Asunder

Chapter 18 - Sweet

A few days go by without me leaving my room. Sleep pushes me down and holds me there, and I don't have the strength to fight back against it.

The nightmares are worse. Nightmares of kidnappings, of manacles at my raw wrists, of my captor tying me down and making me watch as my mother is mutilated. I scream, and scream, and they keep her alive through torture, ripping out organs and making a mess of her flesh. Her dull eyes, the fading expression in her destroyed face.

The nightmares about Maya are always different. They're always so bare and simple. And yet, her empty stare as she walks away from me in a dream is just as effective as the cold touch of large, dry hands, which break my spirit night after night in my mind.

I wake up in a cold sweat, and sometimes find myself unable to keep water in my stomach. I need to keep a garbage can beside me at all times, and my body convulses again and again and again, even when there's nothing left inside my stomach but pain and an incessant nausea. And with the newfound knowledge of how very audible it is when I have these nights, I curse myself for my the undoubtedly strident sound of my attempts to control my breath. And so every time that nausea releases its grip on me long enough for me to think, I bury my face in my new pillow to choke the sounds of my heaving and sobbing. And because I hate touching those pillows and those sheets, I eventually switch over to my sister's old mint hoodie. Even if its orange blossom scent awakens new dreams of her and her haunting eyes, I find comfort in her possession.

Sometimes, even after waking up, my senses play games with me: I feel invisible bruises on my cheek and ribs, I see the shadows of eyeless faces on the wall, and I hear a familiar tick against my balcony window. And though the fear is hard to ignore, my exhaustion is even harder to suppress. So I fall back into a hole with no bottom every time I close my eyes.

One morning after the last dream, I sit on my balcony, writing a draft of my will. The day is unfittingly -and almost ironically- bright and warm. Which is only the second reason I chose to put on flimsy pyjama shorts and a breathable shirt, in light colors to repel the heat. The first reason was that any contact of fabric against my legs and arms felt too much like the whispering touch of those groping fingers. After my fourth nightmare, I had to remove the sheets from my bed and sleep naked because of the feeling. But since that attire isn't acceptable out in public, I went for an only slightly more modest outfit.

Not that it changes much. I still feel those touches all over me. I still feel dirty and broken.

I've just finished dedicating my clothes to a charity the homeless I found online when a voice from below interrupts the scratch of my pen.

"Kingsley."

Over the sheet of paper in my hands I see Sky, standing his driveway.

I put down the pen and paper as he advances, face changed with worry. "Hey playboy," I smile, voice raw from the vomiting and the hyperventilating of the previous night.

He stuffs his hands in his pockets and pauses in front of his porch. His head angles as he looks at my face for a few seconds, seeing something I can't read on his. Whatever it is, it probably isn't good, from the way his eyes squint in concern. He smiles, though it only accentuates the sorrowful arch of his brow. "I'm glad to see you're still alive.

Realization sinks into me at the sound of his voice.

"I'm so sorry..." I say, shoulders sagging in self-disappointment, "I completely forgot to visit."

The last night we talked, I got home, and immediately started thinking about a gift for James and Hana. As soon as I sat down in the living room, my eyes fell on Emma's half-eaten box of pastries. I jumped up and scoured the internet for the best pastry shop in town. After finding one that was a thirty minute drive away, I asked my dad when it was most convenient for him to go get them. He said he could go right away, since he had some groceries to pick up. But after he searched the web and found out how far it was, he gave me a dirty look, and cancelled. So I instead walked to the nearest option.