Chapter 4
Mireya
Play - Sleep by Azura Ray
Luminescence
I toss and turn in bed as I try to sleep. Tomorrow, I have a big day waiting for me, and I need to force myself to get some rest.
But… It’s not working.
I tried the bottle once, thinking it would fix something, but it didn’t. For some reason, it made me angrier and even more hopeless than before.
Milo found me on my bed one night, drunk, shaking, and throwing up into a bag. He cried like he didn’t recognize me, that empty soul lying there with empty eyes. He didn’t understand why I was inflicting that on myself.
Children shouldn’t even try to understand that.
That fear and worry in his eyes are forever engraved in my brain.
I was starting to look too much like Dad, like what was left of Mom before she died. So, I tried something stronger. Something that didn’t leave me slumped on a bed or crying on the bathroom floor. Something I could hide.
It started small, enough to take the edge off, then it wasn’t small anymore.
My brother never noticed that it got worse. That’s how I knew it was too late.
I was a confused kid. I just wanted something to help. Something to make the pain stop. To make the memories disappear. I didn’t find anything; but the blades and pills kept me sane.
I had someone to take care of, and it forced me to always stay conscious, because his childhood mattered more than my healing.
The sound of the door creaking open made me stir awake. At first, I thought I’d dream about it, but then I saw a little shadow standing there, wrapped in that soft blue blanket. I smiled when I recognized him.
“Hey, baby.”
“Reya, can I stay with you?”
“What happened, firefly?” I whispered
“I’m scared of the dark.”
For a moment, I lost myself again hearing this.
The punishment, locked in that tiny box, forcing me to hold myself still while the shouting raged around me. The clink of bottles on the counter, the crash of glass, Mom’s voice breaking somewhere behind a door.
I was scared of the dark, too. A lot. It made me stay awake at night, crying silently because I knew Dad hated hearing me cry and scream.
In the mornings, Mom would look at me like she wanted to speak but couldn’t.
Her eyes were red, her hands shaking as she reached to fix the tear in my sleeve and the hole in my pants after his friends came over.
That was the worst part, the silence between us.
The way she carried guilt for something we both survived, and neither of us could name properly without shame.
I remember learning how small a person could feel, how fast the world could take your light away.
I was scared of the dark, too. Maybe I still am, maybe that’s why I can’t sleep anymore.
I scooted over and lifted the blanket. “Come here, bug.”
He climbed into the bed and pressed himself against me, still trembling. I hold him, pressing my face into his hair. In a way, I feel bad that he’s not feeling safe enough to sleep. I should’ve done more, maybe left the house sooner to offer him a better life.
It’s okay, that’s why I’m going to St. Ellesta.
I held him until the shaking slowed, until a tiny smile appeared on his little face.
“See that?” I said, nodding toward the window. The curtains were open enough for a stripe of moonlight to spill across the floor. “It’s not all dark.”
He turned to look, his eyes wide and silver in the dim light.
“You know why I call you Firefly?” I asked.
He shook his head.
“When I was little, I was scared of the dark, too. Really scared.” I took a long breath, remembering the fear.
“One night, I ran away from the house. I ran to the edge of the cliff. It was so dark that I couldn’t see my own hands.
I thought I’d never find my way back home.
Then this tiny light floated by, a single firefly, floating like it wanted me to follow. ”
His fingers curled around mine.
“I did, and it led me all the way home. I never forgot that light.” I brushed his hair away from his face. “Then you came along, and you started smiling, and laughing, and somehow the dark didn’t feel so scary anymore. I thought… that’s it. That’s my firefly.”
I finally had someone to fight for.
He was silent for a long time before whispering, “But Reya, I’m scared.”
“That’s okay,” I said, kissing the top of his head. “Even fireflies are afraid of the dark sometimes.”
He looked up at me. “Then how do they glow?”
“Maybe that’s how—they glow because they’re scared. That’s what makes them special.”
“I’m going to miss you, Reya.”
“I’m going to miss you too, baby, a lot, but I’ll always come back.”
He snuggled closer, and soon his breathing evened out. I stayed awake a while longer, listening to the rain smack against the tiles on the roof, holding my little Firefly in my arms.
I hope he understands one day that I tried my best to protect him from this life. I wish Mom were here to help, too. But she’d had enough, and I know that missing her broken version won’t help him grow up happy.
Sometimes I wonder if I’m doing the right thing, raising him in a world I can barely survive in myself. I keep thinking that this will be enough, that if I love him hard, it’ll fix what this house, this family, did to us.
But deep down, I’m terrified he’ll grow up and see through me, that he’ll realize I’ve just been patching holes in a sinking boat, pretending it’s a home.
For now, it’ll be enough. As long as I’m here, he’ll always be safe.