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Anything.
“Luca?”
Silence.
“Luca?!” I am screaming his name into the darkness.
No response.
Nothing.
Only silence.
There is too much silence.
The rain stops, just like the distant cries. “Luca!” I scream louder than I thought was humanly possible. I am likely going to rip my vocal cords, but I don’t care. I have to get to my son, and he isn’t responding to me. I can’t hear him anymore.
In the distance, I can hear the faint whirl of sirens just as my heart drops into my stomach.
That is the last thing I hear before dizziness comes over me, and everything fades to black.
ONE
NOW
Camille
"How are you sleeping? Are the dreams still keeping you up?" Dr. Meredith Reynolds always asks meaningless questions she already knows the answers to. Yes, I still have nightmares that wake me every night. I wake up in a cold sweat, and yes, she already knows that. How does she know? Because I've told her this during every session over the last few months.
Nothing has miraculously changed since our last appointment a week ago or the several appointments before that. My nightmares haven't magically gone away in that short time.
"Of course they are. Nothing's changed," I snap at her in annoyance. I'm always so quick to snap at her even when I know she's only trying to help me, but let's face it, she's doing a terrible job at it.
I want a quick solution to my pain. All I want is the medication that suppresses my emotions and numbs my mind. To get my prescription refilled, I must endure these weekly therapy sessions. I don't want to talk, especially not today.
I've been seeing Dr. Reynolds for nearly a year now. My mother recommended that I attend therapy to discuss my trauma with someone.
After the accident, apparently, I wasn't acting according to other people’s expectations after the loss I suffered. I was struggling to deal with the pain that was inside of me. There was too much going on, and I was hollow inside, so I shut everyone out, keeping my emotions to myself. Dr. Reynolds says if I don't deal with my trauma now, I'm at risk of having a mental breakdown later.
I call bullshit on that, though. It's been a year today, and so far, I'm doing fine, aside from my dreams. I should really check into her degrees and licensing.
Can you blame me for not being the same person I once was? Or not wanting to sit around and talk about my feelings every day?
Trauma can do that to you. I experienced something horrific.
Losing someone changes you. Every day I find myself fighting to remain standing on the invisible ledge. Although, I'm not going to tell her that. With my luck, she'd toss my ass into a mental hospital and put me on suicide watch.
As long as she continues prescribing the magic pills to numb my emotions, we'll be just fine.
Believe it or not, I'm thankful for Dr. Reynolds, even though I don't express my gratitude toward the woman who helps me in more ways than one. She gives me what I need to get through the day.
For a long time, my nightmares stayed away. Now, the dreams that force me to relive the worst day of my life are back. Most nights, I wake up in a panic and have to shower to clean myself from the sweat that covers my body. I have to physically wash away the horrible memory of my dreams. But lately, even that hasn't been helping me.
Every night for the last month, I've heard his voice and relived every detail of that tragic night. I become paralyzed in my sleep, forced to go through that night detail by detail until it ends. I can't wake myself up from the dreams anymore.
I'm stuck in my own personal hell, to the point where I'm afraid to go to sleep because I know what awaits me.
It's bittersweet. I want to sleep because I miss the sound of his voice, but I don't want to relive that night, or even see his face. Not in that memory.
