WAKE ME UP

CHAPTER 6

The next morning, my eyes drift open. My lids are heavy, and I can barely lift my head off the pillow. If it weren't for the fact that I have to pee so badly, I'd probably let myself slip back under. Maybe the idea of "the first day of the rest of my life" is exhausting.

I stumble into the bathroom and sit down on the toilet before I fall over.

I'm just about to crash back into bed when I notice my phone has blown up. I've never completely bought into this expression, but now it actually makes sense. My phone has been hijacked with hysteria.

I start scrolling through it all. I'm piecing things together, although it's not hard. The news is pretty straightforward, if not entirely believable. It's like the plot of some absurd graphic novel. I'd go back to sleep if I could, but I don't dare. Instead, I look in on my mom – her bed is empty – and then go through the motions of making coffee like everything is normal when in fact it's anything but.

I check my phone again to make sure I didn't dream it. The numbers have risen since I first looked. It's now being reported that possibly hundreds of millions of people worldwide have died in their sleep when only a few minutes ago, it was mere millions. What the fuck is happening?

Whatever it is, it hasn't stopped. It's like this wave of death that keeps rolling in. And like Mr. Kasabian and Ms. Diaz, no one has a clue as to why it's happening. People are just not waking up. Old, young, healthy, sick – everyone. It doesn't seem like anyone is immune.

What. The. Actual. Fuck!

I'll admit, I've more than once been indifferent to waking up. And believe me, the irony of what's happening right now isn't lost on me. But this is insane.

My mother suddenly comes through the door. I've never been so happy to see her. I'm hugging her one minute, then getting mad at her the next for not knowing where she was. She tells me she spent the night with her boyfriend Todd, like she told me she was doing after my graduation dinner last night.

Like me, she and Todd struggled to wake up.

I want my mom to explain this all away, but she can't. Instead, she sits me down and tells me my grandmother has died. I should be more upset, but Nanna Lynne has been pretty sick for years and ready to go – so she told me more than once – so on some level, I'm happy for her. But my mom keeps talking. My Uncle Billy is dead, too. And so is this ex-boyfriend of hers, Marcus. None of them woke up.

I'm finding this all impossible to process. Who else do we know has died? That we just haven't heard about yet.

My mom has been trying to put on a brave face since she walked through the door. She reassures me in her best professional voice that the experts will work things out and "fix the problem." I think most therapists think they're more together than the rest of us, and I'm sure that's what's going on with my mom. Although, I'm not sure she's that good a therapist. To begin with, she has this 10-Ritalin-a-day drug habit that no one knows about.

We sit in front of the TV together, staring at the news. Things aren't getting better, and there's only one message being given. Stay awake. As if that's not already super obvious.

My mom confides in me about her prescription for Ritalin. I already know this, of course – I've seen the pill bottle she quickly empties in her medicine cabinet for years – but I pretend otherwise. I think offering me Ritalin gives her a sense of control.

She shows me the dozen or so bottles she has hidden in her underwear drawer, and I realize now just how much of an addict she really is.

I appreciate her sharing her secret stash with me, and I immediately pop one. I'm not particularly tired at the moment – in fact, I'm pretty wired – but it seems like the safe thing to do.

My phone buzzes again, and I look at it. It's a one-line text from Lacey. There's no emotion or melodrama in her words, just a relaying of a fact. Kira is dead.