The Life Of Aaron Prescott

[6] She's Sitting With Us?

The Life Of Aaron Prescott
Journal Entry Six; March 24th

They've promised your dreams come true.
But forgot to mention that nightmares are dreams, too.
-Oscar Wilde

A A R O N

I learnt that I had gained night terrors when I was nine. Waking up in cold sweat, a flushed face and uncontrollable breathes after dreaming about a memory with Walter was the first one. Similar ones would happen after that, normally every other night but as I got older, they would be on and off. Sometimes every time I shut my eyes or not for weeks would I get one.

I've grown used to the lack of sleep that comes with it and how tired I would be for the whole day.

There's sometimes I don't want to sleep because I'm scared of what I'll see. My dreams can consist of memories or made-up fictions of different things. Tonight, was the latter.

I gripped the old, white, patterned sheets tight. Sitting up straight with my eyes wide I try to calm my breathing. My lungs felt tight, and it wasn't because of the fading bruise below my ribs.

My back was drenched in cold sweat, so cold that I began to shiver just at the feeling of water running down my back.

I've managed to come up with a system for calming myself down. I would think of baseball, the beach or my mother. Maybe all three if the nightmare was really bad.

I slip myself from my sweat-stained sheets and touch my cold floor. Shit, I had forgotten to pay off the heat bill for the month.

My wooden stairs were normally creaky, and I had gotten used to them after doing the same routine every time I would wake up.

Opening my fridge, I take out a quarter filled, plastic water-bottle. I hear TV static from behind me, but I don't look. I already know Walter fell asleep while he tried to turn on the unpaid TV. Dumb bastard.

Unscrewing the lid to the water; I take a gulp of lukewarm water. Walter must've just put this back in the fridge not too long ago. He must've drunk from it.

Suddenly disgusted, I spit out the water in the sink. Silently coughing while doing so. I almost take soap just so I can get any taste of it out of my mouth. I need a shower, but I still needed to pay the other half of the water bill. I could just go to Ryan's a couple hours before school starts. Knowing Ryan and his fucked-up sleep schedule, he'll be up by then. If he even slept at all.

The rest of the water runs down the sink, and I throw the bottle into the trash. My phone rests on the chipped countertop. I quickly grab it and inspect it for any damage. I had already lost three phones to Walter and his stupid rage. I wouldn't be buying a new one after this.

My hand still ached from writing notes as well as throwing the hell out of my arm last practice. Coach had me stretching for hours after that.

A snore came from the living room and I stopped breathing, quickly turning my head towards Walters chair. He had moved an inch to the left, tucking the half empty whiskey bottle underneath his shoulder.

My breathing cut short. I couldn't be here anymore, I didn't want to be here at all. If I had the option I would pack my bags and move in with Ryan. But, I can't. My eighteenth birthday is in ten months, I'm still his son. He is still legally my father. Emotionally, he will never be again, I've realized that a million times over.

So, quietly, I unhook my phone from my tangled cord before walking to my front door. Slipping on my shoes without a noise, I open my door with a creek. I hear the couch shift slightly, a bottle hit the ground and a gasp.