Chapter 1: Nightmare
We don’t have wings and golden halos. We are not angels. We don’t fly as everyone think of us. I once lived, we were. We are by your side, always. -The Watchers
Exactly at three o’clock, I was awake by an unusual sense. I look around, just my eyes. A light gentle wind keeps brushing the curtain and I can tell it somehow speaks to me. I paused for a moment to observe my surroundings. The flower on the vase seems calm as if the window is not opened. No sound, no breeze, terrifyingly none. Strange…exactly strange. I don’t know but my sight insists to explore going on the ceiling. In a glimpse, my mind went blank and found myself stuck in a sudden fear.
Darkness creeps inside my room.
I feel frigid, extremely cold. My veins struggle to function normally. I know it’s happening again. That kind of feeling you lost yourself and someone rides your soul and mortal body. Close to convulsion.
“It’s time…” a male voice whispered bleak behind my ears. I tried to close my eyes but I can’t. I can feel the panic of my eyeballs roll in my eyelids. Its crazily escaping the black image on my right side “Hm-mmh” My throat shakes a sound.
I feel so helpless! I can't control my damn body! "Sh*t!" I repeat that word more than hundred times.
I mum with a cry. It can't be helped. And now, I think there's an invisible chain holding my wrists and ankles.
A tear escaped down graciously and my breathing becomes heavy, most likely asthmatic. Abruptly a high pitch sound bang into my ear “Stop! Stop it!” it piercing my eardrums. It ascended higher and louder. Louder and higher on every count of a second.
“Urghhhhhhh!!” I struggled to breathe and move. "Urghhhh--mmhhnnnhhurghh!" I clenched a part of the bed sheet. Someone, please help me. I know anytime soon my whole system will collapse.
“Ivy! Ivy!” someone knocked the door and pulled me into reality. A tall man rushed inside my room. He got long arms and broad shoulders, undeniably strong athletic look. His brows are black and thick and his complexion is sun-kissed. Perfect for his serious face and aura. And what really mesmerize me every time I stare at him is his pale blue eyes. Stony but sympathetic.
“E-E-Earl” I gasped a relief. “Thank God I’m alive!” then my eyes explore going to the window. "Glad...the sun is up" I calmed.
The daylight is beaming outside. I can clearly say that because of the natural property of the translucent silk curtain.
“Silly! Of course, you are. When did you die? Where’s that coming from?” he chuckled and cut himself. He scrutinizes my pajamas and shirt full of mud. “You went out last night? With?” he prolonged his sentence like a teacher asking his student to fill in the blanks.
I remained silent.
I know what he's thinking. I went out in the forest and had a party with Charl Ington. My best friend slash troublemaker friend. But, gosh! Seriously?! I have mud all over my body and he’s judging me very quick.
I look at him sharply and he replied with an emotionless face.
Gosh! He knows me, hmm yeah. He knows me! Sometimes...okay...wait, I'm doubting myself now.
I love going to parties most of the time but I swear, I din't had a fun rock and roll night.
I don't have any knowledge where I get this filthy sh*t mud. Urgh! I don’t want to have an argument right now. I don’t have energy left. I feel so drained.
I gazed at my fingers gliding at the sheet and exhaled softly “I had a nightmare…”
“I told you not to watch horror movies”
“I didn’t!” my tone rise. I hate that brother speech of him. I suddenly remember the last time he speaks so brotherly to me. That was when his Mom and Dad died in a car accident four years ago. He never shed a tear at the funeral but you know deep within, he is mourning. He is still in it and he just hates to admit. He denied every sorrow of him. Maybe to appear tough, like a steel...cold and strong. But when he gazed deeply, it is very visible in his dead blue eyes. On the lighter side, he chooses to go on his life and continue to breathe. We only got each back so he vowed to protect me. Like a family member worth to shelter.
I noticed that I paused too long so I replied immediately. “I didn’t” my voice ceased.
“I had a bad dream. For the seventh time.”
He put his thumb on his jaw. Absorbed in my words. “It’s been a week.” He turned back and walk going to the door. He is bothered and he can’t put the right words to spit.
Is he mad? For I’ve been complaining worse than any kind of kid over a bad dream? Will he call a psychiatrist? Call me crazy? Or let me weak in this frustrating state. And just say it’s just pure imaginations and stress.
He’s sinking further into his thoughts. He knows he is. “I’m going to camp here tonight”
“Slumber party? For girls’ vocabulary?” He answered my skeptic reply. “Nah. I’m going to sleep here. I’ll be watching you.”
"You are living next to my room! Isn't enough?" I'm so pissed. He's not my guardian to do everything he wants. Can't I enjoy my own privacy? and life? For the past years he is always there. He should be tired of babysitting me! But, I don't see any tiredness or regrets on his actions.
I feel sore with this kind behavior of him but at the same time, I'm liking it. I feel safe when he's around, close to being invulnerable--Impossible to harm and damage.
Now he puts conviction into his plan. He is going to look at me when the night falls later. It's irrevocable. It's final.
Before I complained he seconded “Get your bag. I don’t want to waste my energy to carry a filthy bag”
I wrinkled my forehead. And he pointed at the calendar using his eyes. March 27, Monday. The last day of classes.
I lost track in days.