Two

Elias

My eyes flash open to the fan spinning above me and daylight filling my room. I used to close the curtains, but that made me feel like I was drowning in the dark for too long, and at least this way I can find the light easier when I need it. I try to move my fingers and toes to help pull me out of my current paralyzed state. If I’m able to move as much as a small muscle, it’s usually enough to wake up the rest of my body.

I keep trying but fail each time. It’s as if I’m racing against time, trying to stop him from showing up. Trying to stop myself from seeing him . . . My heart pounds, a heavy weight settling on my chest. I’m too late.

Adam looks down at me, tilting his bleeding head. A cut slices across one of his eyes and blood drips from his lips. He gurgles, making choking sounds. His limbs are crooked, the skin on his fingers hanging off the bone as he inches closer to me.

“No.” I try to scream, but nothing comes out except a high-pitched sound from my throat. I see him every day. Exactly like this. White shirt and dark jeans like he had on that day when . . . when I killed him. When I ended his life, and my world crumbled around me.

Tears well in my eyes, leaving behind a deep pressure in my head. His fingers claw at the sheets, and he crawls forward, blood staining everything he touches. “Help,” he says, sounding demonic and nothing like my brother. “Help,” he says again, in a more screeching tone.

I can’t. If I could turn back time, I would, but I can’t. I’d gladly take his place. In my nightmares I try to, but he always ends up being the one crushed between metal, and I’m always the one unable to stop the bleeding. Unable to reach him and get him out in time. I’m the one who gets to keep going while he remains six feet under.

The blankets slowly slide off my body and a heavy weight rests on my legs. Please . . . just fucking move. Adam crawls further up my body, his eyes lifeless and dark. He smiles at me, blood still pouring from between his lips, and as he starts moving faster, I’m finally able to kick forward, gaining full consciousness.

My chest heaves, breaths sticking to my throat as I open my mouth. Adam is gone but I can still see him everywhere. I can still hear his pleas. I can still feel him reaching for me.

I clench my eyes shut and open them again, my breaths coming out in quick pants as I bend forward, trying to do the technique my therapist taught me for whenever I’m mid-panic attack. Fear and devastation swirl inside me, not lessening no matter what I do. It’s always so damn real. A wave of dizziness fills my head and my muscles in my knees begin to weaken. Strong emotions set off my cataplexy, and I do my best to distract myself from them whenever I’m not home, but right now I’m in a safe place. I can’t hurt myself in my own bed. I can’t hurt anyone else either.

I drift a little but tug myself awake at the sound snapping of bones. The screeching stops as soon as it comes, and I grasp tighter to consciousness.

“It’s not him,” I whisper. “It’s not real.”

Most of that day was a blur and I can only remember bits and pieces. Some of what happened comes to me in my nightmares, but I think my brain might have made most of it up based on what people have told me—based on photos I was shown of us at the lake. Of Adam, my boyfriend Brody, and me. We all liked to go fishing together one weekend a month. It’s why we’d decided to get a house together so close to the lake.

I can’t remember our last conversations, though. I don’t know what was last said between us before he was taken from me. I don’t know why it feels so important to know, but it does. Maybe because I’m trying to hold onto every part of him that I can. Brody was in the back seat and only suffered a few scratches, while I blacked out from a bad concussion, my ribs and legs broken. I was forced into an induced coma, and I fought for my life, but my brother died on impact.

I tug at my hair, doing my box breathing—holding my breath, inhaling, exhaling, and repeat. Once I no longer feel like I’m suffocating and my limbs aren’t too heavy to move, I step onto the cold wooden floor. My toes curl at first contact and I slowly step forward, making my way to the bathroom. I turn the light on, looking away from the mirror as I brush my teeth and get ready for the day. I don’t need to look at my reflection to know I have sunken, red-rimmed eyes with bags underneath. All it’ll do is remind me of how I’m unable to do anything about it. I don’t need a reason to feel more helpless than I already do.

Already having showered earlier this morning, I change into a clean pair of sweats and a plain black T-shirt.

My wardrobe has drastically changed over the last year. So many fabrics and materials don’t feel comfortable enough against my skin. Some dig too much into my hips, rubbing over my scars from old wounds and surgeries. The looser the clothing, the better. I run a brush through my hair, still ignoring my reflection, trying to focus on all the objects nearby to distract me from my brother’s bloodied face that’s still clinging to the front of my memory.

It’ll stay with me all day long too, lasting all night and morning until I see him all over again. “That wasn’t my brother,” I say again, almost screaming this time.

I’m thankful for the distraction my phone brings when it starts ringing. Setting down the brush and turning off the bathroom light, I rush toward my dresser to answer it. My sister Amy’s name lights up the screen. She’s the only family member left who still talks to me, the only one who doesn’t hate me or blame me. She should, though. Everyone has a right to. I mean, who the hell allows themselves to fall asleep at the wheel? How did I not feel it coming on? There had to have been a warning sign, hadn’t there?

They’ve taken a while to recognize over time—the warning signs—and I learn how to hold onto control a little more every day. To avoid any known triggers and heavy machinery. I might think I have a handle on my neurological disorder now, but that doesn’t mean I do. I didn’t even know about it until after the accident. I hadn’t been diagnosed prior. My doctor called it stress, my lack of ability to hold focus and the random moments where I was hit with onset fatigue.

He told me to pick up some vitamins and cut back on my work hours. Which helped for a while . . . Or so I thought. Stress does worsen the symptoms, but even with that lessened, they don’t go away completely. At the end of the damn day, I still have narcolepsy and can’t be trusted on the road ever again.

The phone keeps ringing, and I finally answer the call on the fourth one, clearing my throat before saying, “Hiya, Ames.”

“Hey, jerk face! I didn’t wake ya, did I?”

I laugh, wishing the small smile on my face didn’t fade so fast. Wishing the happiness I get now was more than the small glimpses of what I used to have. “Nah, I’ve been up for an hour or so. Getting ready to head to the coffee shop.”

“Oh good. I never know what your sleep schedule is these days.”

“That makes two of us.” I walk to the small kitchen, rummaging through the fridge for some lunch meat and cheese. Usually, I eat something small at work, but today I’m too hungry and a little faint from all the energy drained from me earlier.

“So, how’s life? Talk to Mom lately?”

“No.” My stomach tightens. “She uh . . . hasn’t called in a while.”

“You haven’t called her at all? What about Dad?”

I let out a sigh, gathering all the ingredients to make a sandwich and setting them on the counter. “I don’t think they want to hear from me, Ames. It’s . . . The line is always quiet on their end, and last time Mom came to visit she couldn’t even look me in the eyes.” Dad was convinced for a while that I was under the influence of something because of my history as a teen, skipping class and getting high with some friends behind the building. I put that shit behind me, though, after I graduated and saw my future in a run-down old building with a large for-sale sign on the boarded window.

At first I thought I’d be running a bakery when I finally had the funds to buy the place, but life has a funny way of sending you in a different direction when you at least expect it. Instead of immersing myself in the smell of custard and sugar every morning, I enter my shop inhaling the strong scent of coffee beans.

“It’s been a hard year for everyone. Give them time, they’ll come around. They know it wasn’t your fault.”

“Are you sure about that? Dad—”

“Was grieving. That’s all. I can tell he misses you whenever I go up there to visit. He talks about the juice spill on the carpet from our last game of charades as a family every time. About how it’s still there over a year later and what a good memory it is now.”

“I miss everyone too. I really do. I just . . . I’m not ready to face them again yet. Does . . . does he still go over for dinner sometimes?” I don’t have to mention any names for her to know exactly who I mean.

Minutes pass before she says, “Yes. He lives only ten minutes away in those new condos they built.”

“He sold the lake house?”

“Yeah. He did.” She goes on, not saying his name, knowing how hard it is for me to hear it. It wasn’t always just him going to visit. It was both of us once—together. Then I lost who I was, after the accident, and he didn’t know how to be with me anymore—or this shell of a person I’ve become. I don’t blame him. I am sad he lost the house of his dreams, though. Especially after how much work he put into making it ours.

“Is he doing okay?”

She lets out a breath, and shuffling sounds coming from the other end of the line. “Yeah. He got that job he’s been wanting. He’s not seeing anyone that I’m aware of, and he asks about you too.”

“I uh . . . should get going. I shouldn’t be late when I’m the boss. Gotta set an example and all.”

“Okay, but call me tomorrow when you wake up. That way we can plan my next visit. I’m getting you out of that apartment more too. We can go to the beach or something.”

“Sounds good. I love you, little bit.”

“I love you too, jackass.”

I laugh, hanging up the phone. After making my lunch, I gobble down my sandwich and head downstairs with a bag of chips in my hand. sets of eyes look my way as I turn the corner, heading toward one of the coolers.

“Morning, boss,” Leah, one of my employees says, handing me a cup with ice.

I grab a Red Bull, popping the tab before slipping my fingers around the top of the glass. “Morning. How’s business today?”

“Finally picking back up after a slow two hours,” Ian says from behind me, holding two bottles of syrup.

I point to the prickly pear and he puts the other back where he got it, greeting the next customer who enters as he sets the bottle on the counter in front of me.

“Good, good. You can head on home now,” I glance at Leah, emptying the twenty ounce can into my cup and adding four pumps of syrup.

“You sure? I don’t mind staying if you need me to.”

I study the small line forming and shake my head. “Yeah, Ian and I can handle it.”

“Okay, cool, ’cause I could really use some chips and salsa right about now, with a margarita on the side.

I laugh, sipping on my drink before taking her place behind the espresso machine. Ian calls out a familiar tea order, and sure enough, twisting around his earring and being his usual charming self is the incubus who owns the bookstore across the way.

I take another gulp from my cup and set it down before getting started on his drink, taking down the chai mixture from the shelf above the steamer. I add the milk and foam next, listening to the conversation going on behind me. Kyvian goes on about how draining his day has been and how he’s ready for his pick-me-up. He adds a chicken wrap to his order, and Ian heads to the kitchen area to start on it while I set his drink on the counter.

Kyvian smiles, looking between me and the direction Ian is coming from. “Here you go. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

“That you will.” He wraps his long teal fingers around his cup before snatching the small brown sack from Ian. “You two have a good rest of your day.”

“Same to you,” Ian answers for the both of us as the incubus heads out the door, his gaudy jewelry and bright clothing catching in the sunlight.

“Are you ever going to talk to the customers?”

“I talk to them.” I twist the hem of my shirt, averting my gaze from him.

“Yeah, when you absolutely have to.”

I roll my eyes, reaching for my drink again. “Well, you were here, and I had an itch in my throat.”

He laughs. “You could at least smile back or wave or something.”

“You know I’m not good at that stuff. Not with people I don’t know well.”

He wipes the counter down, jutting out his hip. “You know Kyvian well enough. If you keep acting like some wallflower, the non-human customers are going to start thinking this is not as accepting a place as it claims to be.”

I huff out a breath. “Please. I treat our kind the same way. I was like that when I first met you.”

“Yeah, but I happen to like the broody type.”

A short chuckle escapes my lips and I down the rest of my drink, waiting for the surge of energy I need to hit me. I should lay off all the sugar and caffeine, but since my meds aren’t working as well as they did in the beginning, I needed to find another way to stay awake at work. I go against a lot of the lists of what you shouldn’t do when you have narcolepsy, but unlike articles written by professionals who’ve never lived a day in my shoes, I’m well aware this isn’t a one-size-fits-all disorder. I get by however I can, and all my semi-healthy habits are part of that.

“Is it cool if I go on my break?”

My gaze reverts the opening door and Ian cranes his neck. “Or I can take care of him first and then go.” He stares back at me, forming his lips into a pout.

“Go.” I wave him off. “I’ll be fine.”

“You sure?” He raises his eyes.

“Yeah. I got it. This isn’t my first time covering for someone.”

“I won’t be too long.” He pats my shoulder, offering me an encouraging smile. As he’s waltzing toward the back, I step in front of the cash register, trying to move the corner of my lips into an upright position.

“What can I get started for you today?”

The man looks behind himself and back at me. “I . . . actually . . . I saw a hiring sign out front and wanted to see about applying.”

“Oh.” I rest my hands on the counter, leaning forward. “Are you looking for something part time, because that’s all we have available right now?”

“Actually, I’m needing something with more hours.”

I nod in understanding, wishing I could offer what he was looking for, but we have enough full timers for the time being. “Unfortunately, I don’t have anything full time right now, but I think the bookstore across the way might. I heard the owner mention he needs help the other day.”

“The bookstore?” He searches behind him. “Cool, thanks. I’ll check it out.” His smile shakes and he bites his lip nervously. “And since I’m here, I guess I’ll go ahead and take an iced macchiato if that’s okay with you?”

“Sure. No problem.” I ring him up, and after he pays I fulfill his order. He takes the cold cup from me, shrinking in on himself a little. “Do you happen to know if the place across the way is accepting of . . . you know, more than just humans?”

Ah, and now the two different unique-colored eyes make perfect sense. I try my best not to make assumptions about anyone. Too many humans have been accused of being from the monster world when they aren’t. Not that being from there is a bad thing. Not in my eyes at least. “Yeah. Actually, the owner is an incubus. A super nice one too. You should have no problems.”

His eyes light up. “That’s perfect. Thanks again. I’m Zyn.”

He sticks out his hand and I stare at it too long before shaking it. I wish I could say I wasn’t always this awkward and didn’t second guess every interaction I made with other people, but I’d be lying. However, I did get worse after the accident. Since Brody complained about how closed off and antisocial I was before, I understand why it’s even more of a problem for him now.

“I’m Elias.” After worrying that I’m holding on to his hand for too long and being self-conscious about my palms being sweaty, I pull away first.

“It’s nice meeting you, Elias. I’ll definitely be back for more of these.” He raises his cup, slowly turning around and waving at me as he walks out the door. I help two more people who come in before Ian returns, and a slew of customers come in during our last hour, keeping us so busy we don’t realize how close we are to closing until a customer mentions the time.

Ian grabs the broom, and I clean the kitchen, wiping everything down. I refill all the bottles up front and take out the trash. The night’s swift breeze gives me a short break from the humidity as I walk out back to the garbage cans. A screeching voice buzzes in my ears, and that’s when I catch myself dozing off at the back door, slapping my hand to my face to keep me awake.

The urge to sleep hits me out of nowhere sometimes. I don’t always have warnings, and when I get deep in thought, letting myself relax too much, that’s when it happens most. Or if I’m over-drained from too much emotion and guilt.

My short moment alone in the dark is enough for me to go back to over-focusing on what I struggle to bury deep down inside every day, and when I enter the front again, Ian’s random musings help bring me further away from my inner struggles. Then I get home, and I’m surrounded by what I wish I could stay away from permanently all over again.

Needing my usual distractions from the madness in my head, I turn on a comedy starring Adam Sandler and sit on the couch with my favorite sour candy, shoving one in my mouth whenever I need to be grounded. As much as I fight the wavering in my head, my heavy lids close and a sweet, soft voice hums. I’m not greeted with the accident or my brother’s distorted, bloody face. Instead, I’m greeted by a beautiful garden filled with pink roses. The ones my grandma used to have everywhere. They remind me of a simpler time, when everything was good and my brother was only a short distance away.

The sun is bright up above me and a butterfly lands on my hand. For a second, I swear the beautiful, colorful creature is smiling at me, and when I’m unable to move my feet, I glance down at the ground to where green strands of grass are wrapping around my shoes. They grow longer, pulling my body to the ground and creating a soft cushion underneath me. I try to hold onto the blissful place as my eyes peel open.

No. It’s too soon to see him again. I don’t fall asleep often at night, but when I do, I’m more restless, unable to sleep for longer than an hour at a time. I try to move my body, my nose and lips too, but no part of me budges. A light shines from my hallway and I wait for my brother’s face to appear. For those blameful, cold eyes to bore into mine. Then a man with soft blond curls smiles at me instead. His hair is very similar to Brody’s. His eyes are green too. He’s as slender as him, but with curvier hips and softer features, longer lashes, and rosy cheeks.

“Hi,” he says. He walks closer, light bouncing from the hall to his head like a halo. Little moon- and star-shaped charms rest in his hair. He’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. His smile is infectious too, setting off a fluttery sensation inside me. I keep looking at him because it’s all I can do. Not that I’m complaining. He’s a breath of fresh air from what I saw in my home earlier, wearing . . . wait, is that my black hoodie?

“I’m sorry, I’m taking you away from your movie. How about we watch it together?”

Lowering himself beside me, he turns my head to face the TV. The movie starts over. His light laughter fills the space between us, and he lets out a cute little snort. Another funny scene comes on. I want to laugh with him, but I can’t do anything but watch and listen. Not only is his presence comforting, he also isn’t asking me questions I don’t care to answer or forcing me to do anything I’m not comfortable doing. He’s just here, watching a movie with me and keeping all my nightmares away. Like the visit I had earlier, this one feels so real, but this time I actually want it to be.

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