Days to Insanity

Chapter Three

Day Two

Charlie

"It's your birthday?" I ask, and Rye pauses, staring at me before laughing.

"That prank won't work on me, Charlie, because we were just talking about my birthday yesterday!"

"But your birthday was yesterday," I mumble, but she isn't listening. She's talking about how she's going to add Finn and Syl to the FaceTime call. I sit up slowly, trembling, plugging my headphones in. Rye doesn't notice. She's too busy talking to Finn.

"Of course she calls you first, Charlie," Finn rolls his eyes.

"But it's Saturday," I mumble to myself. "It's supposed to be Saturday."

"Hold on," Rye says - her camera is paused. "Syl's not picking up - I'll try calling her normally. Be back in a sec."

"I guess it's just you and me, Charles," Finn says after Rye leaves the call. I stare at his face. Is this a big prank? The way he's looking at me through the call shows that he doesn't remember what happened yesterday. Maybe it was a nightmare. But it was so realistic. They're never usually like that.

My eyes slide over to my desk where Rye's unwrapped gift is sitting. My mom wrapped that. She scolded me for swearing before telling me to go get ready and wrapping it herself. I went to school. I caught my crush and my best friend kissing and I gave her the gift. It's not supposed to be on my desk.

"Charlie," he says softly. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah," I reply quickly. "I'm tired. I'm going to sleep."

Before he can say another word, I end the call.

Nate

I stare at my phone. It's not January 30th. It's supposed to be the 31st. It's supposed to be Saturday. I should have been sleeping right now, in my father's house, with the comfort of knowing that he's going to be there for me from this day forward.

I slowly stand up, walking over to the desk where the paper is. It's waiting for me to write in it. The letter to Mom. I go to my school bag and see the empty paper inside my French notebook. The letter to Pete. It's empty. They're both empty, even though I know how every word hurt to write, so many sentences I scratched out despite planning it so perfectly.

I open the duffle bag that's sitting under my bed, somewhere no one would know to look. Everything's packed. I reach for the note. It's not torn to pieces. It's in all in place.

I read the beginning of the note. I can't stand this. I had a nightmare about this day, so vividly, and it went to terribly, but now I have to relive it again.

The one year anniversary of my girlfriend's death.

Nate, Nate, Nate.

I can't seem to read further. Maybe it's because I don't want to. Or maybe it's because my eyes are welled up and I can't physically read it.

I walk to the desk and sit down. Then I start writing every word I wrote in my nightmare to my mother once again.

Nightmares aren't supposed to be this vivid, yet it's the only explanation I'm allowing to let myself think.

***

Charlie

"Charlie," my mother says irritatedly, shaking me awake before turning off my alarm. "It's been going off for five minutes! What are you doing? You didn't even wrap Rye's gift- Casper! Don't take too long in the shower!"