The Liverly

VIII

I don't move from my bed for a whole day. Not to draw, not to eat, not to read. Only to use the restroom once. My bedroom door is locked, and I haven't moved to open it even though both Ms. Husby and Tyrell have come and knocked. They may have heard me screaming my head off or maybe they're just wondering if I've died. I heard Tyrell place a plate of food outside the door, but I haven't bothered to get it. I still feel sick to my stomach.

I stay up most of the night, too terrified to sleep. The dreams are getting weirder and darker.

A knock on my door the next day brings me out of my thoughts as I still sit there and stare at the wall. "Gwen? It's Caleb. I came to apologize for snapping yesterday. I was in a bad mood already, and I got mad when I saw you and yeah, I sound like a total child. Doesn't matter my mood, I shouldn't have snapped. I'm sorry."

I blink wearily and look at the door. Something thumps against the door and the plate rattles. "I'm a mess, Gwen. I can't believe I got pissed because you two went off and did you own thing. I felt like that kid that always gets left out of the parties. I guess because I was that kid. It bothered me that you two didn't even ask if I wanted to go, but you don't have to. You're not bound by anything to ask me."

Another thumping sound rattles my door, and the plate rattles again. "Hey, is this sandwich any good?" Some sniffing sounds. "Do you mind if I eat it?"

"Go ahead," I croak, my throat dry and hoarse from not speaking for a day.

"Thanks." He chews loudly and sighs. "I guess the stuff with my mom screwed me up hardcore. She wasn't real the 'mother' type and had an awful taste in men, so I got screwed both ways. She made sure that I didn't do things with other kids my age and I really hate her for that, but now I'm so self-conscious that no one wants anything to do with me. I suck as a human sometimes." He laughs harshly.

I get up out of bed, creaking like a rusty hinge, and slink over to the bedroom door to unlock it and open it up. Caleb falls backward onto my feet. That thumping sound must have been him sitting down against the door.

"Hey," he says, looking up at disgusting me, shoving more of the sandwich in his face. "You look like you haven't slept in a year."

"I don't think I have," I mutter, my voice gravelly. Caleb hands me the cup of water that had been sitting there. "Thanks," I say after I've drank it all. "Now I don't sound like I'm dying."

Caleb sits up and pats the floor next to him. "What's going on?"

I sit down, my legs up to my chin, and hug myself. "Nightmares. I get them every so often and it's like Hell unleashes itself on my mind. I barely sleep and it gets worse the longer I go without sleep."

"That sucks." He hands me the sandwich Tyrell had left yesterday, and I take a bite. Still tastes fine. It was just peanut butter, so nothing spoiled. My stomach protests at the lack of food from yesterday, and Caleb motions for me to eat the rest. "So, what are you going to do about it?" he asks, lying back on the floor.

"About what?"

"Your nightmares. Or nightmare demon. Whatever it is that keeps you up?"

"I try to go as long as I can without sleep and to wait it out."

He winces. "You just said that makes them worse. Plus, isn't lack of sleep a bad idea?"

"Yeah," I say quietly. I rub my face and get up. "I don't know what to do, though. They're dreams about the weirdest, craziest stuff. It's not like nightmares of a scary movie I watched or even like with you and your abusive childhood." He looks sharply at me. I sigh. "Ms. Husby, Karen, told me a while ago. I didn't know what to say about it, so I didn't say anything. Sorry."