Holding onto my fantasy is easy when Sage acts her age, ignoring me for homework and online friends. I can almost believe we’ve turned a corner and tomorrow will be better. Communicating online is only one step away from communicating in person, right? On a day when I’m imaginingthe possible instead of reality, it’s easy to hold onto hope and optimism.
By midnight, I’m done. Sage went to bed a couple of hours ago. One last check on her—feeling more like her mother than her sister—I feel a sense of accomplishment when her light is out, and all devices are on chargers. Is it too much to also ask for a night free of terrors?
Looking into the mirror while going through my night-time routine of cleansers, moisturizers, teeth cleaning, and flossing, I pray for one night. Just give me one night of no nightmares, and I’ll take the day as a win. After all, for the first time in forever, the washing is up to date, the refrigerator looks half-empty without the expired food, and the floors smell of pinecones after being mopped.And Dylan wants me to come back to his apartment for dessert.My body is exhausted, but my imagination remains on fire with one romantic happily ever fantasy after another.
Sleep, take me now.Each time I almost fall into a too-exhausted-to-sleep slumber, reality slaps me awake. All the potential consequences of dating Dylan keep me from falling into a blissful sleep.
This is ridiculous. The clock taunts me, showing 2:33 a.m. If I can just shut off my brain, I could possibly sleep for almost four hours before my day begins. Game day. I need to be at my best, or it won’t be dating Dylan that costs me my job.
Come on, sleep, damn it. Close your eyes, stop thinking, and sleep, damn it.
Sage’s scream shatters the quiet of the night like glass breaking. Even though I’m half-awake, my heart still lurches, and I’m out of bed in an instant, sprinting down the short hallway to her room.
“Sage!” I throw open her door to find her huddled under the cover, her terrorized screams still loud even though they aremuted. “Sage,” I say softer, “it’s me, Emma. Please wake up, sweetheart. It’s me. You’re safe. I’m here.”
“Nooo, nooo!” she wails again, her voice hoarse and raw, like she’s being torn apart from the inside. I need to get to her. I need to reach inside her soul, rip out the memories of the accident, and convince her that she’s safe.
“I’m here, Sage. I’m here,” I whisper, as she continues to scream. Some experts suggest snapping her out of the nightmare with touch, others suggest talking to her until she rides it out. It seems everyone has an opinion, but no one has any solutions. I sit on the edge of the bed, repeating the same phrases over and over until, hopefully, they’ll seep through to her subconscious. “You’re safe. I’m here. You’re safe. I’m here.”
Slowly, with minutes feeling like hours, her screams stop, and she shoves the blankets aside. My relief that we’ve survived another nightmare is too much, and I scoop her trembling body into my arms. As much as I want my chance to scream at the world and hold karma accountable for the nightmares, I bury my emotions, trying to give her my strength even though I need her as much as she needs me. She’s all I have left of our family.No.I can’t open that door to my pain.
Her clenched fists batter me until her shaking stops, and then she clings to me as if I’m the only one who can help. Each time it’s the same. Sage needs to fight the nightmare until she’s out of fight, and it’s only over when her face is buried in my shoulder, sobbing so hard it’s like she’s trying to purge the memories of the car accident. If only she could talk through what happened when she’s awake, I’m almost certain the memories will stop haunting her sleep. But what would I know? I’m just her sister and the only thing I’m good at is dancing.But one day I’ll be a qualified occupational therapist. I might not be able to help Sage, but I’ll help someone else’s sister or brother.
“It’s okay, baby. It’s just a bad dream,” I murmur, rocking her gently. But it’s not okay. Not even close.
It’s well after 3:30 by the time Sage is calm enough to sleep, and I don’t bother going back to my room. What’s the point? She needs me, and I need … sleep.
I flinch at the insistent banging on the door, assuming it is one of our neighbors who has forgotten their key. Sage is still curled around my body and softly sleep-sobbing.Damn it,I think,just get up and let them in. If my neighbors wake Sage, I won’t be happy.
Another knock. Louder and this time with voices. As much as I don’t have the energy to get up and yell at my neighbors to shut the fuck up, I should go at see what they want before they wake the whole building.
I carefully sit up, heart racing, and unwrap Sage’s limbs. She’s not fully awake, but the nightmares haven’t let go of her. A few easy breaths and then a group of strangled sobs, going back to calm breaths, and then more guttural groans. What is it like being trapped inside her head and heart? When she’s like this, I don’t resent any sacrifice to come to Sydney. Even if I have to give up Dylan, it will be worth it so Sage continues to get the help she needs.
If I wanted a reality check after two amazing days living in the dream of becoming Dylan’s girlfriend, tonight’s one hell of a slap in the face.
I pull down my Southern Mavericks’ nightshirt so it covers more than just my ass and grab my phone from the bedside table. With a last look back at the sleeping Sage, I quietly close her bedroom door behind me, intending to give the door-knocker a piece of my mind.
Thump. Thump. Thump.Crap. They aren’t knocking on a neighbor’s door; they are knocking on mine. Bile rises, and I want to throw up all over my freshly mopped tiles. Nothing goodcomes from middle-of-the-night door knocks. But there’s no one left to take. Just Sage and I against the world.
Hands trembling, my fight or flight inpulse kicks in as I turn on the hallway light.Five … four … knock knock … two … one.I unlock and open the front door to be confronted by two uniformed male officers. One is tall and athletic-looking, while the other is shorter than I am in bare feet and looking as thrilled to be here as I am to greet them.No.Whatever they want to say at almost four in the morning, justno.
“Hi?” I croak through my dry throat, standing guard in the doorway. If they have something to say, they can say it from where they are.
“I’m Officer Braham, and this is Officer Grisham,” the taller one says, his voice calm but firm. “One of your neighbors reported screaming from this apartment. May we come in?”
I swallow hard, fighting waves of embarrassment, humiliation, and dread. I don’t want to bethatneighbor who keeps up an entire apartment building awake, but I also can’t pretend Sage hasn’t been screaming most nights. Still, if anyone had a problem, why didn’t they approach me? Why go straight to the police?
I try to steady my breathing, but it’s like I can’t find my normal anything. The pulsing veins in my neck should have their own postcode, and the pounding panic in my chest and head could create their own band.Pull it together, Em.
“We’re fine. We’re both fine.” My squeak is unrecognizable as words, and I rush to over-correct. “It’s just… my sister, she has nightmares. She … she screams sometimes, but she’s fine. She’s just frightened.”
Their eyebrows rise in unison before sharing skeptical looks. “I’m sorry, but there’s nothing to see. She’s asleep now and I don’t want to disturb her.”
Officer Grisham steps forward, his body almost filling the doorway, forcing me to take a step back. “We need some identification for you and your sister. If she’s under eighteen, we’ll need to speak to her parents.”
“Good luck with that,” I want to snap but hold back. “That’s part of why she has nightmares. We lost our parents in a car accident a few months ago. I’m her guardian.”
“I’m sorry for your loss, but we need to see some identification for you and have visual confirmation that she is unharmed. I’m sure you understand.”
