“Did you have a pillow fight by yourself?” Penny reaches for my hair and plucks out another feather. My gaze flashes to my reflection in the mirror. I look like I just walked through a snowfall.
“Seriously? What happened here last night?” Thea folds her arms at her chest.
“I have no idea,” I murmur, taking in the scene before me as Penny helps me de-feather. “Maybe I decided to recreate the scenes of the horror film I fell asleep watching.”
Penny’s face pinches, her fingers pausing in my hair. “We don’t watch films alone in 24D,” she accuses. “And you’re officially not allowed to choose what we watch anymore.”
I giggle, gathering my duvet from the floor, while Theagrabs some bin bags from the kitchen to help me clean up the clouds of down drifting across my room like blown dandelions.
After we tidy up, I wait for them to leave, making an excuse about returning Grandpa’s call. Class can wait. First, I need to make sure whatever happened last nightneverhappens again.
My life already feels one step away from unravelling. I have a ghost for a brother, an ex-cop for a jailor, and a hellion for a stalker. My brain short-circuiting at random is not something I can afford right now.
This ends today.
I brush my teeth aggressively. Failed attempts to wipe the taste that continues to linger in my mouth, days later. Then I scrub my face and brush my hair, mindlessly working through my morning routine. Once done, I yank the bathroom cabinet door open to find the almost-empty tube of Savlon for one last squeeze, then pull up my left sleeve.
Phantom crescent-shaped scars—some healed, some new—run down my inner forearm. My finger strokes the dented skin from wrist to elbow, then freezes. No fresh one? Strange.
Since the accident, when my nights took a turn for the worse, I usually wake up with a couple of marks. It’s not intentional. I don’t mean to hurt myself. Just a coping mechanism that I hoped would fade with time.
My eyes snap to the bag of feathers next to my nightstand.
Did I bite open my pillow? Well, that’s new.
Ten minutes later, I settle at my desk with a cup of Earl Grey tea and croissants that Thea set aside for me. My fingers tap the wood. I really don’t want to do this. But after whatever Thea and Penny heard last night, I don’t have a choice. That and my phone is staring at me like it wants to burn me.
“Let’s get it over with,” I mutter to myself and make the call that’s overdue.
“Evangelina, how are you?” Dr. Janet’s face appears on FaceTime.I hate the full name.
“I’m sorry for the abrupt call.” I plaster a smile on my face. “Can you spare a few minutes?”
“Of course,” she says, holding up a finger to someone, then walking into her office and settling on her desk. “I was getting a little concerned when you didn’t schedule your bi-weekly appointment.”
“It’s been busy.” I tuck my hair behind my ear.
“So, how can I help you today?”
“It’s getting worse,” I answer flatly.
Suddenly attentive, she picks up a pen and starts scribbling. “Nightmares or dissociations?”
“Nightmares,” I answer, then bite my lip. I don’t think I have zoned out recently, but sometimes, Thea looks at me like I have grown horns, so who knows? Anyway, one problem at a time.
“Still on your melatonin and propranolol?”
“Yes.”
“Did something trigger the change?”
Trigger. Episodes. Her clinical words feel so tidy for the messy, jagged snippets of the accident that my brain plays on a constant loop. Non-stop. Every night.
“I don’t think so.”
“Hmm…” Her hazel eyes sharpen with that investigative look that makes me recoil. “Have you been thinking about your parents a lot?”
Her question hits me in the chest. Hard.
