By:
Nely Cab
THIS book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the authors' imagination or are used factiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
NO part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
Creatura
Copyright ©2014 Nely Cab
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-63422-111-5
Cover Design by: Phat Puppy
Typography by: Marya Heiman
Interior Formatting by: Courtney Nuckels
Editing by: Cynthia Shepp
For my baby sister, Krystle, who believed in me from the first written words.
Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life.
~Proverbs 13:12
For more information about our content disclosure,
please utilize the QR code above with your smart phone or visit us at
www.CleanTeenPublishing.com.
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Epilogue
About the Author
Acknowledgements
February 5, 1:01 A.M.
In my dreams, he watches me. Haunts me. He’s the cause of my nightmares and the dread of my nights.
My name is Isis Martin, and I’m seventeen years old. I suffer from a sleeping disorder. After three months, I’m finding it difficult to function on one or two hours of sleep per night.
Today, I have another session with Dr. Jameson. He’s my best friend’s dad and the only psychiatrist in town. He suggested I start a journal to release my stress, and maybe one day, I’d be able to sleep again. He says my recurring dream is only a reflection of my anxiety to sleep, but there’s something that tells me he’s wrong.
February 23, 12:14 A.M.
Why do you plague me like this, haunting my dreams and taking over my thoughts? I do nothing to evoke you, and yet, you come to me every night. You keep me under your watchful eye. Do you find pleasure in my fear? I haven’t led a normal life in months.
What are you?
Tonight, in my dream, I was lying in that field of flowers without a worry in the world. I could actually smell the poppies. As I turned to see the sunset, there you were again. Why do I fear you if you’re nothing but a black silhouette in the distance, taunting my nerves?
Three sleepless months I’ve had to live with you in my subconscious. The psychiatric sessions do nothing for me, and now they want to drug me. I refused, of course. I’m seventeen for goodness sake! I don’t want to be dosed up for the rest of my life.
My mom focuses on the dark circles under my eyes when she speaks to me. What can I do if the problem is in my head and not elsewhere? I despise you.
February 29, 5:45 A.M.
You walked toward me tonight. I was petrified. You growled at me and paced back and forth in the meadow like a savage beast. All I can see is your dark shadow and the glistening of your eyes.
I cursed you for my sleepless night and wished I had taken the sleeping pill. The doctor says I have to make myself believe you are nothing and nothing you will become. It’s so easy for him to say. The panic I feel in my sleep is all too real. I know I’m at fault for feeding it. How can anyone live like this, awake through the night?
I had always been able to control my dreams. I don’t know how, but I could. In my sleep, I discovered worlds that only existed in my imagination. My favorite was a poppy field where the sun rested over the horizon, frozen in time for no one else but me. The meadow with the odd- shaped tree that I had named Infinity was my private haven and my emotional sanctuary. In that faraway land, night never came and day never broke. It was the place where tears did not fall and worries did not exist… until the nightmares began.
***
I didn’t have the energy to doll up before school. Using black kohl, I drew a line over the top of my eyelids and followed with a coat of mascara, leaving rosy cheeks and glossed lips as a thing of the past. I paused to examine my reflection in the bathroom mirror. The girl that gazed back at me didn’t look too hot. She wasn’t even lukewarm. But at least her hair was straight-ironed.
It was a hot and muggy March morning as I walked to Los Fresnos High School. I began walking to school right after the dreams started so I could be alert—a morning ritual that consisted of coffee in hand and Green Day’s Boulevard of Broken Dreams blaring on my iPod.
As I crossed the main street, I was tempted to stop for a refill of coffee at the gasoline station’s convenience store, but decided against it. I could only take in so much caffeine before my legs started to shake.
Los Fresnos, Texas is a typical small town with a scant population of about 5,000 inhabitants. It’s the type of town where everyone knows everyone. It’s located at the southernmost tip of Texas, bordering Mexico. The weather is humid, hot and sunny most of the year. I wasn’t a fan of either the heat or the humidity, but I had been forced to grow accustomed to it, having lived here my whole life.
The town is peaceful, reserved and only a few miles from several small surrounding cities, which is where the town’s people do their shopping. All in all, it’s a pretty monotonous place. It’s a safe little town to walk around in, even at night.
Every day, my best friend, Andy, waits for me at our usual table in the cafeteria with her boyfriend, Bill. I don’t have one of those anymore—a boyfriend.
Walking alone through the school doors, I remembered the three-year high school relationship with Gabriel, the guy my friends swore was destined to be my husband. Gabriel was a freshman at Florida State University. He graduated early from high school with an academic scholarship and jumped right into the spring semester. I was very proud of him then.
“Isis,” he said to me before he left, “I’ll be back every chance I get, I promise. You won’t even have a chance to miss me. We’ll talk on the phone every day. We’ll chat. We’ll text. It’ll be like I never left.” Looking into his brown eyes, I believed everything he said.
One month after he left, I found out how much Gabriel cared for me when he dumped me via text message. What a cruel way to break up with someone. I kicked myself for not seeing the warning signs. Gabriel never visited after leaving for Florida State. He made excuses not to talk to me. I attributed his behavior to his heavy class load. When I received the break-up text, I ran to Claire and cried.
Claire is my mom. When I was a little kid, I used to call her Claire because everyone else did. I assumed it was normal. It wasn’t until I was in Kindergarten that she insisted I stop calling her by her name. Now, I call her “Mom”, but in my head, she’ll always be my Claire.
Claire had warned me not to get too serious. She persuaded me to continue having friends because she saw that Gabriel consumed all my time and that my group of friends had started to dissipate.
“You need time for girly things,” Claire had said. “Friends will always be there when boyfriends aren’t.”
My mom knew what she was talking about. My dad cheated on her so many times that I don’t know how she had the strength to endure th
e humiliation. Everyone in our little town knew about his infidelity, but no one said anything. Not to her face, anyway.
I was twelve when she told me she was filing for divorce. “My heart is done breaking,” she said. “It’s time to begin repairing it.” She never mentioned my father’s cheating, but I always knew.
I was glad I had listened to her. I still had one shoulder to cry on. Andrea “Andy” Jameson had been my best friend since we were five. When little Billy Nesbit put a frog down the back of Andy’s shirt in kindergarten, I stuck it in his mouth to teach him a lesson. I was suspended for a day, but I would trade a lost day of school for a best friend like her anytime. We were inseparable from that point. Ironically, little Billy Nesbit was now Andy’s boyfriend.
***
“’Sup, guys?” I tried to sound awake and full of energy.
“How’d you sleep?” Andy asked, fishing a tube of makeup out of her cosmetics bag.
“The same. Close to three hours, I think.” I set my book bag on the table and took a seat, waiting for Andy to work her magic on me.
“Sleepy?”
“Mhh,” I moaned.
Andy took a cosmetic sponge and dabbed the makeup on it. With her pinky, she pushed my hair away from my face and began to cover the dark circles around my eyes.
Bill shook his head. “Just take the pills, Isis. You look a little more like crap each passing day.”
“Nice,” I scoffed as Andy continued to dab. “Do you use that same poetic charm on Andy?”
“He’s right, you know,” Andy said as she twisted the cap back on to the concealer tube.
“I’m considering it,” I said.
I took the compact mirror that Andy was holding up in front of me and looked at the layers of makeup under my eyes.
“Well?” Andy asked.
“I look like the undead.”
Andy nodded.
“I’m so exhausted of being…” I paused to think of the right word, “exhausted.” I took a deep breath and lay my chin over my arm on the table.
“So is it fear of sleep or insomnia?” Bill asked.
“It makes no difference if the end result is sleepless nights, right?” Andy answered before I could. “My dad says you only have to try the pills for a few days to see how you react to them.”
“Your dad’s been talking to you about me?”
“Of course not. You know how he feels about doctor/patient confidentiality. I overheard him on the phone with your mom.” She bit her nail for a second. “Well, okay, I might have been eavesdropping, but with just cause. I’m worried about you.”
“Can we please talk about something else?” Bill complained. “We’re young. We’re supposed to be talking about music or movies. Haven’t you two ever heard of YOLO?”
“But she’s gotta talk about it. I don’t want her to go deeper into depression,” Andy said.
“I’m not depressed!” I frowned. “Did your dad say that too?”
Andy paused, and then answered. “Well, no, but…”
“Stop trying to diagnose me. You’re not a doctor, okay? I’m just tired.”
We sat in awkward silence until the lull was broken by shrill laughter from the cheerleaders’ table.
“What the hell is Jean Murphy so happy about today?”
Andy turned to look at Jean. “You used to laugh too, remember?”
“Her voice just gets under your skin. Make her stop.”
Bill grabbed his notebook and stood up. “Nope, she’s not depressed. She’s a grumpy old woman with insomnia, digestive problems, and a houseful of cats. ”
“I don’t own cats,” I said, suppressing a smile, “and my digestion is fine, thank you.”
Bill laughed. “I have doubts about that last part. I’ll bring you a big bag of prunes tomorrow, you old hag.”
I waved him off and rolled my eyes. Andy giggled and smacked a kiss on his cheek.
“The bell’s about to ring.” Andy said, pulling me off the chair. “Let’s get to class before the stampede starts.”
***
After school, Bill and Andy drove me to Dr. Jameson’s in Bill’s red ’67 Mustang. Claire was already seated in the waiting room. She worked half a block away at the county courthouse as the administrative paralegal to the judge. She had managed to get that job after a lot of struggle.
A few months after my parents were divorced, my dad passed away of a sudden heart attack. Dad was only thirty-one years old when he died and left my mom a lot to deal with. Claire said that being a waitress wasn’t going to cut it anymore, so she put herself through night school and got a degree as a paralegal. I don’t know how she managed a house, a job, school and a kid, but she did it, and I admired her for it.
Not to sound weird or anything, but my mom was hot. Claire was thirty-five years old. She had beautiful brown hair, huge, copper-brown eyes, and a body I wished for. I didn’t understand why in the world she was single. I really wanted her to find someone that would treat her right, but she always told me Mr. Right just hadn’t shown up on her doorstep yet.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Hi, hon. How’re ya holding up today?”
“I’m okay,” I lied.
Dr. Jameson’s assistant called me into his office before Claire could bombard me with questions about symptoms of depression she had highlighted on a pamphlet that she was reading. It was starting to irritate me that everyone close to me pretended to be a doctor.
Dr. Jameson sat behind his desk when I walked in. He was the only one allowed to bombard me with questions about my mental health as far as I was concerned.
“So do I show signs of depression, Dr. Jameson?”
“Isis, I can’t diagnose you with depression, or any other illness other than insomnia. The only thing I can suggest is to take the medication I prescribed so you can sleep. It’s obvious that the fear of this recurring dream has the upper hand in your case. You need to let the dream play out. I’m certain that you’ll see that there is, in fact, nothing to fear.”
“I started writing that journal you suggested, Dr. Jameson.” I was hoping to steer him away from the medication issue by showing him that I was following his other advice.
“That’s great, but it would be even better to hear that you’ve slept. Can I count on you to take the medication tonight?”
“Instead, what if I promise to keep writing in my journal?”
The doctor raised an eyebrow. “How about you promise to do both?”
The chair I was sitting in quickly became very uncomfortable. I looked down at my feet and shook my head. “Sorry.”
“But, Isis, this is for your own good.”
I looked up at the doctor, but said nothing. He went on to lecture me about the effects that sleep deprivation had on the brain and the body. When he was unable to sway me, Dr. Jameson called Claire in. I waited outside.
As we walked to the car, I noticed Claire’s brow line was in a deep crease. “You’re taking that pill tonight, Isis,” she said as soon as we were in the car.
“No, I’m not.” I didn’t like contradicting her. Mother-daughter fights were unusual with us, and I didn’t want to start one over this.
“I’m not asking you, I’m telling you.” She put the key in the ignition but didn’t turn it. “Don’t you think I deserve a little compassion? I work all day. I feed you. I do your laundry. I do all the housework.” She lifted my face so that I could see her. Tears were threatening to spill from the inner corners of her eyes. “I haven’t had a sound night’s sleep in two months because I keep getting up to check on you. I need rest, Isis. We don’t have the luxury of having a man in our lives to care for us. We have to take care of each other.”
Claire wasn’t prone to tears very often, but recently she had become more emotional. That scared me.
“Mom, c’mon don’t cry.” I reached over to her.
“I’m worried, Isis. You don’t sleep. You hardly eat. Are you on drugs? Tell me what it is, a
nd I promise I won’t get mad. I promise.” She sniffled. “Let me help you.”
“Mom, I’m not on drugs, and I’m not doing this to you on purpose.”
Claire’s face was flushed and her mascara was streaming down her cheeks. I didn’t like seeing her like that. I took in a deep breath and exhaled. “I’ll take the pill, Mom. I’ll take it tonight, okay?”
***
I glanced at the clock; it was nearing ten. Claire reached across the kitchen table, handing me a glass of water and the sleeping pill. I sighed, setting the pill on the table and staring at it like I was about to swallow cyanide.
To be honest, I was scared to take the pill. I was afraid of not being able to wake from my nightmare, afraid of having to see that hideous grey figure.
“You promised me,” Claire said, setting her hand on her waist.
I glanced at her and gave her a grim smile.
“I know,” I said, taking the little white pill in one hand and the glass of water in the other. I put the pill in my mouth. “Sweet dreams, Isis,” I said, and then I gagged. The pill started dissolving on my tongue with an explosion of bitterness. I gulped the water to flush it down. “It’s disgusting!”
“You’re such a baby,” Claire mumbled, walking out of the kitchen with a happy curve on her lip.
At 3:30 AM, I woke from another nightmare and found my mom asleep next to me. I had slept for five hours. The medication was still at work inside my body. I felt drowsy, but I willed myself to sit up. I had to fight it. I wouldn’t let myself dream that same horrible dream twice in one night. Claire felt me creep out of bed and followed me downstairs to the living room.
“Go back to bed, Mom,” I whispered.
She shook her head, slurred some incoherent thing about ducks, and fell asleep on the couch. As I watched her ease into her own dreams, I thought about how long she had tolerated the lack of sleep.
I didn’t tell her I wasn’t able to sleep until a month had passed, for fear that she might do just this ⎯ stay up with me. And to think, she’d have to work tomorrow while I could slack off at school.
I grabbed a quilt from the coat closet and placed it over her. Since it was still fresh in my mind, I started jotting my dream in my journal on the kitchen table.