Page 127 of We Drank the Dawn

The front door hadn’t even closed behind him before a terrible vomiting sound ripped through the quiet. Reaching out, I steadied myself on the post of Cooper’s bunk, a lot more worried than I was willing to admit. Something wasn’t right with him. That was two nights this month he’d had dreams that left him throwing up. The only two I knew about anyway.

The first time it happened at the campsite, I thought the visceral reaction was due to the fact that he almost killed me. But, maybe he threw up like this because of the dreams. I hoped not. I crept across the room and located my tennis shoes at the foot of my bed. Pulling them on, I swiped Cooper’s pack of cigarettes off the counter where he left them by his keys, filled a glass of water from the sink in the kitchen, and counted my paces toward the door.

FORTY-TWO

Cooper

Bile burned my tongue and throat as I swiped the collar of my t-shirt over my watering eyes. Trembles cascaded down my spine, and I spat, adding to the puddle oozing through the gravel. I wasn’t sure why my dreams had revisited with a vengeance, but I was ready for them to leave me alone.

Those damn good days.

I’d had too many.

Straightening my spine, I finally stood, feeling lightheaded as I tipped my face toward the stars. The twinkling lights swirled and pulsed in my vision until I blinked, clearing my eyes and steadying my breath. When the door opened behind me, I whirled around to see Peter coming out of the bunkhouse.

“You okay?” He asked.

Everything in me wanted to say no and lay my soul bare, but I grimaced and held it all in. “I will be.”

“Do you always throw up after dreams?” He stepped up beside me, holding out a glass of water.

I took it, gulping half of it down. I lifted my t-shirt again, this time wiping my mouth. “Yeah, I usually do.”

Peter shook his head. “Must be terrible dreams.”

I gave a breathless chuckle because he had no idea. “The worst.”

“What are they about?”

For one crazy second, the answer toyed behind my lips, begging me to let it free. Talking about the things that happened to me came easier the more I did it. I went to rehab with my lips zipped, thinking wild horses couldn’t drag my past out. But it didn’t take long for me to sob and confess my deepest darkest secrets with the rest of them. But those secrets stayed in Austin at the rehab center. Because as much as I’d shared with Hollie and Tag, what I dreamed about was too heavy for them.

It was probably too heavy for Peter, too.

Over the last month, I’d come to actually like the guy. And I refused to share my dreams with the people I liked. Watching them struggle with stuff they couldn’t change so that I could “heal” seemed kind of cruel to me. So I gave a soft huff and said with as much nonchalance as my shaky voice could muster, “Trust me, man. You don’t wanna know.”

“That bad, huh?”

My eyes drifted to the distant sky and I let myself hope for the thousandth time that one day I would disappear into that great expanse. But all I said was, “Yeah, that bad.”

After I drained the rest of my glass, Peter held out my Bic and half-empty pack of Marlboros.

I snorted. “I guess this means I’m predictable?”

“We all are to an extent.”

I wasted no time plucking out a cigarette and flicking my lighter. For long minutes, we stood there, feet shifting on the gravel as heat scorched my trachea and my trembling eased one inhale at a time. Over halfway through my smoke, I broke the silence with a mumble, “It’s gonna take me a while to calm down. Don’t feel like you gotta wait.”

“I haven’t been to sleep anyway.”

“Oh. Why not?”

He shrugged. “Just been thinking about Sarah.”

“That sucks.”

“Think you’ll be able to get a few more hours before your alarm goes off?”

I took note of the way my muscles twitched with anxiety, doubting it. “I hope so, but my muscles feel tight. Like I could just…run. Run and run. Off this ranch and out of Comfort until I just…fall off the face of the earth somehow.”