❝ It's hard to dream when you can't sleep and reality is a nightmare. ❞
Kaylee Thompson lost the ability to sleep the moment her twin sister died in a car crash. As their mother spirals deeper into grief and Kaylee's own grip on reality begins to sh...
There was a silhouette lingering in the corner of the room.
It crept closer, the dark figure drifting towards me like a predator hunting its prey.
My body froze in fear and I shut my eyes tightly, bracing myself for it to come. Maybe things weren't as different as it seemed, for I was a victim who lived in a constant state of despair and gave myself up to the darkness that surrounded my heart.
And this was the end.
Only I didn't feel anything. The haunting whispers faded into nothingness, and it was still and quiet around me. My hands felt clammy despite the cold.
My eyelids flew open. I reluctantly took a step closer and let my eyes adjust to the dark, making out the curtain draped over the window, the wooden furniture scattered across the room, and the bed neatly pushed against the shadowed pink walls.
I rubbed my eyes and ran my fingers through the knots that had formed on my hair.
There was no one here.
'You lack sleep; it's just your mind playing tricks on you.' A voice echoed in my head.
The strain left my shoulders at the thought, but the feeling of uncertainty stayed. Before I could think more into it, a yawn escaped my lips and my eyelids felt heavy all a sudden.
Stretching my aching legs, I climbed into bed and pulled the thick blanket close to my chest. My eyes drifted close, and it wasn't long until I fell into deep slumber.
I had a dream that night, and it had Rowan in it.
* * *
The warm yellow rays streamed through the pink curtains, and I cracked my eyes open to the sight of my mother sitting on the edge of the bed. Her back was facing me, her long auburn hair tumbling down to her shoulders.
I groggily sat up and leaned on the headboard.
"What are you doing here?" I said warily. My throat felt dry and my voice was still laced with sleep, but I knew my eyes wouldn't be closing anytime soon.
Her body stilled for a fraction of a second before she jumped up from the bed like it was on fire and subtly swiped a hand across her face. She faced me with a rueful smile that deepened the wrinkles under her eyes.
"I-I was just checking up on you." The first thing I noticed was how her voice sounded raspy and uneven like there was something stuck in her throat. "I'll leave now, see you at breakfast sweetie."
Silence descended on the room as my mother neared the door and placed her hand on the doorknob, her movements stiff and calculated. My eyes zeroed in on the thing she was trying to hide behind her back.
"Wait," I called out, and she halted at my voice. "What are you holding in your hand?"
"It's nothing," she answered a beat too fast and angled herself away from me. Slowly, I swung my legs to the ground and stood up, my feet padding softly against the carpet as I walked towards her.
Up close, her eyes glistened with tears and her bottom lip was quivering. There was also something in her gaze, one I couldn't decipher. My heart sank to the pit of my stomach.
"Mother, a-are you okay?" I looked down at the picture frame she was clutching within her fingers, and goosebumps formed on my arms when the familiarity of it dawned on me.
It was the one I kept in my bedroom. The photograph I looked at every night, before the day my father instructed me to go to the hospital and told me his plan. Before I became my sister.
The faded picture consisted of me and Kaitlyn in our youthful days and seeing it again, at this moment, made my heart shatter. With my lips parted, I lifted my eyes to her tearful ones and the untold question hung in the air.
Her gaze faltered a second before she answered, her voice quiet. "I'm going to clean out your sister's room. It's collecting dust and I think it's best if we just start anew."
With her words, she might as well have plunged a knife deep into my stomach. My legs almost gave out, and I had to lean on the edge of the bed to support myself. My nails painfully dug into my palms and tears stung my eyes.
'Did this mean I'm merely nothing to her? Someone to just throw away and forget when I leave this world?'
I wished I was strong enough to endure her resentment towards me. Strong enough not to get hurt and belittled. But it was merely wishful thinking.
"I miss her," I whispered, speaking of the words buried within the depths of my heart. "I wish I was there with her when it happened."
A look of regret briefly passed her features, or it might have just been my imagination. I wanted her to accept me, but how far would I go to make that dream a reality?
"Don't say that." Her lips twisted to a deep frown. "What happened was tragic, but the past is in the past and there is nothing we could do about it."
"Come here." She opened her arms and engulfed me in a hug before I could say anything else, my cheek pressing against her shoulder. Her warm fingers softly stroked my hair as a tear streaked down my cheek.
My body trembled while she kept her arms wrapped around me, and a muffled sob escaped my lips before I could control it. "I-I'm so s-sorry," I choked out, the tears spilling forth like water from a dam that was long overfilled.
Her grip tightened as I clung to her. It was difficult to breathe and my chest felt heavy, weighed down with the raw emotions I hid away for too long. The guilt stirred in my stomach and a wave of nausea surged over me, the sinking grief consuming my very own existence.
As my mother held me in her arms, I could only fall deeper into despair at the irony of the situation.
The urge to tell her the truth was strong, but it was nothing compared to the uneasiness I felt. I wanted to let her know I was not who she thought I was, but I knew deep inside it would only worsen things.
"I don't want to lose her as well, I'm begging you." My father's voice resonated in my head, the deafening buzz sounding in my ears. Those were his exact words, one I never thought would leave his lips.
I could still remember the times our neighbors would gush in their backyards. They would whisper to each other, telling tales of things others had already forgotten, or perhaps neglected, their voices loud enough that Kaitlyn and I heard when we were on our way home from school.
They said my father, Alan Thompson, was the type of businessman who built his empire without the help of others. He never led without pride by his side, but I knew a crack broke through when he married my mother.
They shared a bond, something I myself won't figure out nor understand, and they were deeper than mere lovers.
My father loved her and so did I, but I knew our secret wouldn't last for long.
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