Page 84 of Heart So Hollow

Oh, God...

My face falls and I press my mouth together, my chin trembling while tears pool in my eyes, threatening to spill over any second.

Can we please not do this? Especially in the middle of the parking lot at work…

Every muscle in my body feels like it’s about to shatter. I still want to forget it all. I never will, but that doesn’t mean I’m not content in spending the rest of my life trying. I take a breath, tamping down any emotion that threatens to expose itself, and shake my head. Maybe if I dismiss it like it’s nothing, he’ll accept it and disappear for another three years.

“I’m not doing this to get you to talk to me again.” Colson’s voice is firm and determined, “I need to tell you what happened because you deserve to know.”

I relax slightly, but I still hold fast to the door handle of my SUV, “OK.”

Colson stares down at the white paint between the cars, “It’s a sleep disorder,” he begins. “After I did what I did to you, I was so freaked out that I went to the hospital. The doctor didn’t really believe me until he asked if I had any sleep partners who could corroborate it. And I said no, I don’t, because I tried to kill my girlfriend last night and that’s why I was there.”

My stomach drops and the adrenaline rises.

Don’t fucking cry. Get a grip. Pull it together.

I clear my throat and try to swallow the lump, “Then what happened?”

Surprisingly, it’s better when I speak, like it’s a distraction from the involuntary neural responses bombarding me.

Colson also seems relieved when I start asking questions, “Normally, you have paralysis during your REM cycle. But when you don’t, you act out your dreams—or nightmares. It’s like sleepwalking, except when you wake up, you’re completely lucid and you can remember everything.”

“OK,” I furrow my brow, “so, what were you dreaming about?”

He doesn’t miss a beat, “The guy that murdered my sister.”

I stare at him, my mouth half open, having no idea how to respond. Dallas is his sister. He has another one? I suppose I didn’t get to find out much about him before everything went to hell back then.

“Yeah,” Colson scratches the back of his head, “it happened years ago and it was…a lot, obviously. Anyway, after that, I started having nightmares, talking in my sleep, and then later the sleepwalking started. But nothing like this.”

“Do you know what causes it?” If I keep talking, everyone will remain calm, and everything will be OK.

Colson shakes his head, “Genetics, depression, drinking, lack of sleep, PTSD…” Colson grins, “basically everything I’d been doing since high school. And after I met you, I thought everything was getting better, until—” he stops himself, not wanting to say anymore.

Everything was getting better…

That phrase is way too loaded for me to even deal with right now, so I keep asking questions. If I keep asking questions, I’ll notice if he slips up. Maybe I’ll know if he’s lying…

“Is there any treatment?”

“Oh, yeah,” he grins, “medication.”

Colson reaches into his pocket and tosses a white bottle at me. It rattles as I catch it against my chest. When I turn it over, I see the sticker labeled with “Colson Lutz” next to his birthday, November 14. I examine the name of the drug printed below his name, filing it away to look up later.

“It’s never happened again. I just can’t drink,” he cracks a smile, “but that’s better than the alternative.”

I turn the bottle over in my hand, “Why—” I clear my throat, “why didn’t you say anything until now?”

“I didn’t even know where to start. I figured out pretty quick that you hadn’t told anyone, so I just let it ride.”

You could have said something, but you didn’t.

“And when you didn’t answer any calls or texts,” he continues, “I thought you just wanted me to leave you alone.”

Liar. You couldn’t leave me alone if you tried. Maybe it was just your plan to make me live in terror for the last three years.

But Colson’s right, I wanted him to disappear. I wanted to disappear.

---