The Certainty of Violet & Luke(7)

So I try to stay concealed in my hiding spot behind boxes and toys. I try to remain as still as possible, holding my breath. I tell myself that eventually they’ll leave and when it’s all over I’ll go upstairs and climb into bed with my mom and dad who will tell me it was just a nightmare. Because that’s what they do. They’re good parents who know how to comfort me when the world is grey, covered in shadows, when sunlight doesn’t seem like it exists anymore and every bad thing in the world has come out.

I try to tell myself that the monsters didn’t hurt them.

There’s a lady singing like crazy. I think she actually might be crazy. And the man, his voice is so low, so calm, so very un-monster like. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe he wasn’t a monster. Maybe I’m just making things up.

Then the lady stops singing and I tell myself that it’s okay to look, just a peek. Turning around, I peer around the boxes. Light flows in from the windows and makes me able to see just a bit. At first the room looks empty, but then my eyes adjust and I see them. Two figures, perfectly still. In fact, the world seems still at that moment.

But then just as still as everything was, it starts moving again, faster, faster, faster, as the man steps from the shadows and shows himself to me. Tall, with brown hair, familiar facial features, wearing a plaid coat and holey jeans.

‘I-I know you,’ I stammer as I rise from out of my hiding spot, my bare feet shuffling across the floor.

He takes a step toward me and I freeze in my tracks as the figure in front of me shifts into a monster like I originally thought.

‘Preston,’ I breathe.

His lips curve into a pleased smile and I open my mouth and scream.


I wake up gasping for air and scream into the nearest thing I can get a hold of. When I was younger, I use to grab a pillow or turn into the mattress to muffle my cries, but nowadays it’s usually Luke’s chest, so I end up burying my face against his warm skin. I wish I could get the nightmares to stop, wish I could get rid of this helpless feeling. It’s not always the same nightmare that does this to me. Sometimes it’s of Preston, appearing that night in the basement, my worried brain placing him there that night even though I never actually saw him. Sometimes it’s painful memories of my parents that I’d thought were long-forgotten. Sometimes it’s of Luke leaving me. I’ve never been one to worry about people leaving me – they always have. And because of that, I’d made myself remain detached enough so as not to emotionally connect with anyone I’d worry about losing. But I messed up with Luke, got attached – way, way too attached – and now I fear both him letting go and me never being able to let go.

Every night after I wake up panicking and hyperventilating, Luke lies still, rubbing my back and whispering that it’s going to be okay in my ear. After I settle down I scoot away from him, wipe the sweat from my forehead and roll onto my back. I stare up at the ceiling, trying to forget the nightmare and attempting to remember what the f*ck happened last night at the party. It’s still late outside, the sun not yet up. I glance at the clock on the nightstand. 5:12 in the morning. Shit. It’s too early to be awake.

After a minute or two, Luke asks tentatively, ‘What was it about this time?’

‘Falling off a cliff,’ I lie, hating that I am, but unable to tell him the truth. But it’s like I’m five years old again and too afraid to speak the truth because then I’ll have to accept it. Like when my parents died. It took me forever to say it aloud, which made it unbearably real.

‘You seem to have that dream a lot.’ There’s speculation in his voice. He doesn’t believe that my dream was about that, knows that I’m lying, but doesn’t call me out on it.

‘Guess my mind is super good at repetition.’ My eyes are fixed on the ceiling, even though I can feel him watching me, trying to figure out what’s going on in my head for real. If he really knew, he’d probably run though, like I wish I could.

‘You know I’m here.’ He rotates on his side and props up on his arm. ‘If you need to talk.’

Luke’s turned into such a great guy. I don’t even know how the hell that happened, with him being with me so much, a festering toxin, polluting his life. And he wants to help me. I really wish he could, wish there was this button inside that he could find that would shut off my insane messed-up-ness that lives inside me. But if there is, neither he nor I have found it yet.

‘You should try to get some sleep,’ he whispers. His firm arm slides across my stomach, fingers finding my side, then he urges me closer to him. ‘It’s still really early.’