Fallen

3. Constellations

    I continue to weakly point the directions to my house, my fingers shaking as my horrors and darkness come seeping into my brain turn by turn. He pulls into my long driveway then stops the roaring engine,  silence engulfing the car. I already said my goodbyes to this place, but here I am again, my eyes meeting its unforgiving windows and doors.

    I get out the car before he could say anything else and just stand there, the unnecessary lights that illuminate my foreboding home causing me to squint. Thoughts fly around my brain, the nest of depression being the very center. 

 As I insert the key into the door lock and push, the force causes the red wreath that says "welcome" to tap lightly against the dark wood. Funny because welcome is the word I would use least to describe this place. I turn on the lights as we slowly creep to one of the grand double staircases, the beautiful, glittering chandelier casts an eerie contrast to the night's activities. 

"You should go get your pajamas", he states, it's almost a demand, but lacks the undertones of order.

     I don't reply, my feet do the talking. My steps mark the way to my bedroom, where I grab my pajamas and bring them back into the hallway where he is standing. He points to the bathroom nearest the stairs and I head that way, but just as my toes were to hit the cool, marble tiles, his hand hits the door.

"Don't lock it, just in case you...you know...", again his crystal blue eyes turning cloudy with shame.

    I change quickly, removing each layer and replacing it with my comfy, fleece pajamas. Once I am finished, my delicate fingers grasp the silver handle and I open the door into the hallway. I lead myself into my room where he is already sitting on the floor, his back slumped against my bed. As soon as he sees me he gets up and apologizes for going in without my permission, I nod my okay and he relaxes a bit. I get into my bed and lay flat on my back, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars on the crisp, white ceiling above. My eyes make constellations out of the stars, an old habit from my childhood, a method to make myself tired. I close my eyes, and he lays blankets on top of me that were folded on the bottom of my bed; but no matter how warm I should be, my quilt of depression keeps me cold.

    He grabs the blanket that was draped over my desk chair and the small decorative pillow then lays on the floor. Darkness, silence, and pain crawl in, the harsh and unexpected normality of this situation leave me empty, but I strike up the nerve to say something.

"Why are you doing this?", my voice is weak, as if out of practice.

     He leaves my question unanswered, I guess it is not the moment for this. I close my eyes, but sleep doesn't bring the nightmares, I am living in one.

     I stay wide awake, each thought buzzing and whirling around me as second by second ticks by; but slowly, the sleep begins to phase me, and my eyelids begin to droop and my constellations grow fuzzy. Eventually, as every night, I fall asleep to the nagging weight of every dark moment. I know he is having trouble sleeping too, he is murmuring out of habit, and for some odd reason, I can tell he is scared too.