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Chapter One
By the time she turned twenty-one, the nightmares had all but driven her crazy. She had one friend in the whole fucked up world, and her family wanted nothing to do with her unless she committed herself into an institution. A mental institution, where her life would be condensed into tossing back drugs and drooling as she sat in a chair, staring out of a window into nothingness.
Alone in the coffee shop just a block from her apartment, Caera huddled into the corner and stared out the window into the miserable fall day—no drugs, no drooling, but her own damned choice. On the days when the demons screamed loudest, she couldn’t stand to be too far from home.
The weather reflected what her mind seemed like most of the time; dull, gray, and dreary, with no signs of light or life. Her thoughts scattered like the pedestrians scurrying around outside, trying to find shelter from the rain. When her head became so overwhelmed with anxiety, sometimes all that was left were dirty shadows where she should be.
Shuddering, she steered her mind away from what the darkness inside her brought to the surface. She was not crazy. She was not certifiable, no matter what her parents or society told her. She was trying her hardest to work her way past that bad place where she listened to all the wrong advice, the snarky criticisms, and the sheer bullshit that came from the mouths of people who just didn’t understand.
In the window, Caera’s reflection glared back at her. She supposed her physical attributes weren’t too bad—if someone could look past the appallingly pale skin and heavy bruises beneath green eyes dulled by endless fatigue. Straight blonde hair, a bit lank and limp, hanging in a pitiful fall down below her shoulder blades. The fact she looked nothing like her ever-so judgmental mother was actually a blessing.
Disgusted at what looked back at her, Caera stared through her own image to watch the street. For a wet, humid Arizonian afternoon, there were a lot of people going about their day. Running errands, maybe meeting up with friends.
Living their lives.
Once she’d wanted to work in a place just like this—a café, a book shop, something along those lines—where customers came regularly enough that they became almost familial. Conversations weren’t brief or stilted, but warm and sincere.
Caera sighed heavily and drank the last of her coffee. It left a horrible taste in her mouth, the liquid bitter on her tongue. Nothing tasted right anymore, which only added to her depression. Not even chocolate could pull her mood up from the gutter when she needed it most.
Should she order another one, she wondered, glancing in the bottom of the mug. Was it worth it, just to put off going home to an empty apartment?
When she finally gave into sleep, the nightmares always claimed her. It didn’t matter if she kept herself awake for five days and nights straight, sleep just sucked her in faster, pulling her down deeper. Downing coffee after coffee might keep it at bay for a few more hours, but Caera knew she always had to face what came for her.
The mug hit the wooden tabletop with a solid thunk, and she just sighed. Life had become an inestimable cycle of boredom and repetition, liberally laced with fear, an unhealthy splash of self-loathing, and crippling waves of fatigue.
“Jesus Christ, Caera. Sweetie, you look like you’re ready to move on to the next life.”
Heart vaulting into her throat, she shot an anxious glance over her right shoulder and sagged with relief. Part of her—the part which still tried to maintain some pride—bristled at the comment; the rest of her acknowledged the truth of it without complaint. “Connie. What are you doing here?”
Doctor Constance Monroe, Caera’s tall, curvy psychologist, stood beside the little table, looking seriously unimpressed.
Caera couldn’t blame her—after all, she’d blown off her last three sessions with the compassionate yet intimidating woman without a lot of notice. Most things in her life were cancelled without much warning, especially when her anxiety took on a life of its own.
“I thought I came for coffee and a blueberry muffin, but obviously fate sent me here for a different reason.” Shrewd gray eyes flashed with impatience and concern. “How long have you been this bad? Let me guess,” she muttered when Caera gave her a baffled look, “you haven’t noticed your hands doing this.” Connie demonstrated using her own, making them twitch and tremble. “You need to see a doctor, sweetie.”
An ice-cold spear of panic stabbed down Caera’s spine. She thought she might have gotten away with hiding it until the sharp, stormy gaze narrowed on her face. “Can I at least buy you that muffin before you start terrorizing me with threats of doctors? You know how much I hate them.”
Connie slid into the chair opposite Caera, her glossy lips curving into a sad smile. Her eyes sucked Caera in like they always did. “I know, sweetheart, trust me. So believe me when I tell you, you need to make an appointment and get some help.”
Caera covered her face with her hands—damn it, now she realized how badly her hands were shaking—wishing she’d gone home ten minutes earlier. After several sessions with the woman, Caera had learned that Connie usually got her way through fair means or foul—usually fair. “No.”
“Come on, Caera. If you’re feeling anything like how you look, you need help. There’s a new practice just around the corner. Call in on your way home.” Connie lifted her hand to tag the waitress as the girl passed by their table. “My morning is free, why don’t I come with you? Moral support.”
“I have nightmares, Connie. I don’t need to live in one during the few coveted periods of time I can escape the damn things. I just want to be left alone to suffer and wither away in peace. It’s over, I’m done.”
Disapproval and determination clashed together in her friend’s eyes. “I don’t think so, Caera. Exhaustion is controlling you. Giving up is the wrong choice.”
This is what she hated. The constant opposition to what she wanted, what she needed, what she felt was best for herself. Her parents were most guilty—everything that came out of their mouths put her down, wore her down until Caera expected the pressure would just blow her apart.
The psychologist usually refrained from making inane comments, because she knew some of what Caera’s parents had exposed her to over the years, what nerves they opened and rubbed raw. Today was obviously an exception.
“I’m sorry, Connie, I can’t do this today. I don’t have the energy.” Caera unfolded herself carefully from her chair, swaying slightly. “Look, I-I’ll make an appointment, okay? And I-I’ll keep it this time.”
“Sit down.” Connie’s voice changed, adopting a tone Caera had never heard before. It was dark, a thrum of a command plucking weird wires inside her and setting them vibrating to a new tune. “Do you trust me, Caera?”
Fuck, she hated it when someone asked her that. Pain usually followed swiftly on the question’s heels. Regarding the woman suspiciously, she replied tentatively. “As a shrink?”
The bell above the café’s glass door jangled through the clatter of cups, rumbles of chatter and laughter, the hum and hiss of the coffee machines.
