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“You're very quiet,” Jake observes, when I’ve made the call and we're waiting for our food.
“Maybe I'm just sick of all of this,” I sigh, sitting back against the pillows. “I'm exhausted. I just want to feel normal for once.” I can always confess to Jake. He's my closest confidante and my best friend. I know I can trust him to keep my secrets.
Jake smiles, in a way that's both sympathetic and wry. “Nothing about us is normal, Clo. You know that.”
I nod. He's right, of course. Our lives have been a whirlwind of sorrow and pain. Nothing has ever come easy for us, so why should things be any different now? But just because I know my fate doesn’t mean I have to feel good about it. I can still want things. I can still wish that my life had turned out differently, that I was a normal eighteen-year-old girl whose biggest problem in life was choosing shoes that match my outfit.
Room service comes, and we eat like kings. When it's done, I set the tray outside and close the door, turning to see Jake hovering near the corner of the bed.
“Stay?” I ask, craving the company.
“Of course,” he replies.
I smile at him and get in the bed too, snuggling beneath the covers. His arms wrap around me, just like he used to do when we were little and our foster mother was having one of her mental breaks. He used to sing in my ear to block out the screaming. He would do the same when we were put through foster home after foster home, when I was abused. Even when we were separated and Jake ran away after getting into trouble, he would find me, hold me, and sing me to sleep. He's always been there for me when I needed him, and God knows I need him now. I fall asleep, a small smile on my face, as he starts to softly hum.
* * *
It'sstrange how much a tiny strip of light from a hallway, through a slightly open door, can illuminate. How big he had seemed in the darkness. The way his eyes look more silvery than any real colour. How vast blackness makes everything look. The little halo of hair lit up from behind, as he'd just stood there and stared at us for the longest time, before creeping away and closing the door behind him—
I wake up with a scream stuck in my throat and covered in sweat. Jake is already awake, soothing me, his voice warm and his arms strong around me, whispering my name until my ears stop ringing.
“No one can hurt you, Clo,” he whispers. I reach out to the bedside lamp and turn it on to chase the monsters away. Jake is there, his smile soft. “It's just us here.”
I breathe in and then let it out slowly. He's right, as always, but burning in the back of my mind is a question I need the answer to.
Why did Sam leave?
How could he walk away when he could have saved me from the darkness swallowing me whole? From the pain ripping through every nerve ending in my body. From the sensation of having my soul ripped from my body as monsters tear me apart. Except these monsters aren’t demons or devils—they’re worse.
They’re men.
They’re every single man who has done unspeakable things to me.
Every man who took something from me that wasn’t theirs to take.
Things I wasn’t willing to give.
And the figure in the doorway…Sam…he could have helped.
Instead, he walked away, leaving me to suffer in my own personal hell.
* * *
When I wakeup the next morning, Jake is gone. I shove myself up from the sweaty knot of sheets and force myself into the shower, before getting ready for school. I'm still shaken from the nightmare—or more like a living memory that I'll never be rid of—but I know I need to push through it and get my game face on. Once I get lost in the past, there is no knowing how long it will take for me to drag myself out of it.
The nightmares used to come a lot more often, but lots of therapy has made a difference for that. I have techniques and tools I can use to get over them a lot more quickly. Thankfully, there are fewer things that can actively trigger them during my waking hours. It's just when I get stressed out or something reminds me of my past that they come back with a vengeance. The last few months feel like one big constant reminder, and I think it’s really getting to me. I just want to forget and move on, but I know I can’t until this is over. I moved around so much when I was a kid; there were so many foster homes, I just want a place to call my own.
I want to feel safe, with my brother, far away from everyone else.
I can do it.
Iwilldo it.
Just a little bit longer and then everything will be fine.
* * *
Sam isn't payingany attention to me in class.
