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“Dad! Help me, please!”
“Oli! Wake up.”
Jake? How did he get here?
“Oli, please wake up, man. You’re scaring me.” The shaking of my shoulder becomes more insistent.
My eyes shoot open, and I gasp for breath.What the hell? Where am I?Pushing myself up into a sitting position, I try to regain my sense of reality. The only light comes from the moon shining through my open bedroom window. Jake hovers over me, panic reflecting in his hazel eyes. My body is drenched in sweat and my hands are clenching my bed sheets.
“You okay?” My brother’s voice trembles.
I blink away the tears stinging my eyes, not wanting him to notice. I fumble for the bottle of water sitting on my bedside table. Jake picks it up, handing it to me. I unscrew the cap and gulp down what’s left, breathing heavily through my nose.
“Oli?”
“I’m fine,” I mutter, hurling the empty bottle across the room. With trembling fingers, I start to unbutton the black shirt I wore to Dad’s funeral earlier that day.
“Was that–”
“I said I’m fine, Jake.” I scramble off my bed, shoving past him.
I need to get out of these clothes.
Giving up on the rest of the buttons, I pull my shirt over my head, shivering as the cool air hits my clammy skin. I rest my head against my wardrobe door focusing on my breathing – in through my nose, out through my mouth. The scabbing wound above my left eye prickles and I wince, rubbing at it.
Jake clears his throat and I sigh, wishing he’d take a hint and leave me alone. I grab a T-shirt from my dresser drawer and turn to face him, crossing my arms over my naked chest. “It was just a nightmare.”
He nods. “Do they… uh… do you get them a lot?”
I shrug.
He rubs his jaw and his eyes remain focussed on my dress shirt lying in a pile on my floor.
“I wish I could help, man,” he says quietly. “I can’t imagine–”
“It is what it is. Look, Jake, can you…” I indicate to my bedroom door. “I just need to get some sleep.”
He nods again. “I… yeah… okay,” he hesitates before adding, “Night.”
“Night.”
As he slips out of my room, I roll my shoulders back and glance at my desk. Hannah put my Sea World picture back in the wrong spot. My heart clenches as I shift it back to where it should be. There won’t be any more family vacations with Dad. That one will always be the last.
Sliding down to the floor, my back rubs painfully against my wardrobe. I rest my head on my knees. The same questions I’ve been asking myself for days runs through my mind.Why him? Why not me? How was I supposed to keep living without him?The guilt is killing me. It’s been two weeks since the accident and the same nightmare wakes me every night. I rub my dry and gritty eyes. I just want it all to stop – for the guilt to go away.
I stand and unbuckle my suit pants, running my hand over the red indent where the button dug into my stomach. It’ll disappear eventually, like the mark left by the seatbelt cutting into my skin as the car jerked forward. But unlike the seatbelt mark, the memory will remain. I suck in air. Sweat pools between my shoulder blades. Feeling unsteady on my feet, I reach for the wall and force a deep breath.
Once the panic attack passes, claustrophobia settles in and I have to get out of here. Stripping out of my pants, I throw on some shorts and a pair of socks before shoving my feet into my sneakers. I take a couple of steps towards the hallway, but then I remember Jake. He means well, but I don’t need his concern. Plan B: the window. As quiet as I can, I push the fly screen out of the window. I glance at my phone on my bedside table but decide to leave it. I don’t want the distraction.
My feet pound the pavement and I focus on getting my breathing right, trying to match it with my pace. Houses shrouded in darkness flash past me on my regular route. Running down Myrtleford Hill, heading for the river, my adrenaline keeps propelling me forward. As I get nearer to the track that winds around the river, I push myself even harder, craving the way my chest tightens as I suck in oxygen. The feeling of my body pushed to the limits helps me to forget about everything else happening in my life. My muscles contract and release and sweat drips from my body. At four in the morning, there’s not a soul around, and I revel in the thud of my footsteps slicing through the silence. Even the water is still.
My sports watch beeps, and I glance down at my wrist. I’m running a personal best: one kilometre in three minutes and twenty seconds. Even after the ten-kilometre loop marker, the memories of the accident still lurk beneath the burning in my body, and I push on for the twenty-kilometre loop.
Returning to the bottom of Myrtleford Hill, I don’t let my body slow down. I pump my arms harder, running on the balls of my feet to propel me up the hill. There are a few cars on the road now – tradies on their way to work, delivery vans, people with caravans hooked up heading off for the Christmas holidays.
A wave of nausea hits me and I double over, choking and spluttering. Christmas is only three days away. There’ll be no more cringe-worthy Christmas T-shirts and hats that Dad wore with pride, standing front and centre for our family photos.Where are they now?Gathering dust in a drawer somewhere, probably. Something else we’ll never get to enjoy again. No more anticipation of what he’d be wearing. This year’s family photo will serve as another glaring reminder of what we’ve lost.
Someone beeps their horn as their car flies past me and I realise I’ve staggered too close to the road. I stand up, resting my hands on the back of my head as I walk up the rest of the hill. Saltiness drips into my mouth - I have no idea if it’s from my tears or my sweat and I don’t care. At the top, I pause, unsure which direction to go. The sun rises in front of me, setting a pink glow over the landscape. I’m not ready to go home. I don’t want to face Jake and his pitying glances now that he knows about the nightmares. And I don’t want to know whether he’s dobbed me in to Mum or not.
