Had Sophie not slept here for the past two nights, I would have easily written off this moment as a dream. Jamaican mothers, regardless of how old you are, have a strict policy against sleepovers, especially those involving the opposite sex. It's nothing short of a miracle that Sophie and I are here, both awake in bed. I do have a few theories why mom's restrictions have relaxed, one of which involves her being uncharacteristically hesitant to say 'No' to the son she almost lost, but another exasperated sigh from Sophie suggests there's no time to consider the others.
"For the past two nights I've been here, you've struggled in your sleep... violently, I might add." Her voice is barely a whisper as she speaks with her head against my chest. The moonlight catches her loc-twisted, red-tipped hair and I run my fingers through it. I can feel her warm breath on my chest followed by a sharp inhale as she prepares to speak again. "You gasp for air, as though there's none left for you; you fight to get words out, and it looks like sometimes you try to run but are unable to."
I'm not sure what to say.
So... again?" she asks.
"Huh? Oh, yeah sure. Let's go again." My left arm is raised above us and she raises her right.
"Ready?" she asks. I nod.
"Rock, paper, scissors shoot!" I say in a whisper with my lips pressed against her hair.
The rules are always the same – best-of-five. The results, too, are mostly always the same – I win at least three. Our breathy chuckles permeate the mostly dark room as paper covers rock to seal my victory. My hand sinks back to my side and hers to my chest. Though she tries to hide it, her body is tense against mine as the silence swells again.
"What time is it anyway?" My attempt to distract her falls flat on its face, even though she checks her phone to tells me it's 3:15 in the morning.
"Still don't remember what you were dreaming about?"
"Not a clue, honestly. I mean, I do feel a little tired waking up this way, but I really wasn't dreaming." That's the truth, but not all of it. "A little tired" is an understatement. Truth is, it feels like I've gotten no sleep at all... like sleep has merely been a cover for my absence here while I've been completely and miserably awake somewhere else.
"Baby, if this continues, you should consider seeing a therapist, okay?"
Her 'baby' catches me off guard, causing the rest of her sentence to be drowned out by my thoughts. Sophie broke up with me before I went missing. She's been interested in rekindling things ever since I got back. Could I be one of her pity projects? We went out on a date about a week ago and though we've discussed it, we haven't yet settled on continuing our relationship. But it seems she has. Babe. It doesn't quite roll off her tongue the way it used to. I'm uncertain and therefore hesitant concerning her motives.
But I still love her. I know that because Sophie's number is 27 and ever since finding that out, I've been thinking of ways to save her without 'dying' myself. If such a path does not exist, then Sophie's life is at least worth my sanity. It always has been.
"Okay?
"Yeah. Okay. Let's try to get some sleep. Big day ahead."
"Um, Sophie," I whisper softly to her, "what do you want for your 28th birthday?"
"Don't you mean 27th?" she chuckles, "my 28th is two years away."
"I know but still... tell me!" I playfully squeeze her as she tries to think.
"Hmmm... For us to be deeply in love again, more than we were. Now, let's sleep for real this time."
"Okay."
YOU ARE READING
After Life
Mystery / Thriller25-year-old Michael-Johnson Newman was killed. He was sure of it. Yet, how does he explain that to his mother, Marie and his little sister, Francie, who are simply just happy to have him home? How does he navigate this new life, love and relationshi...
