Matchbox

VIII. No Sleep For Pretty Girls

Eight. No Sleep For Pretty Girls

           Pretty Girls don't sleep. Especially when their best friend is dead, dead, dead!

    Sleep is for girls who are sane. Vera Stonem did not fall into that category. She sat up in bed for ages, clutching the smallest of stuffed bunnies in her right hand. Her left hand stayed pinching her bare calf. This is real life? Chrissy is dead. Crescent moons cutting up her freckled skin thanks for her pink faded nails. She never did call Steve, she was too hurt to speak out loud. But, she spoke to him in her head—he didn't hear her. Obviously. It's a thing crazy people do, apparently.

    She'd been staring at her closed bedroom door for the last thirty minutes, just move. Do something. Say something. With a lilac sigh the girl pulled herself from silk sheets, dropping the stuff animal. Bare feet cold against the wooden floorboards. Her soft, loose shorts rose up with every step she took. Oversized shirt covering all the skin the too short - shorts were showing.

   Her door creaked. She nearly cried at the noise.

    The stairs were even colder, and the house seem to shake with every step she took. So quiet. It wasn't until she reached the final two steps, the eerie silence of the home went away. Diane Stonem was laying on the couch, the light from the TV lit up the dark room. There was no wine in her hands. Interesting.

   "I knew you couldn't stomach a good nights' of sleep." Vera did not need the faux sympathy from her mother. The girls jaw clenched, moving towards the kitchen. Diane still carried on, eyes locked on the television—not daring to move away from the pixilated screen. "That boy of yours called a few hours ago. Sounded real worried about you."

   Vera's eyes screwed shut as she chugged a glass of water. "I know.." Diane's eyes left the screen, "and you didn't come and pick up..?" I did, Daughter. I, Mother, picked up the phone on your crazy tired boyfriend.

   "I'll see him tomorrow.. It's fine." Nothing about any of this was fine. Diane hummed, shuffling on the couch. She let the controller slip onto the carpet with a soft thud. "You alright?"