Chapter 20
Indigo
Some people might want to live their dreams, but not this chick. Even my good dreams could be vivid and intense, never mind how overwhelming my nightmares were. I tried to exhaust myself as much as possible and push my body to the point of collapse so that when I inevitably passed out, my brain was too busy recharging to plague me with nightmares. When I first escaped the basement, it was the worst. I was so terrified and always looking over my shoulder for Uncle Roark’s henchmen or the devil himself. Nights spent sleeping in abandoned buildings, alleyways, dumpsters, and shelters all ended the same way: me, thrashing and screaming, covered in sweat and scared shitless.
As days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, I slowly acclimated to sleeping above ground and exposed. My screams devolved to whimpers, my thrashing to restless tossing and turning. Two years ago, I was a traumatized, exhausted, shaky mess. After reading several books on PTSD and months of living with the Crows, I was still a light sleeper and tormented with nightmares, but I could honestly say that I’d gotten the best sleep of my life here. I had my own room, with a door that wasn’t locked from the outside. No one broke in or tried to steal my things.
Still, some nights, the darkness in my memories slithered through my cracks and hurtled me right back to the vulnerable mess I was when I first escaped. I hated it. I hated how weak it made me feel and how out of control I felt every time I woke up to the sound of screams and realized I was the person screaming. I’d rather wake up to the smell of garlic-laced morning breath than the taste of my own tears. Unfortunately for me, my unconscious brain didn’t give a fuck what awake Indi wanted.