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The name was his idea of a joke about my moodiness at being in such a crowded place, but now I find comfort in his soft—if a little worn—fur.
Finally, I’m calm enough to get out of bed. I plod through to the kitchen to refill my glass, holding Huffy by his worn trunk in my other hand with my journal tucked under my arm. Per my therapist's instructions, I note the time in my dream journal and what the nightmare entailed.
Panicked shouting.
Endless corridors.
Unable to find a way out.
A shudder works its way up my spine, and I wonder if I’ll ever be able to sleep without the nightmares. Without being haunted by the past I thought I’d finally escaped.
My mind goes to Jacob and how I would text him whenever I had a nightmare. He always replied.
Even at stupid o’clock in the morning.
I look back at the corridor that leads to my bedroom, where my phone sits on my nightstand. But the thought of heading back there right now makes my stomach revolt. Besides, I need to learn to deal with this on my own.
My roommate, Fiona, walks into the kitchen. “Hey, babe,” she says while yawning. “What’s got you up at this hour?” Realization dawns on her face as she spots my journal. She moves closer, wrapping me up in a warm hug. “Nightmares, huh?”
“I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” I ask into her mass of curly hair.
“It’s okay. You want company?”
I shake my head. “No, I’m going to head back to bed and see if I can get some more sleep before my shift starts.”
I give her hand a grateful squeeze and head back to my room. It’s weird, but I’ve never told Fiona about my nightmares or why I get them. But she still seems to know something is lurking in my subconscious. Somehow, over time, she’s become the crutch I need in the night, but she’ll never be Jacob, and my heart breaks a little at how much I miss him.
At how much I missus.
Jacob
Mum is sobbing quietly behind the door.
I know it’s selfish, but I didn’t want to come back this weekend. Not on the anniversary of my sister’s death. It’s hard to cope with the loss of such a bright and beautiful light and to comfort my mother. It’s not that I don’t want to comfort her. I just don’t know how.
I mean, what do I say? It’s not like I can tell Mum that everything will be okay. Kait’s gone. She’s not coming back—two of the harshest facts we’ve ever faced.
I knock gently on the door—Kait’s bedroom door—knowing what’s on the other side. The room has been left untouched, a shrine to my sister. Mum will be surrounded by photos of Kait spread over the bed. She’ll have Kait’s soft stuffed rabbit clenched in one fist, and hospital bracelets clutched in the other.
She doesn’t call for me to come in, but I open the door anyway, hoping the smell of fresh coffee will rouse something from her other than tears.
She barely acknowledges me as I place the mug beside her. “Morning, Mum.”
Dad has already left for work, his usual routine since losing Kait four years ago. He can’t bear Mum being like this. He doesn’t know how to make it better, I suppose. Because how can losing a child ever be made better?
Kait grins at me from a photo, and my chest tightens for a second.
She wouldn’t want us to be sad.
I pick up the photo that Dad snapped in the last few weeks of her treatment. I’d asked Mum to shave my head to match Kait’s, and Kait found it hilarious, claiming I had an alien head. Mum is standing in the background with the clippers and that sad, knowing smile on her face while her eyes silently scream, “Not my child! Don’t take my child!”
I place the photo back on the bed, wishing things were different. Wishing Kait had survived the brain tumour and that my mum never had to grieve. Wishing she hadn’t lost herself to the grief. Because along the way, I lost my mum along with my sister.
The one good thing about returning home for the weekend is that I’ll see Maddie. My best friend for more than half my life, separated by the different universities we attended. She always dreamed of being a nurse. Despite missing her every day, I know she’s happier for following her heart, even if it breaks mine not being able to see her every day.
I grab my phone to type out a text. There was a time when we could finish each other’s sentences. Talk into the night about every little thing. We both wondered if we could be more than friends, but agreed not to risk our friendship.
God, I miss her.
I click Mum’s door shut behind me and head out. I can’t stay in here surrounded by memories of Kait and happier times.
Happier times that I’m not entirely sure ever existed.
