Page 34 of Rebel

“I don’t want to do anything. I just want to sleep all the time. I’m so fucking tired. I see everyone around me getting mad and worried, but I can’t seem to care about it. I keep fucking up, and that’s the worst thing because this meant so much to me, yet now I don’t even care when I screw up. I feel empty and burdened at the same time, like my heart and soul are being crushed from the weight of everything. I feel so alone,” she trails off. “I wish you were here. You would know what to do to make it all better. I just feel so alone, so isolated. I just want it to stop.”

Ripping off the headphones, I toss them away and scream into my hands.

I should have been there.

I should have protected her.

Crawling into my bed, I wrap my quilt around me. I know the feelings she described well. I used to have to drag my ass out of bed every single day, and it took everything in me to put one foot in front of the other. The only thing that kept me going was the thought of how I had to make everything right.

It gave me a reason to fight, even when it got so hard, I just wanted to sink into the darkness and never leave.

I know those feelings well, and hearing that in her voice ruins me.

No matter how nice they are, I need to remember this feeling of hopelessness and anger.

I close my eyes and pray to something I don’t believe in so I can see her in my dreams, but two hours later, I scream in frustration and toss my bedding back.

I can’t sleep. I’ve tossed and turned. I’ve gotten angry. It’s no use.

I’ve always struggled with insomnia. I used to worry that when I went to sleep, I would wake up and my mom wouldn’t be there anymore, so I just stopped sleeping. It became a bad habit, one I can’t break now.

I starfish across the bed, exhausted and drained both physically and emotionally.

Wrapping the tape player up carefully, I hide it once more and flop back, just staring at the ceiling. Maybe if I count the lines . . .

There’s a soft knock, and then the door opens. I sit up, wide-eyed, to see Trav sneaking in. “Can’t sleep?” he murmurs, wearing nothing but some shorts. My eyes take in all his muscles. “I heard you moving around. I can’t sleep either. I figured we might as well suffer together.” He shuts the door and throws himself onto the bed next to me, uncaring or not noticing that I’m checking him out. I’m never sure which with Trav.

Stiffly lying down, I stare at the ceiling, unsure what to say or do.

Trav and I get along well, but everything is heightened in the dark, and I feel that tension holding me tight.

“I hate spiders. They really freak me out,” he says randomly, breaking the tension.

Turning my head, I find him spread out next to me, an arm behind his head. “Huh?” Brilliant, Beck. Truly.

Grinning, he turns onto his side to face me. “I hate spiders. I heard talking helps you go to sleep faster. So what are you scared of, Beck?”

I almost say, Never seeing her face again. “I hate clowns,” I admit. “One time, I punched one at a fair.”

He chuckles. “You didn’t.”

“I did.” I turn onto my side. Maybe he’s the distraction I need to stop myself from spiraling again. I’m afraid to slip back into that dark place, and I can feel it happening. “I’d gone with some friends, and it started chasing us. The only way I’m running is if I’m being chased. I turned later, thinking it stopped, but it popped up, so I punched the dude right in the face, a knee-jerk reaction.”

Trav’s laugh booms around the room, his whole body shaking with it, and I find myself smiling along. “I can totally see you doing that. So that’s the type of teenager you were, huh? Troublemaker?”

“Nah, I had really good grades. I never got into trouble. In all honesty, I worked all the time.” I don’t admit doing what. “I didn’t have a lot of time for friends and going out, so when I did, I made the most of it. What about you?”

He seems sad at my answer but nods. “I was a bit of a dick,” he admits shamefully, making me grin. “I didn’t kill people or anything, but I’d skip school and drink and party. When I hit eighteen, my dad threw me out, saying I’d never become something. I couch-surfed before I got lucky with an audition.”

“I’m sorry. Your dad sounds like a dick,” I say.

“He was, but he was right. I was never good at school. I just didn’t get that type of learning, and it was hard for me to concentrate. Music was always my passion, and if he hadn’t kicked me out, I wouldn’t be here, so it all worked out,” he replies brightly. Does anything upset this man? It’s a reminder I’m not the only one with a shitty life.

“You still speak to him?” I ask softly.

“No, not really. Sometimes I’ll call him on his birthday, but he’s better off without me. He never asks for anything like Chase’s parents, though, so that’s good.” I want to ask, but that’s Chase’s story, and Trav definitely won’t tell me. Trav is the type to take secrets to the grave.

“I’m sorry. Do you have any other family?” I snuggle deeper into the bed, and he copies until we’re almost pressed together.

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