putting clothes out to dry on the line through the living room is energy efficient and cutesy in a rich person's life, here it just means that they don't have a dryer, that they can't afford one.

    I settle down on the counter, placing my lips on the edge of the metal cup. Something flashes in the alleyway outside of the kitchen window.

    Headlights.

    That was one of the first things that Kazian told me upon my arrival to the Barn. Beware of robbers. Beware of shootings. Beware of harm. Beware of police. Beware of anything that you do not know like the palm of your hand and yet you can still get hit by your own fingers.

    Carry a knife. Keep Connor hidden. Keep your eyes on your shoes so you know where to place your next step.

    I slide off the counter, setting the cup in the sink and picking up a dirty steak knife.

    Stand your ground. Don't fall easily.

    I grip it backward, blade facing behind me from the fist at my side.

    Hold a knife like this, it's stronger, you can punch someone with that hand, you can stab and slash easier. Holding it up will keep you safer.

    I step away from the side door, a tall looming figure approaching it.

    It's locked. It should be fine. It's locked.