Page 20 of True Sight
As I lay there in the darkness, I wonder if I’ll make it through till morning without the nightmare coming back. I wonder about how my meeting with Henry will go and why I thought about his eyes the way I did. Pure exhaustion, I’m sure.
But if that is true, why are they the last thing I think about as I drift off to sleep?
And why, as I do, does my core feel a little warmer than it should?
On timeas always because when I’m late my skin starts to itch, I sit at the same table we’d met at last week. Looking at my watch, I note that it’s exactly 11:05 a.m. and there is noticeably no Henry. I chew on the inside of my lip as I look around and notice all of the other people mulling about and sipping whatever drink they’d ordered. They all seemed on time, why isn’t he? I mean, really, how fucking hard is it to be on time for things? I try to qualm the rising feelings of irritation and annoyance I feel bubbling up inside of me. Letting go of needing everything to be perfect and exactly as I planned is something I’m working on. Malcolm would love to know this little piece of information after years of me giving him a hard time about being punctual.
“Hello there,” Henry’s voice singsongs as he pulls the chair out across from me. “So sorry I’m late, I had a meeting go a little too long over at the studio.”
“It’s fine,” I grind, opening up my laptop to show him the early developments I have for him.
“Are you alright?” His voice curves as he asks, causing his English accent to sound even thicker than before. My eyebrows crease in the center of my face as I look at him.
“I’m fine, why?” Suddenly I pull my shoulders back and sit up as if a rod has been implanted into my spine. Maybe he’s about to comment on my posture again.
“You look…well if I’m honest, you look exhausted,” he comments, looking at me with concern in his eyes. I shake myhead, surprised by his observation but more surprised by how much his concern impacts me.
“Uh, yeah, maybe I am a little. I didn’t sleep very well last night.”
“Why not?”
“Why not?” I repeat, my words coming out defensively.
“Yeah, why not? You didn’t sleep well last night and then again last Friday.”
“How did you know I couldn’t sleep last Friday?”
“You told me so after I texted you in the morning after class and you responded almost instantly. Remember?”
Oh.
In my exhausted state I’d completely forgotten about our texts from last week.
“So why aren’t you sleeping?” He leans across the table on his elbows and when he gets closer, I notice two distinct dimples creating divots in his cheeks. My finger twitches in my lap, suddenly wanting to press itself into one.What the actual burning hell is wrong with me?
“Why do you care?” I snap, wanting to move past this conversation as quickly as possible. He doesn’t flinch at my assholeness in the slightest but squints his eyes at me like he’s considering something.
“I care because I think we can be friends and I care about my friends’ wellbeing. You mention you’re not sleeping more than once and then you show up to our meeting looking like you got hit by a bus. A good friend wouldn’t ignore those things.”
“Gee thanks,” I scoff before crossing my arms over my chest. “And who says we’re friends? You hired me to do a job, remember? And isn’t that why we’re here in the first place, to talk about the work I’m doing for you and to answer your questions?”
“Is something happening? I know we only just met but you can talk about it with me?—”
“I’m having nightmares, okay?” I nearly shout at him. My chest is heaving up and down and the words feel hot as they escape the back of my throat. “I’ve been having them for months now and recently they’re happening at least several times a week. They wake me up and then I can’t sleep and now I have a dog who’s always in my face and needs to be walked three times a day and even when I let her get into bed with me I still can’t fall back asleep so then I’m just awake until the sun either comes up or I eventually pass out again. Are you happy?”
Henry sits back in his chair and presses his tongue into the inside of his cheek awkwardly. He looks like he’s about to speak again but I interject before he can.
“I don’t really want to talk about it if you don’t mind. I’d like to keep some resemblance of personal boundaries and privacy.” My arms are wrapped even tighter against my chest and my nostrils flare. He waits for a few moments to see if I have anything else to say before speaking.
“What’s your dog’s name?”
“What?” I’m ready to get up and leave but the way he looks at me and the amount of money he’s already paid me keeps me glued to my chair.
“You said you have a dog. What’s its name?”
“Why are you?—”
“You said you don’t want to talk about the nightmares so I figured we can talk about your dog. Or is that also off limits and outside your resemblance of personal boundaries and privacy?” His tone mocks my own as he cuts me off. I shift in my seat and glance around the coffee shop.
