“Avilyna!”
I bolt upright, gasping. My chest heaves, damp with sweat, and every muscle feels as if it’s been yanked tight, ready to snap. My father leans over me, worry carved deep into his tired face as he keeps calling my name.
“Mmm... yes. Stop yelling,” I rasp, my throat dry as dust. “I’m awake.” I rub my eyes, blinking several times to adjust to the soft glow of the lamp. He hands me a glass of water, the corner of his mouth twitching in that way it does when he’s trying not to be overbearing.
“You’re always such a delight in the morning. Oh wait, no, that’s just you.”
I drink eagerly, as if it might cool the burning in my chest, but the taste of fear still lingers at the back of my tongue.I recognize the night terror, my old friend. I must’ve been thrashing. My sheets are a mess, twisted and damp. I can’t remember what I saw, only that it felt real.
Too real.
My hands ache as if they were clawing at something, or someone. It’s been a while since I screamed and woke my dad. Usually, I’m good at being a passive witness to my horrifying dreams. But when I have a stressful day that leaves me physically or emotionally exhausted, the shadows of my mind are more vivid and disturbing.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up,” I sigh.
“Hey, I’m not complaining. I wanted to wake up at 5. Remember, I’m supposed to start jogging,” my dad says, giving me a tap on the back.
“You were serious… because I wasn’t. I don’t run; I hate running. Why are you doing it anyway?”
“The doc wants me to be more active,” Dad says, stretching with a groan as he settles at the edge of my bed. “Says it’ll help with my blood pressure. I used to run all the time, back in my young days, you know…” He rubs the back of his neck, glancing toward the window, the shadows of the trees looming in the corner.
“Less beer would help with that too, you know,” I mumble, half-grinning.
He chuckles, the lines around his eyes deepening. “Careful. That sass will spike my blood pressure faster than a triple espresso. And for the record, beer’s mostly water, so that counts as hydration.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s not how it works.”
“That’s exactly how it works. Dad Law, page sixty-four,” he says with mock authority. Taking the empty cup from my hands, he sets it gently on the nightstand as he stands.
My dad has a way of leaving a lasting impression, even when he's not around. With his broad build and scruffy beard, others could easily mistake him for intimidating, but in reality, he radiates a calming, almost magnetic aura. People often describe him as a teddy bear, and I get it. He’s the kind of guy who puts everyone at ease without even trying.
His only real flaws?
Always wearing a cap to keep his mid-length hair under control and his occasional Maryjane habit, which he justifies with a laid-back grin, saying, "It’s from the earth, how bad could it be?"
A pretty harmless vice, right?
One we both share, I wonder why.
“Get some more sleep, kiddo. School’s not for a bit, and you look like you just lost a wrestling match.” His voice softens, the playfulness giving way to tenderness.
“Mmm,” I murmur through a yawn, curling deeper under the covers. “Are you gonna be home tonight?”
“Yeah. I head back on the road Saturday,” he replies, reaching over to switch off my lamp. He pauses for a beat before finally closing the door behind him.
Turning onto my back, I stare at the white ceiling. In two days, he’ll be gone again, another month on the road. Another month of just me, the house, and the silence. I sigh, eyelids growing heavier by the second. Sleep creeps in, but not before my mind drifts to the nightmare. The way it always ends in a different place, the only part that doesn’t feel like a blur until it disappears after a couple of days. But there’s one thing that I know doesn’t make sense.
How can these be memories?
I've had them for as long as I can remember, but how do you remember something you never lived?
Every specialist I’ve seen says the same thing: repressed trauma.
But if it’s trauma… Why does my brain dress it up with medieval ruins and people with pointed ears?
Make it make sense.
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