The Girl Who Dreamed of Darkness

ONE: A Date With Destiny

Every morning my lips taste of salt, and my cheeks feel tight and sticky from crying. I never remember my nightmares, only that they're filled with darkness and despair. If I even sleep. Most nights I count the hours until sunrise, staring at the watery brown stains on the ceiling in my cramped apartment. Panic sets in at the first rays of dawn, so I untangle myself from my damp sheets and stumble into the bathroom, washing my face with water that smells strongly of chlorine. I don't check the mirror, it's too depressing. I know what I look like, and it isn't pretty. No one looks good with a sallow complexion and black bags under their eyes.

Today the apartment is dark and quiet when I leave for work. My father is still asleep or hasn't come home from the bars yet. Not that it matters to me. The two of us are like ships passing in the night, where one captain is a lush who can't keep a job to save his life, and the other cautiously avoids his wrath. I plan on moving out as soon as I have enough money. Which will take a while, since I'm only a barista. I'd like to do something more with myself, but I'm too tired. I walk around in a fog most days, hardly able to think about anything more complicated than counting shots of espresso and liquid sugar. It's a dull existence, but when that's all you're used to, anything brighter burns your eyes.

Speaking of which, the sun is positively buttery this morning. The block- and-a-half to the cafe where I work looks like one of those slice of life animes where the main character greets the entire neighborhood on her way to school, even the ancient, half-blind guy that works the newspaper stand. Like people still buy newspapers. It's so darn cheerful out, even the stone chips in the concrete sidewalk are glittering. It makes me wonder if the feral cat I just saw slink into an alley would talk back if I yelled at it.

I know, I know, I'm cynical. But I have to say, there's a kind of peace to being the lone rain-cloud on a sunny day. It's comfort in consistency, or something like that.

The cafe is on the adorable spectrum, too. Everything is shades of pastel brown and tan and pink, like a puppy with its tongue wagging. Cartoon oil paintings of baby animals hang on the walls, and the menu has drinks with names like Cranky Kitty (a spicy cappuccino) and Debonair Dalmatian (a bitter dark roast with two "spots" of cream). Fifteen percent of proceeds get donated to the local animal rescue, which is the reason I work here although I have to wear a hideous apron with hearts and paws all over it that clashes with every piece of clothing I own.

That, and Aaron...

"Happy anniversary, Kera!" my boss, Jane, shouts as soon as I step through the jingling door.

That means it's been two years since I started. Time flies–or stagnates, depending on how you look at it. Nothing has really changed for me. I guess I'm more tired. The nightmares have been getting worse, in the sense that I wake up feeling like an even bigger truck ran over me than I used to.

I still remember nothing about the dreams, though.

"Thanks," I mutter, stuffing my purse under the counter and tying on my apron. I might be pathetic, but hey, at least I'm not rude.

"Yo Kera, you've been here almost as long as me."

That's Aaron, Jane's son. Tall with sandy brown hair, gray eyes, and perfect teeth. He's two years younger than me–not even eighteen yet–so it's awkward to admit I have a raging crush on him. But I do. Always have. If he knows, he conveniently plays dumb.

I get it. He's attractive, and I'm... the walking dead. Things might be different if I could actually sleep. But I can't. I don't. What's the opposite of Sleeping Beauty? Whatever it is, that's me.

"I made your favorite." He grins, and my face instantly heats. It's so embarrassing. He has to know. It's not like I'm good at hiding it. "I even remembered the monk fruit," he adds, sliding the steaming paper cup of black tea across the counter to me. "Happy Gotcha Day."

It's a joke, because we're a coffee shop that helps rescue animals.

I try to laugh but my cheeks still feel tight. Maybe the silver lining of crying every night will be a lack of premature wrinkles. You can't get smile lines if you never smile, right?

"Thanks," I manage. It's the only word I've uttered since arriving. Some days it's the only thing I say to either of them all day.

It's pathetic that I speak more to the customers than my co-workers. But what would we talk about? It's not as if I have anything interesting to say. Aaron is a popular high school senior, and Jane spends most of her time at the cafe organizing animal fosters on her laptop in the back room. The three of us have nothing in common, unless you count liking puppies, and as I mentioned before, I'm too exhausted to have proper hobbies. It's not like I can tell them about my nightmares. About the creeping darkness. And if I did, what purpose would that serve? I might be a rain-cloud, but I'm not trying to rain on everyone else.

The morning passes quickly, Aaron and I circling each other as we wait on customers. It's a nice day, so more people than usual stop for coffee on their way to work. There are only a few complainers and Aaron handles them gracefully, either replacing their drink or refunding their money, whichever shuts them up quicker.

By mid-afternoon the caffeine in my bloodstream perks me up, and I find the rare ability to smile at another of Aaron's sweet but stupid jokes. I'm careful not to read too much into his mostly one-sided banter, though. I know his flirtation is meaningless. Aaron flirts with everyone, sometimes even guys, although I'm ninety-nine percent sure he's straight.

I consider myself good at warding against his effortless charm, but then he says something he's never said before:

"Hey Kera, will you go out with me after work tonight?"

My heart stops. That's what it feels like, anyway. Because there's no way in hell he's actually asking me out. Me. Kera the Quiet. Kera the Lackluster.

My lips don't feel salty anymore. Now, they're dry. Parched. I take a sip of lukewarm tea and clear the cobwebs from my throat.

"T-tonight?" I hide my shaking hands behind my back.

He nods, smiling like it's nothing. Damn, he's pretty.

I nod back. Once. "Okay."

"Great." He rises on his toes and spins back to the cappuccino machine he's cleaning. "I have to leave for a while, but I'll be back to help you close. You like Thai, right?" he asks after a beat, like he's just remembered. "The food? I was sort of hoping we could go to this one place. It's not too far, we can walk."

"Yeah." I've never had Thai, but so what?

"Awesome!" He hangs a damp rag over the frother handle and points at me, winking. "You're the best."

I spend the rest of the afternoon smiling so hard my cheeks ache. Aaron asked me out! On my work anniversary. Okay, so that's a little weird. And I don't understand how he can see me as anything other than a wet blanket. But for once in my life, I'm going to stop talking down to myself and see what happens. Go with the flow. Other people do, and it doesn't end in disaster for them, so why not me?

Maybe Aaron wants to see me outside work because he thinks I need a friend. He's a nice guy, and he wouldn't be wrong. If I could break out of my shell, a friend would be welcome. I haven't had one since high school, and those few were carryovers from elementary and middle school. When my girlfriends started dating and going to parties, I stayed home in my dark apartment with the curtains drawn, dreading the night. Dreading the future and all the risks it brought.

Yeah, I could be friends with Aaron. I think.

But is that what he wants? Well, he asked me out. Literally, asked me to dinner. I don't watch romantic comedies, but I'm pretty sure when a guy asks a girl out for a meal, it's not because he wants to induct her into his Sunday sports crew.

Does he expect me to dress up? Put on make-up? All I own is powder, which I use occasionally to cover my under-eye circles. Hell, I didn't even brush my hair this morning. I'm a total mess, and I won't have time to run home and change. It's almost enough to make me reconsider.

But it's Aaron...