Page 3 of The Nightmare King

“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

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