Bring Me Light

Chapter 4

     We stayed up for a while talking about the good ol’ details. Sexy man, sexy make out session. Then I got into bed, it had butterfly sheets on it. And I asked her, “What up with the sheets?” she laughed.

     “I wasn’t going to buy expensive sheets for guest bed sheets. You know how to sew, right? We can get some fabric and make our own. It’ll look super punk.” She said, and I pictured multiple outcomes.

      “Fine and we’re getting a phone for me tomorrow, right?” I asked, just to make sure. “Yeah, so you can call that hot guy! Goodnight Wiley.” I waved to her, as she walked across the hall, and I flopped on my bed, not even thinking about changing.

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       “Mom! STOP! Why are you doing this it’s three in the morning!”

        “SHIT, where are they, you hid them, didn’t you, you little asshole.”

     She threw whatever she could at me, and my dad came in. Even drunk than her, he said, “Martha, why are you throwing ducks at Wiley?” OW, OW, OW as the pots and cups hit me, it just hurt more and more. “STOP, MOM YOU ARE HURTING ME!” I said, pleading. I didn’t even hide her cigarettes; she just blames me for everything, WHY?!

      “Oh, here they are,” she sighed of relief, lighting one. Not even caring half a crap what she did to me. I ran to my room and locked it, crying. I was so loud and no one in the world could hear my cries. No one, I kept screaming, I never felt better. I’m poisoned. I’m…

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     I gasped for breath as my nightmare ended. I looked at the clock on the nightstand next to me. I wasn’t too jetlagged. It was 4:57, but I needed a drink of water. I walked down stairs, and got a drink from the sink.  Suddenly, two hands got hold of my shoulders, and I almost screamed. Yvette showed her face, and covered my mouth. I was about to chuck the glass of water in her face when I realized I was too lazy to get another. So I just swatted her hand away and took a sip from my water.

      ”You want to talk about it?” she asked, sitting next to me,

      “About what?” I questioned, using her legs as a foot rest and making myself comfortable on the sofa. “Wiley, you were screaming in your sleep. Crying too, I think.” She said, sounding concerned. Of course, my perfect imperfections.

       “I just had a bad dream, that’s all.” I said, frowning. I sighed, then she patted my back. “Hey, you have any spare canvas’ laying around? I asked. I felt in the mood to paint, and since she’s an artist too, she knows what that’s like.

      “Sure. In the studio, next to my bedroom, just go to the left and grab a canvas. To the right you’ll find all the paint on the rack.” she said, and I waited about 0.5 seconds before I flew off the couch and ran to the studio. I immediately grabbed what seemed like a 20 by 12. I grabbed purple, black red and yellow, and white and for what seemed like no time at all, I poured my feelings onto the canvas. Tears running down my face, and that’s exactly what I painted. A mirage of someone running on a path that I’d never know, and a girl crying, fire burning too. I don’t know what caused me to feel this way I just do, and it’s like a collision of memories and things that I hope will never come. My heart and mind are running at full speed and I don’t know what to do. I’m so confused.