Always in this nightmare, p.6
Always, in This Nightmare, page 6
Ella kept staring at it. Black eyes open, little tongue poked out, ears and tail still perked up and alert. Forelegs curled up and back legs pointed out as if it were in mid hop. It wasn’t garbage. Not like her leftovers, coffee grounds, and cereal boxes. It was once a little life. A single nightmare had taken that away.
She asked Donny, “May I please borrow your shovel?”
After work, she buried the bunny in a shallow grave near her dwarf apple tree.
Something about digging up soil and simply tossing a dead creature into the hole seemed crude to her. Emotionless. Even though it took an extra half hour to dig the hole a few inches deeper, she found a shoe box big enough to hold the bunny and an old cat toy for it to lie next to. It felt childish at first, but after the excruciating effort of manipulating its stiff joints so she could even get it to fit into the box, she didn’t care. That poor thing deserved some company, some kind of ceremony.
Just as Donny’s wife announced the pasta was boiling, Ella patted down the last shovelful of dirt, whispered, “I’m sorry,” and slipped Donny’s shovel over to his side of the fence.
Being covered in the smell of earth, sweat, and a strange musk she assumed came from the rabbit, was enough to brick up her appetite, so she kicked her shoes off on her porch and went straight to her bathroom for a hot shower with a cantaloupe-scented melt. It hurt more than relaxed. Tingles on her neck reminded her to wear sunblock next time she dug a hole. Her shoulders bunched in knots and the red spots on her palms ached with nascent blisters. A slice of loose skin already hung off the ditch between her thumb and forefinger. The chemical scent of the melt scraped the inside of her nostrils. Worse, she felt jittery from the exertion of digging. The buzzing of a thousand insects danced in the nervous area between her skin and her muscles.
She hoped she could sleep. Maybe she should take a couple of melatonin, just to be sure.
These were the days she missed sleeping pills.
No, you don’t, she reminded herself. Prescription meds had brought her inches from addiction once. Never again.
She brushed her teeth, let three of the tablets dissolve under her tongue, and jumped into her fuzziest pink cozy pants and an oversized Minnesota Whitecaps hoodie at eight o’clock — a full hour before her usual bedtime.
Sleep almost came to her twice. The first time, she had to get up to make sure she locked the doors and turned on her alarm. The second time, the sensation of falling jerked her awake. By 11 o’clock, the thoughts in her head swarmed and her sore legs twitched on their own. Even though she wanted to move, Ella refused to get out of bed. She was determined to either sleep or keep herself in bed until exhaustion took her.
The last time she looked at the clock, it was 12:40.
She was going to be a mess in the morning. Again.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Ella walked into the office 45 minutes late, and she didn’t care. The insides of her eyelids felt like sandpaper, the dry skin on her hands cracked in places, and the persistent ache in her abdomen warned her tomorrow would be worse than today.
It had been a terrible morning. Mara disappeared before she woke up, so Ella did not know if she was dead or just gone to wherever it was she went when the lights were on. She didn’t eat breakfast, was sure she forgot to turn off her curling iron, and could only hope she locked her front door. Her desk phone blinked with three missed calls, and her cell bitched about the two missed ones from Wren. A stack of folders and papers waited on her desk. At least she only had a dozen unanswered emails, and half of those were meeting invites and organizational junk she could ignore.
From morning until lunch, she struggled to stay focused on her work. The light from her computer screen was too bright, her chair too comfortable. Not even the extra shot of espresso in her coffee helped. If anything, it made her feel nauseous. She’d quit caffeine, if it weren’t for the headaches. Maybe she should just fight through them.
Some other day. Right now, she just needed to get through the day.
Brian asked her to work through lunch to make up for the tardiness with a “Be a doll and take care of these for me.”
Be a doll? Men still said crap like that?
She did what he asked, snacking on a granola bar she had in her desk while proofreading affidavits and setting up meetings on his calendar. When Brian went off on his own lunch break and Ella cleared out her inbox, she took her phone to the bathroom and looked up the online sleep disorders group she’d discovered the other morning. They planned their next meeting for that night. She set an alarm for 30 minutes before prior and then went back to work.
An hour before the end of her shift, her phone rang. It was Brian.
“Whoa.” He drew out the word in a condescending, yet approving tone. “Using that sexy, low voice today?”
“No, Brian,” she sat, her voice flat. “I’m just tired today.”
“No need to be aggressive. I was just calling to see how you were holding up. You haven’t smiled all day.”
Fire bubbled in the back of her throat, but she swallowed it down. They’d crossed paths only twice that day, mostly because Ella purposely avoided him and his stupid laugh. No, she hadn’t smiled all day, but there was no way he’d know that. “Do you typically smile when you’re concentrating? I have plenty of work to do, and last I checked, I don’t get paid to sit at my desk and smile.”
“Ah! I understand.” He lowered his voice. “It’s a cyclical thing, huh?”
Her grip on the phone receiver tightened. She felt too exhausted for his bullshit and nearly said so.
What he said next perked her up a little.
“I get it. If you need to cut out of here early, go ahead. And if you need to work from home the rest of the week, go ahead.”
“Thank you for understanding.” The words slid along the sourness on her tongue. “I think I’ll do that.”
The train ride home depressed her.
Few seats were taken in her car, 2 o’clock being too late for most lunch hours and too early for the usual office departures, but those seats with passengers sent stabs of longing into her belly.
A couple wearing thin jackets and matching shoes sat close to each other, holding hands for the first few stops, then the woman reclined into the man, who draped his arm around her. He whispered something into her ear, and they laughed. She kissed his hand.
Two young women, not much younger than Ella and wearing Golden Gophers attire, sat in the back corner and kissed each other softly. She tried not to stare.
The chasm opening in her stomach kept her eyes glancing over, imagining how full it would feel if Ella had someone to touch, to hold, and to kiss with the sort of gentle, jasmine-tinged abandon that tuned out the entire world except for the two people losing themselves in each other.
She stuffed her romance novel into her backpack and tried to distract herself with a game on her phone.
It had been over a year since she’d dated anyone, and a year before that she’d met a doctor online who ended up traveling to conflict areas in Africa and the Middle East with Doctors Without Borders. They’d kept in contact for only a few weeks before he stopped messaging. She liked to think he found a purpose greater than romantic partnership, but the cynical voice in her head claimed he’d been killed in a freak elephant stampede.
Beyond him, there were a couple of one-night stands in college. Two boyfriends who moved on to other women over the summer break, one of whom said she wasn’t fun enough. Whatever that meant. There was a girl in college who said sex was all she could have, since it was the emotional bond that would make her a homosexual, and that went against her church’s teachings and her family’s values. Their relationship lasted one more incredibly heartsore spring semester and summer before she left Ella crying in the unwashed bathroom of a dark and musty bar.
She’d tried the apps, the speed dates, the suggestions from co-workers. Nothing bore fruit. Most men either treated her like a prostitute — I bought dinner; the least you could do is kiss the tip! — or dominated the conversation all night, only to tell her they thought her silence meant reticence and disinterest. They didn’t even give her an opportunity to explain or discuss the date from her perspective. They simply moved on to their next.
Her problem was that she was a romance novel trope. The sometimes stupidly optimistic pushover who fell too hard too fast for the wrong person. Every soft neck wearing a whisper of rose perfume and every set of strong shoulders nice hair was a potential weakness, an ocean of mistakes for her to dive into, headfirst. She was better off being single.
Often, Ella found a strength in her being alone. A degree of independence. She could whatever she wanted whenever she wanted to do it, without having to consider anyone else’s personal boundaries. Move freely throughout her life. But it was at the cost of feeling the spark of personal interaction. Personal boundaries don’t matter when you’re alone, a fact made only worse during those times when you want someone to cross your boundaries and invade your space, or when you want to invade someone else’s space without fear of rejection and the pain of being pushed away.
Who was she kidding? Strength in being alone is a bunch of crap. She’d gladly trade the freedom of riding alone on a train to an empty house and an empty bed for someone to hug her goodnight, or a tattooed hand with pink nail polish to cup her chin and kiss her.
Ella picked another seat at the next stop, one facing away from the two girls, and listened to sad music while watching the concrete and steel heart of St. Paul slowly pass by.
CHAPTER NINE
Mara wasn’t there when she got home. Or if she was, she was hiding somewhere Ella didn’t think to look. The emptiness of her home didn’t exactly bring her the relief she hoped it would.
After dinner, she spritzed some dry shampoo into her hair and put on a little makeup, in case the meeting she was joining expected everyone to have their webcams on. She set up her computer on her dining room table.
Boxes of faces popped up on her screen, some with their cameras on, some without. Ella decided to keep hers off until the person organizing the meeting said something, and even then, she might just leave before turning it on. Joining strange online discussions made her stomach bubble and her toes bounce. After a half minute of awkward silence, an attractive man with short hair, caramel skin, and a blurred background appeared in the upper left corner. The username NorseNurse (Jerome) blinked above his head.
“Good evening, everybody,” he said, smiling. “We’ll give folks another minute or so to jump on. Looks like we’ve got a couple of new faces online tonight.”
“Watch ‘em drop.” Another male voice laughed, causing the outline of a dark square to blink. “Give ‘em the speech.”
“It’s not a speech, Mike. I will admit the name Parasomnia might be a bit confusing to some. It won’t be the last time, for sure.” He cleared his throat. “Just so we’re clear, we’re not paranormal investigators, so if that’s what you’re looking for, sorry. This group is for sleep disorders.”
Two people dropped.
“We have a lot of good information on relaxation techniques, recognizing certain patterns that adversely affect your ability to sleep, stress management, and such. Feel free to stay, even if it’s not your thing.”
Another three disappointed faces vanished. One apologized before he left.
Jerome’s easy smile and shrug suggested he’d done this plenty of times.
After a couple of laughs with the others, Jerome said, “Alright, let’s get started. Looks like we either have a new person or someone who might be AFK. NovElla0918, you there?”
“I’m here,” Ella answered. “I’m not a ghost hunter, either.”
“Good to hear! Thanks for joining.” Ella blushed a little at his smile. He was pretty. “Cameras are optional,” he told her. “But, like all groups like this, we’d like it if the new folks to introduce themselves via their mic, please. You don’t have to give us your real name or anything. Just let us know what brings you here tonight and if there is anything you want to talk about.”
Ella kept her camera off, choosing a cute cartoon bear as an avatar instead of her actual face. Being able to hide behind her camera provided a sense of relief and a jolt of confidence. “Hi everyone. I’m NovElla. I guess you can just call me Ella, if that’s easier.”
“Hi Ella.” A few members group spoke in the same lifeless drone, then laughed at what was obviously a well-practiced joke.
Jerome rolled his eyes but maintained his friendly smile.
“Come on, people. Let’s smarten up!” one other barked. Kknuds65.
“Give it a rest, Knudsy.” Sandyy420’s wide face flashed across the screen. A tangle of strawberry blond hair tumbled out of her black hoodie. “Ignore that one, Ella. His right-wing self is wound tighter than a gnat’s ass.”
A flabbergasted sound barked through her earbuds. “All I want is some structure to this! Why do you lefties have to make everything political?”
“If you want structure, why don’t you start your own group? Let Jerome run this one. Keep your Boomer entitlement in check.”
“Jerome has enough on his plate. If we all just worked together and do what I say, we—”
The silence was sudden.
Jerome sucked his teeth. “And we’re muting that. When you two can play nice with each other, you can come back from time out. Okay? Ella? Do you have anything you’d like to discuss tonight?”
The way he smiled at her through the camera — earthy eyes, full cheeks, the cute space between his front teeth — brought a sensation of warmth and lightness to her middle. She smiled back, and then quickly shook her head when she realized her camera was off.
“Ella?”
“Oh, sorry.” A nervous laugh rattled around in her throat. “I was just a bit, uh, distracted. It’s been a rough one.”
“No worries,” he said. “You’re going to find that happens to most of us. Sleep deprivation has a huge effect on our ability to concentrate. I know that more than a few people here have been suffering through their days, living in a fog, always feeling exhausted. It’s grueling. This group gives folks a space to talk about it. Maybe help each other find some kind of solution that isn’t medication or other types of drugs.”
Based on the username, Ella guessed that Sandyy420 didn’t share that point of view.
For the first half of the hour, Jerome spoke about sleep studies at hospitals and universities throughout the country, different methods for relaxation, promoting good eating habits, the importance of hydration and exercise, and keeping caffeine and alcohol to a manageable minimum.
Ella slid her glass of red wine a little farther away.
The channel opened up to general group discussion, and the conversation immediately went to insomnia. One woman nearly broke down in tears when talking about her frustration at not being able to sleep and the strain it placed on her marriage and the relationship with her children. “We don’t spank our kids. It’s violence. But after three days of no sleep and the constant screaming and bickering with her siblings, I grabbed little Fallon so hard on her arm, it nearly left a bruise. I don’t know what to do.”
A bubble of nausea burst in Ella’s stomach when she locked eyes with the stuffed cat on her couch.
Out of the corner of her vision, she caught a movement from the kitchen. The leaves of her basil plant waved, then slowly settled back to stillness.
“NovElla, was there anything you wanted to talk about?”
A shadow moved in her pantry as a car rolled past the front of her house.
She swallowed. “Do you know a lot about sleep paralysis? Being stuck in your body. Sleeping but awake and you can’t move.”
“And then the shadow man comes into your room?” Sandyy420’s grave tone hushed the chatroom.
“Yeah. The shadow monster comes and sits on my chest.”
Sandy nodded. “Shit’s crazy, right?”
That set off another side conversation between Sandyy420 and Kknuds65, in which they argued who had it worse between the two of them for the rest of the hour. Everyone else who wasn’t silent talked about how scary sleep paralysis was and how they’d prefer insomnia over it. A few people dropped off the call early, and Jerome had to mute the room again.
Ella’s shoulders slumped. She’d hoped for a little more than that. Maybe someone with a quick answer for how to stop it, or someone to admit having their own sleep paralysis demon come alive and speak to them.
“Sorry, Ella. As you can tell, things can get a little sidetracked here, from time to time. I’ll do some digging and send some information about it, offline. Is that good with you?”
Ella said it was, and the meeting ended quickly afterward. Just as she moved her cursor to the ‘logout’ button, a red exclamation point appeared with a ding. A message from Jerome.
I’m so sorry about that. Usually, the conversations are more productive than a couple of people bickering. That’s totally my fault for not being more on top of things. But, like I said, I’ll grab you some stuff from my local hospital and university. I hope it helps, and I hope tonight didn’t chase you away.
Ella smiled, typed a quick thank you, and logged out of her computer.
Eight o’clock and she was already tired. Hopefully, not so tired she wouldn’t sleep. At least the group didn’t leave her alone in that. It seemed as if everyone had a trigger that kept them awake at night. Jitters, restless legs, wandering thoughts, heightened levels of physical exhaustion that somehow prevented them from falling asleep. It all seemed so awful.
Still, nobody had said anything about their sleep demon living with them.
She poured her wine down the drain, cleaned up her dishes, and went up to her bathroom to take out her contacts, brush her teeth, and wash up for bed.
