The Days Are Tired (Book #1 of the Dark Skies series) - A Zombie story

Chapter 8:Insanity

My eyes flashed open and were hit with the white glow of daybreak. I felt empty as I lay in my bed. As if all the tears I cried during the night drained me of my senses. It was as if a hole had formed in my heart, not allowing it to maintain any emotions. So I decided right then and there to do what I do best...

Pretend. 

I would pretend like nothing had changed and it was any other day.

I knew that I'd finally lost when I found myself missing my mother's nagging as she yelled at me to get up for school. I even missed my father's cold shoulder as he left for work without saying a single word. I missed the normalcy of it all. 

I got out of my bed and walked down the stairs; still clothed in my sweats and hoodie. The suffocating feeling of Deja Vue swamped me as I took the stairs. Flashes of carrying my father down them threatened to make me stumble. But I block out the memories. I pretend. That my father is perfectly healthy.

It was all a dream.

Reality came crashing in as the smell of an early morning breakfast had me quickening my pace. Had it all been a dream?  God, please let it have all been a dream. I muttered a lengthy prayer, as my beating heart threatened to burst through my ribcage. I tried to slow down my pace, but my limbs had a mind of their own. 

In the kitchen I found Mark cooking at the stove. Alone. With no trace of my mother, her usual spot by the stove was vacated. My brain seemed to misfire as it tried to comprehend this new scene. 

"Hi", I say. My voice came out uncertain as I took Mark in. He seemed to be overly perky as he whipped up some eggs in a pan. The sound of the metal spatula scraping against the frying pan made my ears itch. 

My voice seemed to bounce around the quiet house. Disappointment hit me full force.  It wasn't all a dream then. It had all really happened. The realization made me notice the soreness of my limbs. Flashbacks of being assaulted at the party struck me full force. I blinked away the fractured memories, choosing to focus on Mark.

He looked way better than he did earlier... The bags under his eyes had faded and the redness in them was now a faint pink. He had bed hair but it fit him at the moment. Soft golden curls stuck up in varied directions giving him almost an innocent glow.  I could practically hear angel sounds when I glanced at him. 

"Hey, cupcake." He teased with a light smile, although slightly forced, was an attempt to put me at ease. I scrunched my nose up at the nickname I disliked. Trying to play along with him, and ignore the delicate situation at hand. 

 I could tell he was trying to make me feel safe, and not as if my life seems to be spinning out of control. I appreciated it. 

"I am making you eggs...and bacon...and toast." He looked at me as I shook my head in a silent protest.

"I don't really have an appetite." He tilted his head to the side and gave me a look that said to try and see what happens. "You're going to make me eat aren't you?"

"Yup! Now sit down at the table."

I could feel the scraping of the wooden chair as it slid across the floor inside of my bones. I sat down taking a shaky breath - right now everything felt wrong, forced even. Every breath felt fake and heavy. These feelings were something familiar. Akin to a time in my life that involved death and despair. 

I felt as if the whole world were out of balance. And that nothing would ever align again... but I choose to keep those feelings to myself. Mark would worry even more about me.

He sat a plate in front of me, and the sight of his trembling hands as he did so brought tears to my eyes. I wiped them away attempting to be lighthearted.