Insomnia

“Tell us, Maelyn, what’s on your mind?” Dr. Grace stared at me, expecting the usual depression and pity-me sob story, but, since I was in a relatively good mood that day, I’d decided to give the satisfaction of a successful visit. “Fine, great, everything’s right as rain!” I spurt, with a glint of an Australian accent. I swear I was grinning so wide my cheekbones were feeling strained. “Come on, Mae, you can say anything you like, I’m here to help.” At that, I perked up. “Oh, and helping me is injecting Eszopiclone in my arm to shut me up whenever you can’t admit that I’m right?” her jaw tightened. “You don’t need me to repeat myself, do you Mae? I know you're troubled right now. Just let it out.” she said again. Dr. Grace has been my therapist for a little over a year and a half now, and even though my parents thought seeing her would “clear my head a little” and “talk to people about my feelings”, all she’s done is cause me more pain than I'd been in to begin with. Being in her office is like being in an asylum. The walls are made of thick cemente, painted a creamy white, with only two medium-sized windows to allow passage of light, with a circular mini chandelier on the ceiling. The only furniture in the room was Dr. Grace’s desk, and the orange plush chairs we sat in. I’ve never been free of this building. This nightmare. Everything was too “perfect” to be real, and honestly, I hate perfection. Since I was born, I’ve lived in this building. Our apartment is just above the therapist center, on the fifth floor. It was a simple brick building, painted olive green with modern white french doors. Flower boxes on the window sill were always adorned with daisies and cornflowers, but it’s strange, whenever I watch Dr. Grace replant the dying flowers each Spring, I find them dead by morning. Nature was never to my understanding, frankly, no part of my life is to my understanding. I’d never been outside the gates of the community yard, nobody has ever seemed to want to. Not since that day, my family's been to afraid to leave home unattended. We moved here shortly after it happened. The rude awakening. The what-do-we-do-now. It’s safe here, everything’s normal. How it should be. So why is something telling me that there’s more? More than this pure insanity? The drive that makes life worth living? It’s out there, and I’ll find it. Outside these walls. I could do this. It's just talking, right? Talking most always gets me into trouble, maybe this once it could get me out of it. Just this once. I took a deep breath, and began everything I remembered. The thick smoke stung my nostrils like hellfire. Our living room, where we'd spend hundreds of dollars on home premiere movies we just couldn't be patient enough for, the kitchen, where my mom practically lived, always at the stove cooking her specialty stuffed peppers. My parent's bedroom, midnight black with soot streaks on the walls, broken picture frames, traces of clothing and shoes left behind....and...my grandparent's bedroom. Since my grandparents had gotten older, they'd started staying with us so we can help them move around and take care of themselves. My grandma was nowhere in sight, assuming she'd made it out safely. Why was I still in here? The air is so thick, I can't see. My memories clicked back into place. I'm here for you, grandpa. You're here somewhere. Please. Please be alive. "Grandpa! It's Mae, where are you?! Grandpa!" my shouting was muffled by coughs. You need to get out of here. No! Not without grandpa. He was here. He had to be. I was losing consciousness. No! I stumbled around the corner into my bedroom. The door was opened wider than I'd left it before, instantly I cowered away. I couldn't look around the corner. Tears welled in my eyes. I squeezed my eyelids shut and felt my way into the room. Slowly, I dared to open them. He was slumped over on the side of my bed, the covers were thrown on the floor. A waterfall began to flow down my cheeks as I clamped a hand over my mouth to keep the scream in. "Me..." I said softly, crying under my breath. "He'd died looking for me that night."