20
Nadine did not have nightmares. But she also didn't have dreams. She never had, and she supposed that she never would. She considered it an even trade, to never wake in the night clutching at phantoms. It never kept her awake, the fear that she might see something behind her eyelids in the dark.
She couldn't sleep, despite that.
She brewed a cup of shitty motel coffee, and wandered out to the balcony to sit. She stared at the moon. At the single, singular, one and only moon.
They'd asked her if she'd jumped, the people who'd fished her out of the harbor. She'd said yes, because she had. Into the Rift, into the light and the cold. They thought she'd been trying to kill herself. She'd left behind two moons glowing a radiant blue in the sky, and she'd never been so happy to taste smog.
She'd pawned all the gold she'd been wearing at the kind of shop shady enough that she could also buy a fake ID. It said she was 21, which she was pretty sure was a lie. She hoped it was a lie. She didn't want to think she'd lost that much time. She'd used her money to buy clothes, stupid and ugly things, jeans and t-shirts. She was wearing the ugliest Tweety Bird nightgown she had ever seen in her life. She hated Tweety Bird. It had felt important, at the time. Symbolic. She should have bought something cute.
She couldn't sleep.
She'd spent so long waiting to be able to sleep in an empty bed. So long dreaming of a night that was her own. She lit up a cigarette, and tried to focus on it, empty her mind of everything that was not that moment and that flame. It didn't work.
Ironic, that it had been so much easier when everything was unreal. When all she wanted was to survive and get home. And now she was home, as home as she ever wanted to get, and for the first time she felt acutely the absence of her mirror self. She should have been there, sitting next to her. Should have been holding her hand and finishing her sentences. It'd been a while since she hadn't had anyone. After Jed, maybe. She'd wandered a bit, then. But that had been different. This was different.
So many things she wanted to be doing, but every single one of them reminded her of someplace else. Another time, another place, another person. She'd felt nostalgia before, but never like this. Never this ache like something important was missing.
She couldn't sleep in an empty bed anymore, goddamn it all to hell.
"Hate to ask," said a voice, "but can I bum one off you?" She looked, and noted with detachment that he'd do for a lay. Not in the fun way that she'd used to, admiring and thinking of pleasure she could give and take. Assessing, instead. You'd be an irritant, you seem like you'd want me, you seem like you'd take me, you could take a night of torture or two. All the evidence was gone, like it had never happened, but it didn't feel like never just yet.
Wordlessly, she offered him her pack, and he accepted. She even lit it for him, chivalrous as she was. For a moment, they sucked cigarettes in silence. She stared at the lonely moon.
She used to be enthusiastic. It used to be fun. It could be again, maybe, when she stopped feeling numb. Numb all over, except the ache in her lungs. She wouldn't settle anymore, she decided, looking at the cherry of her cigarette. Only when she felt it and only for fun, only when it brought to mind future pleasures and not past pains. That wasn't asking too much, was it? That wasn't being too picky.
"Always hard to sleep on a night like this," he said into the silence, the stillness in the air. She let it hang for a moment, and blew a smoke ring at the moon to frame it.
"I don't want to have sex with you," she said abruptly. He said nothing. "But I don't think I can sleep alone, tonight." She took another drag of her cigarette. "You see my problem." He nodded, and followed her gaze to the sky.
"Are you asking me if I want to cuddle?" he asked.
"I suppose I am," she said, and she wasn't even particularly embarrassed about it. She sipped her coffee, and it was godawful. She savored it, until there was just enough swill at the bottom of her paper cup to drop her cigarette in after it.
"I can do that," he said finally, and he tossed his cigarette in after hers.
She took his hand, laced her fingers through his as if she liked him, as if she cared. His hands were rough, and she felt the first faint stirrings of something like interest. Something like it, but not quite there yet.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow she would buy something cute, and she would drink something fluorescent red. Tomorrow it would be a bad dream, something forgotten, something frivolous and meaningless. Tomorrow would be smiles, and they would be fake until they didn't need to be. She would survive and she would be happy, and heaven help anyone that got in her way.
She couldn't sleep, despite that.
She brewed a cup of shitty motel coffee, and wandered out to the balcony to sit. She stared at the moon. At the single, singular, one and only moon.
They'd asked her if she'd jumped, the people who'd fished her out of the harbor. She'd said yes, because she had. Into the Rift, into the light and the cold. They thought she'd been trying to kill herself. She'd left behind two moons glowing a radiant blue in the sky, and she'd never been so happy to taste smog.
She'd pawned all the gold she'd been wearing at the kind of shop shady enough that she could also buy a fake ID. It said she was 21, which she was pretty sure was a lie. She hoped it was a lie. She didn't want to think she'd lost that much time. She'd used her money to buy clothes, stupid and ugly things, jeans and t-shirts. She was wearing the ugliest Tweety Bird nightgown she had ever seen in her life. She hated Tweety Bird. It had felt important, at the time. Symbolic. She should have bought something cute.
She couldn't sleep.
She'd spent so long waiting to be able to sleep in an empty bed. So long dreaming of a night that was her own. She lit up a cigarette, and tried to focus on it, empty her mind of everything that was not that moment and that flame. It didn't work.
Ironic, that it had been so much easier when everything was unreal. When all she wanted was to survive and get home. And now she was home, as home as she ever wanted to get, and for the first time she felt acutely the absence of her mirror self. She should have been there, sitting next to her. Should have been holding her hand and finishing her sentences. It'd been a while since she hadn't had anyone. After Jed, maybe. She'd wandered a bit, then. But that had been different. This was different.
So many things she wanted to be doing, but every single one of them reminded her of someplace else. Another time, another place, another person. She'd felt nostalgia before, but never like this. Never this ache like something important was missing.
She couldn't sleep in an empty bed anymore, goddamn it all to hell.
"Hate to ask," said a voice, "but can I bum one off you?" She looked, and noted with detachment that he'd do for a lay. Not in the fun way that she'd used to, admiring and thinking of pleasure she could give and take. Assessing, instead. You'd be an irritant, you seem like you'd want me, you seem like you'd take me, you could take a night of torture or two. All the evidence was gone, like it had never happened, but it didn't feel like never just yet.
Wordlessly, she offered him her pack, and he accepted. She even lit it for him, chivalrous as she was. For a moment, they sucked cigarettes in silence. She stared at the lonely moon.
She used to be enthusiastic. It used to be fun. It could be again, maybe, when she stopped feeling numb. Numb all over, except the ache in her lungs. She wouldn't settle anymore, she decided, looking at the cherry of her cigarette. Only when she felt it and only for fun, only when it brought to mind future pleasures and not past pains. That wasn't asking too much, was it? That wasn't being too picky.
"Always hard to sleep on a night like this," he said into the silence, the stillness in the air. She let it hang for a moment, and blew a smoke ring at the moon to frame it.
"I don't want to have sex with you," she said abruptly. He said nothing. "But I don't think I can sleep alone, tonight." She took another drag of her cigarette. "You see my problem." He nodded, and followed her gaze to the sky.
"Are you asking me if I want to cuddle?" he asked.
"I suppose I am," she said, and she wasn't even particularly embarrassed about it. She sipped her coffee, and it was godawful. She savored it, until there was just enough swill at the bottom of her paper cup to drop her cigarette in after it.
"I can do that," he said finally, and he tossed his cigarette in after hers.
She took his hand, laced her fingers through his as if she liked him, as if she cared. His hands were rough, and she felt the first faint stirrings of something like interest. Something like it, but not quite there yet.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow she would buy something cute, and she would drink something fluorescent red. Tomorrow it would be a bad dream, something forgotten, something frivolous and meaningless. Tomorrow would be smiles, and they would be fake until they didn't need to be. She would survive and she would be happy, and heaven help anyone that got in her way.
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