Page 6 of Presence

She chuckles. “Well, aren’t you a prophet? That’s exactly what we’ll do.”

“You’re kidding, right?” I ask, though a part of me wonders if Camila, with her witchy inclinations, might actually be serious.

“Nope,” she replies, popping the ‘p’. Then, she flashes me a mischievous grin. “You’ve got some chalk lying around?”

Letting go of me, she starts walking around, opening cabinets and drawers. I don’t mind; she’s my best friend and has probably seen everything about me at this point. We even exchanged certain rabbit opinions, if you know what I mean.

There’s nothing she could find that would faze me, so I walk over to the new white leather sofa and sit down. It creaks under my weight.

“Chalk? Seriously?” I can’t help but raise my eyebrows in disbelief. “What am I? Your friendly neighborhood preschool teacher?” Fuck, I think I’ve just reached that level of tiredness where it’s all past droopy eyelids and cold sweats and fainting. I’ve entered the no-brakes zone. Whatever comes to my tongue, rolls off. No exceptions.

“You know, being on the brink of comatose actually suits you,” Cam mutters, rummaging through another drawer. “It gives you banter.”

“It also gives me hives, but you know… priorities,” I scoff, letting my head fall back against the sofa.

A few months ago, I had to sell my old couch. That worn-out thing was the first item I ever bought with my own money. And now? Now it’s just another piece of junk in some landfill because it was black and swallowed all the light. My messed-up psyche is really cruel sometimes.

“Found it!” exclaims suddenly. My eyebrows shoot up. It’s literally impossible for chalk to be in my apartment. I’d bet a leg and a half on it. “Look!” She turns to me, holding something triumphantly.

“Um, I’m pretty sure that is not a piece of calcium in a stick,” I say, blinking. It looks way too much like a marker.

“Well, it’s a decent substitute.” She shrugs.

I watch, half-amused and half-exhausted, as she starts drawing something on the floor. It looks like she’s making a circle with symbols inside it. The thought that it’s probably a permanent marker crosses my mind, but I know I won’t have the energy to clean it up anytime soon. I stay quiet, mesmerized by the symbols Cam meticulously draws, one by one. Then, she boldly sketches a pentagram right in the center.

“That doesn’t look like the herbal burning you convinced me this would be,” I say, my stomach knotting up as I stare at her work.

Sometimes, life spirals out of control, and it’s not because of anything you’ve done—it’s just life. I feel like this is one of those moments. I’m sitting here, mouth agape, a bad feeling gnawing at me, yet I don’t utter a word of protest.

I mean, I don’t even believe in the supernatural. There’s no point in making a fuss. This should be nothing more than child’s play. Camila’s got a marker and is riding her wave of joy and excitement. That should be the end of it.

But then why do I feel this chilling sensation, like my bones are turning cold and my heart is trapped in my chest? Why am I suddenly so scared?

“Nah, it’s something better,” she replies, glancing at me. “On our ride back, I’ve been reading…”

“Yeah?” I ask, licking my dry lips. It hurts when my tongue grazes the broken skin, and I immediately regret it.

“Turns out you can, like, summon guardian spirits for protection,” she says. “We will summon yours so it can watch over you while you sleep. It will put your spirit at ease and chase away your insomnia.”

I can’t even muster the energy to roll my eyes. “If I spent nearly fifty bucks for nothing, then...” I start, thinking back to our trip to Esoteric Cat. Was it really necessary, or did Cam just drag me out for the fun of it? I start silently cursing her when she cuts me off.

“Nope, we’re using all that stuff too,” she replies. “I wouldn’t do that to you, especially now with your latest obsession with buying hospital wing furniture. Seriously, where do you find these things? Did you stumble upon a catalog for the mentally disturbed, or do you spend hours perfecting the look?”

I laugh despite myself. It hurts to use those muscles, but I can’t help it.

“Guess now you know what I do when I can’t sleep, huh?” I reply.

“That’s disturbing. Really mentally fucking disturbing,” she says, glaring at me. Then, she shakes her head and goes back to drawing on the floor, determined to get this ritual done.

“It is what it is,” I mumble. I don’t argue, because I know how disturbing it actually is to not be able to fall asleep. It’s messed up. People complain if they can’t fall asleep a few times, or if they’re up multiple times a night with a baby. But insomnia? That’s a whole different nightmare.

What do you do when sleep eludes you for a week, or two? When your consciousness flickers in and out randomly during the day? When your body shuts down because it’s desperate for rest, but sleep feels impossible? It’s like your body has forgotten how to sleep.

You medicate.

But see, I can’t do that. I will never do that. As long as I’m alive, that’s my unbreakable rule.

“Okay,” Cam claps her hands, standing up from the floor. “I think I’ve got it. Let me just check quickly.” She runs to the kitchen, leaving me alone for a moment.

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