The Hourglass

Twenty-One

I wake up panting, drenched in sweat. I take a few deep breaths, trying to bring myself back to the present. Trying to blink away the blood. I haven't had this dream since I was little. I had it a few times after Mom's incident. But eventually, it went away. Why was I having this dream now? 

I reach for my phone to check the time, just after midnight. I normally sleep so peacefully and all through the night. I thought for sure after my long walk, I'd be too exhausted for my brain to do anything but sleep. Apparently, I wore down the defenses that keep this memory locked away. 

I blink away what's left of the memory and stare up at the dark ceiling. I feel wide awake and doubt sleep will return to me. I think about texting Adam, suspecting he might be awake. That's a bad idea, don't do that, I think. Why not? I think back. I wage war against myself, battling between two wills. Part of me desires to reach out to him, to talk to him, to rely on him to make me feel better, to distract me from the nightmare. Another part of me screams that it's a bad idea, that I need to have boundaries in place, and that it's not good to rely on other people for things you can't give yourself. Especially when our relationship is so new. 

Eventually one will wins over the other and I send Adam a simple text: Are you awake?  He doesn't respond right away, and I wonder what he does at night when he can't sleep. Does he like to read? Watch movies? There's still so much I have to learn about him. 

After a few minutes, my phone buzzes, and my heart picks up. I'm excited that he's awake. His text reads: Of course, but why are you? 

I ponder whether I should tell him the truth or simply tell him I can't sleep. I suspect he'll wonder why, though. I had a nightmare. I text him, feeling like a small child after hitting send and immediately regretting it. 

My phone starts ringing, and two sensations fill me: dread and relief. Dread, because I'm not sure I should open this door for someone I barely know. Relief because I'm finally ready to let someone in, and I want it to be him, even though I can't comprehend why. 

"Hello?" I answer quietly. I'm lying on my back, under the bed covers, staring at the ceiling, unable to make out much in the dark room. It makes me hyper-aware of his voice. 

"Hey," he says, "You okay?" That's a loaded question, I think. Am I okay in the sense of the word? Physically, yes. Mentally, sure, I've been worse. But somehow after having that dream I feel like something inside of me has broken. 

"I'm not sure," I respond honestly. 

"What was your nightmare about?" he asks. I immediately dread telling him, thinking maybe I'm not ready for this conversation after all. But another part of me yearns to finally reach out to someone about it. 

"My mom," I say slowly, quietly, "and how she died." There, I said it. It's done. I can't take it back. Fear fills whatever void is left inside of me as I listen for his reply. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asks me. Yes. No. Both. 

"Maybe, I don't know. It's kind of a difficult story." I say. 

The tub of blood rushes to my mind, and  I don't realize I'm crying until his voice breaks my train of thought, "Please, don't cry, Rosaline." It's such a soft plea as he whispers it into the phone. 

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to," I tell him honestly. 

"Hang on, I"ll be there soon." He says, and I hear movement in the background. 

I panic, "Wait, what?" I ask. "You're coming over?" 

"Unless you don't want me to," he says.  Of course, I want him to. I desire nothing more than to be wrapped tightly in his arms right now. But should I be? No, of course not. My dad would kill me if he knew.