Chapter 1

Chapter

One

SLEEPER

O sleep, O gentle sleep, Nature's soft nurse, how have I frightened thee, that thou no more will weigh my eyelids down, and steep my senses in forgetfulness?

William Shakespeare

H alloween was the one time of year when everyone looked as crazed and weird on the outside as I felt on the inside year-round. That's why it was my favorite holiday and why I stumbled through an overcast maze of pumpkins. My friends had long abandoned me, and the autumn chill froze through my flannel as I wove through the stacks of orange gourds. How they were all balanced so perfectly and kept growing larger and larger, I didn't stop to question.

Thunder clapped in the distance, though no raindrops fell.

Oh, here we go again.

Trepidation crept into my being as I rubbed my arms for warmth. Suddenly knew I wasn't alone. I knew I was going the right way, I turned a corner, pushing past the corn stalks interspersed within the maze, and reached a clearing— the center of the maze where I knew I'd find him.

A long figure stood abnormally tall and looming as the sky grew dark behind him. Black against orange, the perfect and most terrifying Halloween scene.

He stood on a thick, skeletal body, haphazardly draped in torn fabric, and cocked his pumpkin head. "Well, I found you again."

I swallowed my scream and turned to run, but the path behind me had closed.

Shutting my eyes as tightly as I could, I hoped and prayed the darkness would offer some sort of escape. To my horror, I felt his warm breath on the back of my ear and smelt cinnamon and pumpkin spice as he whispered. "Time to wake up. Time to let go."

The crow cawed. Thunder clapped. I reached the end of the maze, and he pulled me into his embrace. Only now, through the fear there was a strange comfort. I recognized his violet gaze when he stroked a bone finger over my cheek. There was this form, and there was the man form. I liked them both. I liked any nightmare where he found me. That's the thing about becoming aware of your dreams as you're inside them, though. You become startlingly aware that they'll end at any moment.

"You aren't real!" I bellowed into the fog of the maze.

In a flash of dark shadow, the back of his palm smacked my cheek. My teeth chattered, and my skin burned from the contact. Shock and horror bolted through me. His gaze was a hateful mix of passion and anger as something in his jaw ticked.

Pain was a new addition to the same nightmare.

"Did that feel unreal , Lilac?"

My lower lip quivered as the overwhelming urge to cry washed over me. Not because he'd hit me, but because he wasn't real, couldn't be real, and I'd wake up at any moment just like I always did.

He stepped forward as if striding out of his pumpkin head and skeleton costume. The air around us swirled with purple and black smoke. The pumpkin man was terrifying… this man was, too, only this form was devastatingly handsome. A dark knight that could only be conjured in a dream. Taking my chin between his fingers he tilted my head up. "Kiss me and let me show you what else real feels like, oh, sleeper."

I nodded, feeling warm tears stain the burning cheek in the wake of his palm. I felt it. I felt this, somehow, even though I knew I was asleep.

Groaning into his strong, firm body, his lips brushed my own, parting my mouth and flicking his tongue against mine. This phantom of my dreams tasted like maple and salt and sex. We'd fallen into this same dance over and over again. Sometimes, small details would change, but one thing remained: each time, I'd wake in sorrow that he wasn't real and worry that I'd never see him again. That this figment of my imagination would disappear like water through my fingers. Because we can't conjure our own dreams, as hard as I'd tried on the nights he didn't visit me, I couldn't make him appear. Which made this lucid nightmare all the more addictive.

The phantom's palm pressed against my lower belly, sinking between my thighs. My core burned with want as I came apart with only one quick and firm touch. Forgetting for a moment who I was in real life, letting go of my true reality and breathing into blissful oblivion.

In sleep, I could die.

Sleep was death without the mess, the guilt, the commitment. If I slept the day away the day didn't exist, I missed nothing, I felt nothing.

When I was awake, I longed for sleep while simultaneously hating everything—I felt everything.

Staring at the outdated ceiling fan, I steadied my breathing. My inner thighs slick with my desire and release, my core still pulsing from the dream, the nightmare—him. My right cheek was still warm, and I rubbed it softly if only to touch an imaginary piece of him left behind. I could try to go back to sleep, and I would have if my stomach weren't tight with hunger.

My therapist's chant echoed through my mind.

Just focus on the next thing.

Every step forward is a win.

Do small things to take care of yourself.

Assess whether this is a low, medium, or high day.

Morning checklist for a medium day:

Sit up.

Take my medicine.

Use the bathroom.

Wash my face.

Brush my teeth.

Eat breakfast.

My hand only slightly trembled as I unscrewed the prescription lid. The morning checklist was only slightly overwhelming. The urge to pull my blanket over my head and go back to sleep slowly slipped away, sliding down my throat with my little pink pill.

If I completed my checklists, I'd be extra tired. I could go to bed early, and maybe I'd see him again. That thought, that hope, would propel me toward another repetitive day in the waking world.

Sugar cereal, caffeinated coffee, (which my psychologist told me not to have but I did anyway), pepped me up enough to clock in only five minutes late at work. My apron wasn't too heavy or tight, and the organic grocery store was slow.

Bananas were code 4011 and then weighed. Unless they were organic, those were 94011. But sometimes, if a customer was really nice, I'd weigh them as standard because that was cheaper.

"Hey, Lucy. Watch party for The Walking Dead at my place tonight. You coming?" Brandon abandoned his register and took post at my bagging station. A nice gesture, but I didn't really mind bagging the groceries, it was the talking to the people I didn't like.

I adjusted my name tag. "Zombies aren't really my thing. Plus, hasn't that series been off the air for years now? I think I know how it ends already."

"Don't be such a Debbie-downer. We're starting from episode one and watching one a week. I know I'd love to see you."

Brandon wasn't terrible to look at. Tall and stout with sandy blond hair. If I were normal, maybe I would be attracted to him. Maybe if my dopamine weren't broken, him asking me out would have given me butterflies. If my serotonin wasn't store-bought, I bet him brushing my hand as he reached to refill my receipt paper would have made me giddy. But it did none of those things. Instead, my thoughts wandered to the nightmare man, and I calculated the hours until I could go back to sleep.

"You got somewhere to be?" Brandon pressed. "I noticed you're checking the clock. Or maybe you just want me to go away…"

"No," I answered. "I mean, yes, I have to be home early tonight for my other job. Sorry."

His brow furrowed in either hurt or confusion. I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling a pang of guilt. My therapist would praise me if I went out with people my age, and praise from my therapist would feel nice. "Next week?" I asked. "Raincheck?"

Brandon flashed an accomplished smile as he ripped open a new container of paper bags and stocked my station. "It's a date."

No, the only date I had was with my mattress and stuffed animals. The only wishing I did was to see him again. Would I remember to ask him questions this time? Would he even answer if I did? Dream world wasn't like real life. Everything was hazier, my mind was fuzzy, and sometimes I remembered who I was and that I was dreaming. Sometimes I didn't.

I think the nightmare man liked it better when I didn't.

My name was Lucy, but he called me Lilac. I liked Lilac better.

Therapy was normal. Dr. Truman checked my lists and walked me through a meditative breathing exercise that I actually hated but pretended to love because it meant we didn't have to talk. And the clock ticked down, down… it was almost dark by the time I got home. A full day out, not in bed, not in the apartment. The accomplishment swelled in my chest. For a medium day, I did pretty freaking good.

A full water bottle with ice and a plate of rice, chicken, and vegetables awaited me in front of my open laptop in the living room. "Half of an unsold cake in the fridge for you, too. But eat the zucchini, Lucy, don't just push it around your plate." My sister bit into an apple and pinched the blinds. "This apartment complex is well-lit at night, at least. Not like you're going anywhere, but still."

My throat warmed in irritation. "I actually have a party to go to next week, and it's at night, so, maybe you don't know everything about me, Sam."

It was rude, I was rude, especially as I bit into the first hot meal I'd had in days. She knew that if she didn't cook for me that I wouldn't bother to eat more than a bag of chips. This was her thing, I guessed. Sam rolled her eyes. "I'll believe it when I see it. Your location on your phone is turned on, right?"

"Don't you have a six-year-old's birthday cake to bake or something? My show is almost on."

She checked the time before shutting my blinds for me and placing a hand on her hip in expectation.

I sighed. "Thank you for, you know, whatever. But I could cook for myself if I had… supplies."

"No way, take that up with Doctor Truman. No sharps." Her expression softened as I avoided her pitying gaze, clicking play on my laptop. "Here for you, kid, whether you like it or not." She kissed the top of my head, and I swatted her away. "My ringer is on. Text if you need me."

"I don't need you," I scoffed as she closed the door, using her key to lock it behind her. The key she had made and I never actually gave her. God, my sister was annoying. And ever since what happened— she'd been like this. An overprotective pest.

I didn't need her. She wanted me to need her, but I didn't. I'd been living on my own for months and doing just fine. There was one blurry, singular incident of sorts that no one would talk to me about, and wham-bam-Sam took it upon herself to mother-smother me multiple times a week. I felt like a hamster in a cage. Her pet bunny. Sam stopped by to refill my water bottle and leave carrots. It was patronizing and stupid, and I wanted to tell her to get a life of her own and stop meddling in mine.

My life was fine. I had my systems in place, my headphones blaring loud music and books, the televison on all night, the stereo in my car, my shows queued up and ready to watch, work with its constant stream of scanning beeps and bagging and cart retrieving.

I had my checklists.

Do my checklists.

Go to work.

Watch TV.

But then my favorite part of the day was after that. My reward. This was a science now. I knew what to do. I knew I needed to be the perfect amount of tired for him to find me. Not over tired, not hyped-up awake. Moderately sleepy stacked the odds in my favor. As I watched my shows, I found my box of supplies under the sofa and tinkered with my jewelry. My second job, what I wished was my main job. Maybe someday I'd complete a collection and get the balls to approach shops to display my works.

My fingers ached after over an hour of toying with loop rings and connecting charms to necklace chains. I liked silver lately, and lots of mismatched dangling charms. Maybe I would keep it for myself, though, I never wore my own creations anymore.

The time on my laptop blinked ten at night and my heart fluttered as I blew through my evening checklist.

Medium Evening Checklist

Lock doors

Turn off lights

Brush Teeth

Lay out the next day's clothes

Those basic activities didn't feel so difficult that evening, though fatigue pulled at my eyelids as I haphazardly tossed jeans and a t-shirt onto the stool at the foot of my bed. Checklist done, I'd made it through another ordinary, boring, stupid day. Now my escape, now my reward. Everything in my life was carefully charted, planned out, and monitored. There were no surprises, nothing out of the mundane ever happened. I did the same thing every day, spoke to the same people, and went about the same routine. Except when I went to bed… moths erupted in my stomach at the fantasies of past dreams as they flitted through my mind. The tantalizing excitement of having something to wonder about, not knowing, the hope of seeing him again… the feeling was unmatched by anything the real world could offer me.

Not everyone had a phantom in their dreams.

I was special.

I hoped he would come as drowsiness pulled me into its grip.

Thank the stars, thank the heavens and hells… sleep wasn't the only thing that found me that night.