Alternatively

In My Dreams

She knew his name.

Waking up in the middle of the night, jolting from day dreams, it was cycling in her head. At first, it was the occasional whisper, as though she were simply remembering something from a long time ago. Then it got louder, more insistent and frantic and her heart threatened to explode from her chest; the voice was terrified.

The name was consistent, though, keeping her company in the giant house and lonely classrooms. It didn't sound like her, sounded distinct and boyish. There was no one in her school with a name like that, no one with a voice like that. He was hers.

She once asked her dad if he heard anything, found names in his dreams; he had looked at her strangely and explained dreams were only images pulled from real life, memories. It wasn't what she was looking for, wasn't what she wanted to hear.

She didn't talk about the name anymore.

It was weird to her that it was only this one word and nothing more. Most people having psychotic breaks had full sentences, fleshed out voices whispering in their heads, but he just repeated his name, as though it were the only important thing for her to know. Rather, the only important thing for him to know. If there was any sign he was being heard, he gave no inkling.

That being said, she did not talk back. She knew she wasn't crazy, that just because it was in her head didn't mean she was losing it, but she did not acknowledge the voice. It wasn't for her.

Percy.

Why would a person be saying their name over and over? Why would she be hearing it? Why would it stop for week or so before increasing in repetition and desperation?

She let it loop as she dazed off in class, let it lull her to sleep when the night stretched with no sign of rest. She didn't remember when she first heard it, but she knew when she wished it would stop. You would think - she assumed - that more people in the house would mean she wouldn't be lonely anymore. She assumed her step mother would want her, that her brothers would love her, that her dad would be snapped from his work so he could notice her.

Assuming gets you no where.

Her brothers had just started school, showed so much promise, and she was getting notes written home and phone calls to come pick her up because she can't sit still, she won't focus on her school work, she hadn't completed her homework, she got in a fight with a kid on the playground again.

She got yelled at.

She tried to work, to behave, but she got yelled at.

And the name was whispering over and over, like it had in the spring and through the summer, but she wanted it to be quiet, to leave her alone. She couldn't focus with Percy running through her head and she screamed, insisting he just shut up already.

He went silent.

Breathing out, she could pretend she was normal at last. She could get her grades up, could keep from impulsively lashing out, could be good. There was nothing she couldn't do if she set her mind to it, and she was rising. She made the grades, got the gold stars, worked diligently and became perfect.

They weren't yelling anymore, demanding for her to clean up her act. They weren't scowling or insisting she had to do better. They didn't do anything.

She found the silence far more insulting.

She could count on one hand the amount of times her father so much as looked at her in a week and the only time her name was called was when she had the answer in class. It startled her, her name, and she lay in bed one night with frustrated tears stinging her eyes.