𝐋𝐢𝐚𝐫, 𝐋𝐢𝐚𝐫 | 𝐉𝐉 𝐌𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐤

40. nightmares/daymares/napmares/afternoonmares .

F O R T Y
nightmares/daymares/napmares/afternoonmares

I had a nightmare.

Like a fucking nightmare, nightmare. Waking up in a cold sweat, panic gripping every part of your brain, unable to shut your mind down, type of nightmare.

JJ, obviously, panicked.

Telling him it was just a nightmare—or a daymare, it was four PM—seemed to calm him down; I decided against telling him I don't get nightmares/daymares/napmares/afternoonmares. I don't think within all my memories, spanning as far back as I can remember, I've had a single nightmare. My sleep has always been my best friend—what I turn to at the end of a shitty day, when I need an escape for a few hours and don't want to get drunk or high out of my mind.

Having a nightmare/daymare/napmare/afternoonmare is one concerning thing, but the other is I can't for the fucking life of me remember the details. All I have are the bare bones.

Blood, warm against my skin. Deafening sounds, bouncing around my head. Pain, coming from somewhere I can't pinpoint.

Pulling up to the bonfire, I immediately chug a lukewarm beer. It makes my stomach churn in warning, but I ignore it. Can it give it a rest for today? I'm having a moment.

I drink the next one slower, the taste catching up with me. It's still gross. I'm convinced people only pretend to like it because it's somehow manly. If they got over their toxic beliefs and had a cocktail, their life would be changed.

"And all of a sudden she's like, 'That's it'." John B complains about Sarah, I focus back in on the conversation, I hadn't even known they broke up, Sarah and I haven't talked much in the last few days. I've been so wrapped up in myself and all of my problems that I have neglected her, guilt burns me.

Her father died, sure he wasn't great, but he was her dad

But, to be honest I don't think I'd be all that phased if mine died. If anything, I'd be relieved that there would be no chance he'd win custody.

"I know. But, dude her father blew up right in front of her. Just give her a minute, all right. In the meantime, shotgun right now. Like the old days–" JJ encourages, picking up a beer for him and John B knowing full well I cannot shotgun a beer to save myself without throwing it all up seconds later. But he's cut off by a girl dressed in a one-arm bodysuit and a leopard print skirt. Her tits are impressively pushed up to her chin.

"Hey derelicts," The girl giggles, obviously having a few drinks in her. It's clear she is not talking to me.

"Hey, there she is," JJ nudges John B and I take a sip of my drink trying to enjoy the eventual numbness that will wash over me in another drink or two. It's started, but hasn't reached the peak I need. "That's you. I'm out of here." He hands the beer to John B and gives him a little push toward the girl. 

I mumble a tbon voyage.

JJ and I make the rounds of the party, he occasionally stops to say hello to people while I slowly finish drink after drink, and after every single one I feel better and better, the numbness washes over me in full force and I feel like I have my head above water for the first time in weeks. I don't even think JJ realises I'm filling it up again and again, he's talking to people I either don't know or vaguely know.