I woke myself up with my screaming, and found that I was drenched in sweat. Another horrible dream. Another nightmare. My fingers were curled around the sheets, balled into little fists so tightly that it hurt when I relaxed them. I kept very still, clenching the sheet to my chest, staring in horror at the ceiling.

I swallowed, hearing an audible ‘gulp’, and realized that my mouth was dry. Juice, I thought. Get up, get some juice. I slowly sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed. I left my bed and after sliding into my robe, stumbled with bleary eyes down the hallway, feeling the lingering dregs of fear slide away, seemingly left behind in the bedroom.

I focused on the task of getting the juice, letting the familiar motions calm my racing pulse. I opened the fridge to grab a juicebox, and the cool air felt good on my damp skin. I closed the fridge and walked to sit down on a barstool at my kitchen counter. All of these things were normal. These were the real things. Not the dreams.

I took a tentative first sip, then a large drink, letting the juice bathe my parched tongue. I settled against the back of my barstool and sighed. I squinted at the clock on my microwave, making a face as I registered the time. Five-thirty A.M.. Figures, I thought morosely. I wouldn’t be able to fall asleep in time to make going back to bed worth it. Might as well get ready for work, I thought with a sigh.

Go to next chapter –>

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