HOW TO RUIN YOUR LIFE (LGBTQ+)

19

I had nightmares again.

    My father was a huge giant, swaying around like a zombie, completely unaware of his surroundings as he approached the house I grew up in, crushing houses and trees under his feet. I was with my siblings and my mom, and my dad's eyes were glowing red and yellow as they flicked downward towards us, landing on my mom first. His hand shot out, wrapping around her body and holding her high up in the air, crushing the air from her body until she crumpled, dead, and crumbled to dirt in his hand, raining down on me and my siblings, Joe and Persia. They were hiding behind me, whimpering and cowering with fright, and I realized that I was the same age that I had been when I'd killed my father all those years ago.

It was a lucid dream.

My father's body crumbled, revealing Micah, who'd been hidden inside of him, and he walked toward me, his hand out. I put my hand out too, but realized that I was holding a shovel in my hand, and it stabbed through his chest. His mouth fell open as he coughed up dirt, and the ground broke open, swallowing him whole. I spun around to see that my younger siblings had disappeared, and I was suddenly underground with the dead bodies of my father, mother and older brother, their flesh gray and their eyes open, staring at me as they rotted.

    I could feel my body, connected to the real world, trying to wake up. But I couldn't pull myself out of the nightmare. It had its claws in me, and there was nothing I could do but sit in the dream, my hands wrapped around my head, hyperventilating in the grave of my older family members.

    Until I heard a crying sound. Above me, on the surface of the earth. Someone was crying. I lifted my hands from my ears, looking up into the darkness of the underground. It was unmistakable. With a new goal, I started clawing away at the dirt, tunneling up through the ground, filling the grave and leaving my dead family behind. I couldn't breathe, but I wouldn't stop. My fingers broke through the last layer, feeling the air touching my skin, and I lifted my head above the ground...

    ...and I sat up, gasping for air.

    I'd finally escaped the nightmare. The same people, the same subject, but always playing out in different ways, night after night after night.

    "Fuck...shit..." I breathed, lifting a hand to feel my heart. It was beating hard, beating through my chest. My fingers gripped the sheets on either side of my legs, and I realized I was sweating profusely, so I threw the blankets off my body, leaning my head back against the headboard.

    "Ahhhh..." I sighed, feeling a lump forming in my throat. "I can't escape it."

    The lump rose, and my stomach began to twist into a knot, my chest burning with the all familiar feeling that I kept pushing and pushing and pushing away.

    No..no no no...

    Go away.

    Go away.

    Go away.

    Go AWAY.

    My eyes started to water, and I clenched my jaw and lifted my hands up to my head, fisting my hands in my hair, squeezing tightly, trying to distract myself with the pain, but I couldn't keep the tears away as my eyes filled and then overflowed, streaking down my cheeks and dripping onto my chest and legs.

    How long has it been?

    How long has it been since I've cried?

    I sobbed quietly, lifting my hand up to my mouth, pressing down hard to keep any more sounds from releasing into the night. I couldn't do it. I had to keep the feelings inside, or I would fall apart and never be the same. Who would I be without my rage, without my anger, without my emptiness?

    Then I heard it.

    The sound I'd heard in my dream.

    The sound of crying.

    A little girl...crying.

    I lifted my head, tears still falling. It was coming from across the hallway, from the guest room, where Cleo was.

    Cleo.

    Duct tape.

    Duct tape her mouth.

    She's being loud.

    I sniffed, then eased myself off the bed, my body seemingly moving on its own, my brain watching with horror as I walked into Cleo's room, seeing her crying with her eyes closed, her arm stretched out by the cuff on her wrist, tossing and turning, trapped in an obvious nightmare.

    "No - please, don't," she cried quietly.

    I stood there, watching her in silence as she continued to cry. Her face was morphed by the shadows and moonlight, and I suddenly saw the truth. Cleo's family didn't want her. Neither did mine.

    We were the same.

    NO, you're not the same.

    You're a killer.

    She's a child, who you will be asked to kill in due time.

    She will die, by your hands.

    And you'll love it too.

    Won't you?

    I reached a hand out, my fingers grazing against her forehead. She was drenched in sweat, but her skin was significantly less hot. She was getting better. Again, my body moved on its own as I slid under the covers next to her, my arm flopping over her body, pulling her in. She suddenly stilled, her cries slowly dissipating until she wasn't crying at all, just lying there, sleeping soundly.

    I closed my eyes, feeling delirious, but more relaxed than I'd felt in a long time. I fell into a deep, dreamless, heavenly sleep.