wake up.

IV

I crawl into bed. Dad's not home yet. I turn to my side. It's nine-thirty. Where is dad? Then I remember.
I am awake.
Do not fall asleep.
Stay awake.
I am awake.
Then he walks in. Dad is home. He sits on the end of my bed, his hand running up and down my covered leg. He sighs.
"Ananka. We need to talk."
Suddenly I do not want to see him. I do not want to talk. I will not talk.
He stares at me for a few seconds more before sighing again. He peers up at me, his hand continuing the same soothing motion.
"Ananka." He pauses. "I was thinking about taking you to a-"
"No."
He blinks. "No?"
"No." I confirm, tugging my blanket towards my chest.
"Sweetie," he starts, his eyes pleading with me. I do not need help. I am normal. I will be normal. Because I am normal. "I don't- I can't. Ugh..." he groans, taking his hand off my leg to run it down his face. He looks back at me, his eyes resuming his kind urgency.
"Ananka."
"Yes?"
"You need help."
My hands tighten around my blanket. "No I do not."
He notices. Then his eyes harden.
"If you do not need help, then go to sleep." He counters. I flinch. But I will not give in so easily.
"Fine."
He silently sputters for a bit, then sighs for the third time in five minutes. His gaze latches onto mine.
"Why won't you accept anyone's help? Because I'm trying to help you, and you won't listen. I'm trying so hard to support my little girl, but she won't accept it."
I blink, shuffling under my sheets and facing away from him, the pillow hot against my cheek.
"Why are you doing this to yourself? I love you, Ananka. Please-"
"Goodnight, dad."
I can almost feel his eyes boring into the back of my head. I do not move. I do not need help. They're just nightmares. If anything, blame my mother.
No.
He's right to blame me.
Blame me.
Blame me.
Blame me.
I hear his footsteps fade away as he shuts my bedroom door. The floorboards are still squeaking back into place when I hear his door slam. I sigh, gazing out of my window in front of me.
It's open. Didn't I close it? Why is it open?
I can remember opening it. But can I really rely on my memory?
Suddenly, I feel sleep's tight and restless grasp on me strengthen. I try to keep my eyes open. I try to stay awake. But I'm falling.
Falling.
Falling.
Falling.
I gasp awake. The window is still open from the night before. Was my sleep dreamless? Or is this the dream? Am I dreaming? I look around my room. Everything is the exact same. I think. I should've looked around the night before. At least I'm not waking up covered in sickly yellow paint in a small school medical office.
I slide out of bed. There's a note on the floor right in front of my door. Dad. I walk over and pick it up.
I've been called into work early today, so I couldn't give you a good morning kiss. I'm sorry! And I'm also sorry for last night. I shouldn't have said anything. Daddy loves you! Expect me home by five. But I still really want to talk to you about finding help. Please give up on yourself.
I reread the last line again.
Please don't give up on yourself.
This is a dream. It has to be.
Wake up.
Wake up.
Wake up.
WAKE UP.
I open my eyes. The note's gone, but otherwise the room is indifferent. I'm back in bed, my face turned towards the window. I sigh in relief.
Quickly and efficiently, I dress for school once again, this time in fresh clothes. I still need to put my soiled uniform in the wash. I jog downstairs and pack my food for the day into my bag.
Where did my food from yesterday go?
I zip the bag up and head out the door, careful to lock the door behind me. Then I walk a few blocks until I'm standing at the entrance to the school. I take a deep breath and step forward, continuing up the stairs. I pause at the front doors. Kids walk in and out past me, paying no attention to me despite what had happened yesterday. I look around quickly, my eyes flickering over each child's face. He's not here. Phew.
I step forward, breaking into the threshold. Nothing happens. I smile to myself and continue forward, heading over to my locker. I attempt to unlock it using the code 2, 31, 3. It jams. Oh, right. I had my lock changed after Zachary broke the first one. I then unlock my locker using the code 28, 37, 15. It unlocks.
I chuck my bag inside and prepare my books for today. I can get through five periods. I can do this. First period is history. That means I have Ms. Weatherby. I smile to myself, probably making even more of a fool out of myself. After that I will have maths, art, technology and lastly science.
I close my locker and head over to my history room. I catch the eye of Mariah from down the hall, and we excitedly wave to each other. We can be normal. I can be normal. I am normal. I go to rush over to her, but the bell rings, signalling the start of first period. I sigh, chuckling softly at Mariah's frustrated antics. Then I head into history.
"Ms. Tuffin! Glad you can join us today!" Ms. Weatherby gleefully exclaims, nodding over at me. I smile in return, taking my seat at the front of the class. It's the desk closest to the door. And in a few short minutes, class begins.
"Alright, listen up folks. Today," she pauses as she begins to write on the board. "We're going to learn about our state's important political figures. Last lesson we learnt about our country's most famous figures, but I've decided today we will learn about this state's figures, as it is much more intriguing to know about people we could accidentally run into. Isn't that right, class?"
I freeze. Wasn't this term's topic about Ancient Greeks?
The class erupts in a chorus of bored yes's. I look around me wildly, not caring if I look strange. Am I dreaming again? My attention is stolen from me as Miss begins to write names on the board.
Marcus Wayne.
Lucy Belgens.
Youssef Iloy
I suck in a breath. I can feel my heart rate rise.
I'm awake.
I'm awake.
I'm awake.
This is a dream.
Regina Tuffin.
"I think we should start with the most obvious and recent choice, Regina Tuffin."
No.
No.
No.
"What do you think, kids?"
Another chorus is heard, every child repeating the same thing: "Yes."
"How about you, Ananka? Do you want to talk about Tuffin's assassination?"
I shake my head. Behind me I can only hear "yes."
"Let's talk about how controversial your mother was. Did you know that there was a murder investigation on her? Did you know there was a bomb planted? Were you in the same room as her? Why don't you tell us?"
I think I'm crying.
"Why don't you tell us, Ananka?"
"Yeah come on, speak up!"
"Tell us everything!"
"Did you plant that bomb?"
"Did you know she would die?"
"Did you want her to die?"
"Tell us!"
"Tell us!"
"TELL US!"
I scream, pushing Ms. Weatherby back and running through the halls. I thought I was done with this. Why can't I be done with this?
Please.
Please.
Please.
I run into a tall warm body. I feel their arms around me, steadying me. I look up. Could my day get any worse?
"Why're you running, Ananka?" Zachary asks me, looking down into my eyes. I freeze. His arms are still wrapped around me, and only genuine care and surprise fill his gaze. I don't like this. I hate this.
Leave me alone.
Leave me alone.
Please no.
"Are you ok?"
Kindness does not suit him. Please stop this. I will not fall for this emotional manipulation.
"Leave me alone." My hoarse voice croaks. He tightens his grip. He's hurting me. My arms, they're hurting. "Please stop."
The look in his eyes is throwing me off. "Ananka, I would never hurt you."
Then he does the unthinkable. I'm suddenly pushed against the lockers, and his mouth is on mine. I do not want this.
I'm crying again.
"I want you, Ananka."
His grip on me tightens. It hurts. It hurts so much. I can feel my wrists bruising. I want him to stop.
"STOP!" I cry out, using this new found strength to push him down.
I open my eyes.
I'm in bed again. I look around me. My window is closed and it's 1am in the morning. I sigh in relief, sitting up and leaning the back of my head against the bed frame. Breathe. I need to breathe.
One. Two. Three.
Again.
One. Two. Three.
I find myself rocking back and forth on my bed. I count my rocks. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven...
And then I'm gone again.