Teaching | Eddie Munson

The Reality

"No!" Victoria bolted upright with a loud gasp, her chest heavy as if she had been drowning. Her eyes darted around, quickly taking in her surroundings. The old closet with its scratched veneer loomed in the corner, the wide desk looking like something from another era. The faded carpet on the floor, and the walls were plastered with posters that had seen better days. She could hear the faint rustling of paper behind her and turned to find Max sitting cross-legged on the other bed, a magazine in her lap, though she clearly wasn't reading it.

Max had that look. The one Victoria had seen a thousand times. Concern masked by nonchalance, but their shared mornings had taught Vic how to read between the lines.

"Again?" Max asked, her voice carrying that familiar sound of genuine worry as she set the magazine aside. Slowly, she slid out of bed and crossed the room toward her stepsister.

Victoria didn't respond right away, rubbing her eyes with her palms like she could wipe away the nightmare. She stood up just before Max could reach her, brushing past her outstretched hand, and headed for the bathroom.

"Look, Vicks... I'm worried about you." Max began, her tone soft. "I mean, waking up like that, what, third time this week? You're gonna give the grim reaper a complex."

Victoria paused for a split second, then kept moving toward the bathroom. Max had hit a nerve, but she wasn't ready to admit it.

"Max, it's already Friday." she muttered over her shoulder, flashing a half-hearted smile that didn't touch her eyes. "So really, that's not bad. Pretty good score if you ask me."

"Last week it only happened once, so, you know... progress." Max retorted sarcastically and crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe.

Victoria's smile evaporated as quickly as it came. "And you've never had nightmares about him?" she snapped, her voice sharper than she intended. She spun around, now facing Max fully, her expression hard. "Do you not remember all those times you woke up drenched in sweat, thinking you were still in that damn mall? It happened almost every night for weeks and I never gave you shit about it. So stop giving me shit now." She ran through the words like she was on autopilot, barely taking a breath. "Yes, I had a nightmare about Billy. So what? He's dead, and that's not changing. It was just a stupid dream."

Max stared at her for a moment, then shrugged with exaggerated casualness. "Well, since it's just a stupid dream, then fine, whatever."

Victoria sighed, sensing Max wasn't going to push further. They'd had this conversation too many times before. Without another word, she disappeared into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her with a soft click.

Once inside, she leaned against the sink and closed her eyes. The silence pressed down on her, and she wished she could vanish into it. The dream - the recurring nightmare - always left a wound that refused to heal.

All she could think about was how much she hated herself for snapping at Max. She hadn't done anything wrong.

She quickly stripped out of her clothes and stepped into the shower. The cold water hit her skin, and she welcomed it. She needed the shock, something to ground her in the present. As the water poured over her, her mind wandered back to the dream.

It was always the same: Billy's face, twisted with fury, that familiar sneer. She saw him so clearly, saw the light dimming from his eyes. His hand reached for her in those final moments, but it never got there. She was always just out of reach, never close enough to save him, to tell him everything she couldn't when he was alive. Why couldn't I do more? Why didn't I save him?

She squeezed her eyes shut, the water turning icy now, matching the bitterness that filled her chest. For a second, she thought she heard his voice again, that mocking tone he used when he was being cruel. And oh, how cruel he was sometimes. "You couldn't even save yourself, Vic. Pathetic."