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I struggle to get clear. Beyond her space, I make out a cloud of mist. Needing to free myself from her fury and the blinding light, I fight back. Lashing out, clawing at her face, her arms, anything to peel her off of me. The motion shoves me back, falling to the ground. I flip over, scrambling to put some distance between us. I dive beneath the dark mists, easing into the shadows. But my situation has only changed, not improved. Instead of blinding sunlight, I’m lost to impenetrable darkness.
I reach forward, grabbing hold of a tree root to ground me. I pull hard, but the root gives way, dragging me into the ground. Dirt covers my hands, my arms, my face. She’s coming at me, a wraith without wings, but relentless in her pursuit. No longer running, but gliding, careening toward me with her dark hair billowing away from her head, I know I won’t survive. It’s as though the mask has fallen off, displaying her true features. A lizard’s forked tongue, two seeping black pits for her eyes, pale, gaunt skin barely covering her face. She’s death, and I’m her victim. If I stay in the earth, she’ll overtake me. I pull on a new root, clawing my way out of the earth, back to my feet.
“Just do it.”
The words form in the air, on my lips, in my mind, but it’s not my voice. The weight in my hand shifts. The root is no longer a root, but a handgun.
I turn.
I shoot.
Her body falls back, shrieking like a phantasm, black blood oozing from the explosion at her chest. Her hair curls and twists in the air, like snakes churning in a pit, black tar easing from her mortal wound. The thundering hooves cease. The darkness pulls back.
I can’t breathe. My hands dig at my chest like I can pull my heart free to fix the racing rhythm. I sit up, my rushed gasps fill the room. I don’t know where I am. I’m not at home. The darkness still has me. She’ll come for me. I know it.
But as the dream loses its grip, my reality shifts again.
The soft breathing from the corner, not a snore, but deep and steady.
Rhett.
Moonlight through the window catches the rope on the wall. A straw hat hangs at the center of it.
Rhett’s room.
I’m Sunny from California.
She can’t find me here. She’ll never find me here.
I fall back against the pillows; grateful it was only a nightmare. It felt real. It felt impossibly real. As I calm, Rhett’s gentle breathing fills the room, even, steady, just like him. Always firm and constant.
“You’re safe,” I whisper to myself, but my mind refuses to believe it. Every time I close my eyes, her phantom face screams in from my subconscious, like she’s begging for another round. It’s not real. Charlene would never hurt me like that. It’s just my mind twisting things, trying to make sense to the world I left. She never laid a hand on me. She had me take the pills because I was in pain. Charlene was trying to help me. I need to remember that. I can’t let this memory cloud that truth.
I stare at the ceiling, willing my body and mind not to betray me again, but it won’t obey. The fear, the terror, the absolute lunacy still waits on the surface, daring me to let go. I won’t. If I have to stay awake all night, I will.
I focus on Rhett’s breathing, in and out, perfectly unbothered. It’s not long before I find myself jealous of the ease of his slumber. Not a worry in the world, he keeps breathing and sleeping, never varying in his pattern. I kick off the quilt, wishing I could know his secret for such deep rest. Maybe he can help me fall asleep again. I tip toe my way to his side and take a knee beside the mattress.
“Rhett?” I set my hand to his shoulder and give him a shake. “Rhett?”
Nothing. If not for him breathing, I might worry something was wrong, but no. He only sleeps like he’s dead. I clamp my teeth over my lip while I think. The alarm clock says four a.m. I have two hours left. If I try to do tomorrow on a lack of sleep again, I’m going to be risking another migraine. I can’t do it two days in a row. Buddy will send me packing.
Technically, his mom only said Rhett needed to stay in his bed. She never said anything about me. Returning to the bed, I grab a pillow and a blanket. I just need someone near me to ground me to this reality. That’s all it is. I’ll be gone by morning. He doesn’t even have to know I was here. That’s what I’m focused on, but the warmth of his frame tells me he’ll protect me, even if he’s asleep. That’s who he is. That’s what he does.
My knee in the mattress shifts the dynamic. Not wanting to roll him or tip him, I move quickly, sliding into the empty space on the queen air mattress. I mean to stay far enough away from him that he won’t notice or wake up, but all the time out from under any blankets has chilled me. The heat from his frame calls out to me to bury myself and get warm again. I inch closer until I’m not touching him, but securely within the halo of his body heat. Blanket over me, I start to drift off again. As the nightmare threatens to overtake me, Rhett’s soft breath brushes against my neck, anchoring me to safer harbors in my mind.
She can’t touch me, not with him close. Sleep hums through my veins turning the world fuzzy and warm.
Rhett
I wonder if there’s an age limit to sleeping on air mattresses. If I thought the bunkhouse bed was uncomfortable, I’m learning to redefine that issue. Granted, I never expected plastic and air to be this lumpy. At least it smells good. Like strawberries and springtime.
My eyes snap open at the thought.
Not lumpy.
Sunny.
“Whoa.” It sneaks out of me as I see her there next to me, sound asleep, my arm curled around her waist. In my limited interactions with the female species, this is beyond a first for me. I peel my head from my pillow, trying to figure out what happened. Her arm rests over mine, but it’s not like she’s sharing my blankets. She brought her own. How did I sleep through it? I’ve been accused of being a deep sleeper, but this feels extreme.
