Alive (Book 1)

Five

I was really more of a night person.

It didn’t always used to be like that, just since the nightmares started frequenting my mind more often.

I found myself jolting awake again, sweaty, gasping, listening to the lingering screams of the people from my hometown.

They’re dead, I reminded myself, pushing sweaty hair out of my face. They’re dead and you can’t do anything about it.

I knew that. That was the worst part. I knew I couldn’t do anything, and yet they relentlessly haunted my mind, slowly driving me crazy. And I couldn’t stop them. I couldn’t stop them.

For a few moments I listened to the steady sound of August’s breaths, and then the hum of the cheap heating unit. I stared at the wall ahead of me, fingers woven through my hair, fighting for control. Waking up was always the hardest part, knowing those alive in your dreams would never be alive ever again. Tia always told me I was adjusting well, but I knew the opposite to be true. I was as maladjusted as anybody could possibly be. Choosing to keep everything bottled up was my coping mechanism, and probably the worst one out there.

Shrugging on my sweatshirt, I tiptoed to the door and slipped out. There was no need to wake August. Being it four in the morning, I didn’t imagine many people would be wandering about, and I wouldn’t go far, anyway. I just needed some air, to take a breath. To know I was still able to maintain some semblance of control.

There was a small convenience store near the motel. When it was really bad, and I would wake up screaming, Tia would give me some warm milk to assuage the lingering terror. It always helped. I figured this time would be no different.

The tiny shop was empty, lit by flickering fluorescent lighting. I stumbled through the door and straight to the back, where the drinks were. I grabbed a small bottle of milk and walked toward the counter, ringing the bell for service. My head was pounding. It had been doing that a lot lately.

“Well, hello again. What can I do for ya?”

It was beer gut guy, leaning across the counter toward me, alcohol-laden breath wafting in my face. “I thought you worked at the motel.”

“I do,” he said. “Until eleven. Then my buddy takes over. I work the night shift here.”

Mmhm. “I just want want this milk, then,” I said, handing over the bottle. He rang it up, cracked fingernails drumming against the scratched plastic covering the top of the counter. I wrapped my arms around myself, feeling supremely uncomfortable in his presence.

“You stayin’ with someone tonight?” he asked, waiting for the malfunctioning cash register to ring up the price.

“Yes,” I replied.

“You together?”

“No.”

“Interesting.” the machine emitted a dull buzz. He slapped it once, and then bagged the bottle of milk. “Lonely?”

On a good day I was about ten times more paranoid than the average person, so to have a man blatantly making advances toward me--besides it having never happened before--was more than enough reason to nearly jump out of my skin. “I’m eighteen,” I rushed out quickly, taking a step back.

“That’s great,” he said. “You want an award or somethin’?”

I licked my lips, telling myself this was not a situation to let the rubber band snap. That he was just a regular pervy guy at a craphole motel, and I was just in another completely normal sticky situation. Nothing unnatural about it.