The Insomniac

CW: Self-harm, Physical violence, gore or abuse, Mental health

She moved through her days like a wight. Makeup barely hid her red-rimmed eyes and her pallor. She always had a cup of coffee or an energy drink in hand and her hands had taken to shaking and her leg to bouncing. She put on a brave face each day she left her house, and she would keep to herself at work, clicking away on her computer, lost in her own world.

When she would come home in the evening, she’d turn all the lights on. She’d lock all the doors as if it could keep them out. She’d make herself dinner and eat in the kitchen at the dining table. After she finished, she would clean the kitchen and wash her dishes. She would take a hot shower and then put on her pajamas and crawl into bed. She’d turn the tv on but let it run on some old show in the background while she read. She didn’t like the silence.

It would be 10 p.m. when she turned off the lights in her room. She’d shut and lock her door and focus on the sliver of yellow light under her door from the hallway.

And then she would lay in bed, holding her blankets up to her chin, curled up in the fetal position, and pray for sleep. But it rarely came.

This one night, she was particularly exhausted. Even her makeup could not truly hide her lack of sleep. Her limbs were thin and weak, her eyes shadowed and sunken. She went to work, threw up, came home, ate dinner, showered and now she was in bed, nursing a migraine. She did not read. Her eyes could not focus on anything, so she turned off the lights in her room and tucked herself under the covers. She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed for sleep.

This time, it came.

She was in the cottage by the sea they’d all shared that summer. The cottage was white on the outside and blue on the inside, and the smell of beach roses and the ocean drifted through open windows and gauzy curtains. Her three friends sat at the wooden dining table, working on a puzzle. One of them looked up at her and smiled, with such joy in his face. She returned his smile and set a plate of fresh cookies on the table. He continued to smile at her. She felt uneasy suddenly, but she wasn’t sure why. She glanced at her other two friends, and they were watching her too, both with wide, joyful smiles on their faces. The one who had smiled at her first reached out and put a hand over hers, and suddenly she jolted awake.

His hand was still on hers, and his face loomed over her. He was still smiling, but there was no longer any joy in it. It was an awful smile to look at- so much pain and tragedy in it. She tore her gaze away from his dreadful face and saw two other dark figures behind him. She knew without seeing their faces clearly that they were her other two friends, and they were smiling at her too. Something wet and warm landed on her cheek and she moved her eyes back to the face hovering above her. There were tears falling from his eyes, sliding off his nose and lashes. He made a choking sound and then blood joined the tears dripping onto her face, leaking from his smile.

She wanted so badly to scream, to flail, to throw off his hand on hers, to scream and scream and scream until they all left her alone. But her body did not obey her mind. She was frozen to her bed, as if her back was stuck to the sheets and her wrists and ankles were bound. The only thing she could move were her eyes. Her screams were stuck in her throat, and she was trapped in the night with the consequences of her actions.

She squeezed her eyes shut, counting each drop on her face and wondering if each one was blood or tears.

Eventually, they stopped. The pressure was relieved on her hand, but she kept her eyes shut tight until she was really sure her friends were gone.

When she opened her eyes at last, her room was empty once more. With a whimpering moan that echoed in the dark, she was finally able to draw her knees up her chest. She wrapped her arms around her legs and choked on her tears.

She managed to get out of bed and then she turned the lights on. She looked in her mirror and another groan escaped her throat. Blood and tears covered her face, but both were her own. There were red streaks down her cheeks from where her hands had dragged across her face, her nails drawing blood. Her eyes were puffy and still heavy with leftover tears. She raised shaking hands to her face, and her fingers looked as if they’d been dipped in blood.

“No, no, no, no, no-” she moaned, stumbling back over to her sheets. She wiped her hands furiously on her white sheets, but although the sheets slowly turned red, the blood did not wipe off. In fact, it seemed to be spreading.

“God-”

She fell backwards and scrambled back up to her feet, her shaking legs carrying her into the adjoined bathroom. She left her nightgown on as she stumbled into the shower and turned the water on to full heat.

She stood under the searing droplets, and blood swirled around the drain. She slid down the wall until she was sitting on the floor, her knees bent up to her chest. She stayed like that until the blood was gone, she was soaked through to the bone, and the voices stopped screaming.

Eventually she turned the water off and left the bathroom, leaving a trail of water into her room. She changed her nightgown and crawled back in between her clean white sheets, trembling as the water on her skin cooled and dried. She had left the overhead light on, and she did not move to turn it off.

Sleep did not come back for her that night, but she was glad for it. It meant no more nightmares.