Journal Entry
December 27th, 10:48 PM
If there's a Guinness World Record for 'Number of Times Passed Out in a Week,' I think I deserve that award.
I probably have some lovely concussions right about now. I wonder if they'll affect me down the road... Hopefully not. And I guess I'm not getting any turkey today... Happy Thanksgiving, yay!
That was sarcasm.
Scott said I'm not allowed to leave my room until tomorrow. What is he now, my babysitter? Well, at least I didn't wake up around him with less clothing on. That was a plus.
What am I supposed to do until tomorrow? It's not like Alex is right next door in an attached semi, probably in the same situation as me, waiting for me to come see him. Oh wait, that's exactly right, actually. Stupid bedroom confinement! Why couldn't I be a normal kid and just cuss every time I get hurt, instead of passing out every freaking time?!
Ugh. Screw this! I'm going to bed!
It wasn't long before sleep took me. I was a very heavy sleeper and I wish I could have a job at Ikea as, like, a mattress tester. That would be so great for me. I could make money for sleeping on the job! I wonder how much those jobs pay... Does Ikea even sell mattresses or do they only specialize in cheap pieces of furniture that come with ten thousand extra pieces that make me think I missed a hundred steps in the instructions?!
What was I talking about? Oh, yeah, I was sleeping.
So I was getting some well-deserved rest after a very stressful couple of days and, of course, my dreams decided to fuck with that.
I don't remember what I was dreaming about; I rarely do. I don't keep a dream journal like I should. All I know is that I know when I've had a dream before.
I've had this dream hundreds of times, but no matter how hard I try to remember it, it slips just out of my reach. All I really remember is that it terrifies me every time. Every single time.
I woke with a gasp, not shooting upwards like people do in movies, but waking up terrified nonetheless. I could feel my sweat on the clothes I hadn't taken off last night and my arms were shaking. My heart was beating out of my chest and I must've been tossing in my sleep because the red comforter was lying somewhere on the floor.
I listened to the absolute silence around me, glancing out my window to see snow melting against the glass. For some reason, seeing the snow sent a tear streaming down my cheek which I didn't bother to wipe away.
Suddenly light flooded the room and I gasped in shock. I closed my eyes, flipped onto my side, and buried my head in the pillow. No, not out of fear... my eyes are just sensitive to light, that's all.
Okay, maybe a little out of fear.
"Sorry, sorry, sorry!" I recognized Shakespeare's voice immediately. I heard a faint click and the light disappeared, once again plunging the room into darkness; the only light came from the window, from both the streetlights and the moon.
There was silence for a few moments. "What are you doing here?" I asked, sitting up and looking in her direction.
"I... heard your thoughts..." she admitted, sounding sheepish. "Then your screams."
"You heard that..." I mumbled. Wait, I screamed? God, how embarrassing! I watched her figure move through the darkness, seating itself on my bed. My eyes adjusted easier and I could now make out her face, tied back curly hair, and her pajamas, evidently shorts and a tank top that showed off her broad shoulders and legs. I found myself staring at her legs, tracing my eyes up her figure to her lips. I was suddenly very glad for the darkness because I couldn't tell if the tightness in my pants was due to the heinousness that I'd slept in soaked jeans or... something else... (What? I'm a teenager! Don't judge me!)
YOU ARE READING
The Narrator
Teen Fiction*Rated #1 by the author's mom* A teenager who journals? Unthinkable! Travis Bailiff is seventeen years old and still doesn't have a phone... He has an iPod, though. But it's not simply to listen to whatever rap song is popular these days. That's r...
