It’s a naive thought, but dream me refuses to listen.
With one last deep breath, I finally crawl out of my hiding place. My legs feel like they’re made of lead as I start to make my way down the stairs. My brain fights the need to look at them, but it’s like I lose control of my own actions and raise my eyes.
I look up to see my family slumped over the table, covered in blood, their vacant eyes staring at me. The screams that rip from my lips are almost involuntary, and I can’t stop them or turn away, I’m frozen here. Forced to see my family die yet again.
“Wake up, honey,” Sophia says, repeating it over and over in a soothing voice and slowly lulling me awake. I can feel her holding my upper body and rocking me, but it’s another few minutes before my adrenaline has calmed enough to respond. Each ragged breath is like breathing in smoke and embers, searing pain coating me as I inflame the old scar tissue yet again. Sophia never stops or says anything as I slowly blink back the tears, a mix of soul deep pain and exhaustion. It takes another piece of my sanity and heart with each dream. But for the first time in forever, I'm not fighting the battle alone. She keeps rubbing her hand gently down my hair until I feel myself falling asleep again.
The next time I wake, it’s because of the sun streaming into my bedroom. Thanks to the bright walls and lighter curtains, there’s no real barrier to keep out sunlight. It feels like I just fell back asleep, but I roll over and check my phone.
It’s eight in the morning.
I swear I’m the worst teenager in history.
Since I’m awake now anyway, I force myself to get up and put on a simple outfit. I hesitate as I start to open my door. Doubt creeps in… I’m not sure how Sophia will feel about me today. I haven’t forgotten my nightmare or her soothing reaction to it. It was the first time in years I’d been able to fall back asleep right away and didn’t wake up feeling like garbage.
The last few foster families just got annoyed after the first one and stopped coming in to gently wake me, instead yelling at me to wake up. Imagine getting slammed from one nightmare into another. Yeah… not fun. One mom even screamed at me for waking the other kids, like I could control how I reacted in my sleep.
Deciding to hope for the best, I slowly make my way to the kitchen to find breakfast already waiting. Sophia’s at the table with her phone in one hand and her tablet in the other. Sitting in front of her is a glorious box of donuts. Going to the fridge, I take out a bottle of water and sit down at the table. Feeling awkward as hell, I slide my plate closer and reach in for the sprinkled chocolate donut. I mean, why choose any other kind?
“Do you want to go explore the town today? Arcadia Hills isn’t huge or anything, but we are much bigger than Starbrooke. We can go out for the day and do some shopping and get lunch, or if you prefer to go it alone, I can get a driver for you?” She pauses, but I don’t know how to answer, not wanting to hurt her feelings. She continues on like it’s nothing and I let out a relieved breath. “We also only live two blocks away from the main hub of shops and restaurants if you prefer to go for a walk. I want you to be comfortable. I won’t be upset at whatever you choose, this is your chance to do things how you prefer. Adjusting is hard enough without factoring in how someone else will react. I want you to do what you feel most comfortable with.” My smile is instantaneous, but I need a second to catch up with all of the options she gave me before answering.
Finally making my decision, I reach for the notebook that’s still between us from last night’s notes.
I’ve gotten really good at catching subtle facial cues, so I study her face to see her reaction as she reads my decision to take a walk. She just reads it before her lips tip up in a warm smile. I’m not exactly a flight risk, but I’d understand if she had reservations about letting me go alone.
“That’s fine with me. Just make sure you have your cell phone in case you get lost. And please keep me updated with the occasional text so I don’t worry all day. Want to meet up for dinner? I can take you to the Italian restaurant in the mall when you are ready?” It sounds better than eating alone all day, so I write that I’ll meet her here. After shoving the donut in my mouth, I run upstairs to get ready.
Half of the shops would still be closed, so I take my time. After picking out an outfit, I go across the hall to my bathroom to take a quick shower. But the moment I’m under the hot spray of water from what I’m convinced is the most heavenly shower head in the world, all thoughts of a quick shower fade away. It’s like three years of stress and anxiety are washing away, my body feeling lighter than it has in ages as I shave and deep condition my hair. The products she got for me smell amazing, the steamy bathroom filling up with the scent of coconuts.
After my fingers turn to prunes, I shut off the water and step out, wrapping the fluffy towel around my body. My hair hasn’t been this soft in ages. I quickly swipe a hand over the mirror to see how it looks. Even as I brush my fingers through it, there’s not a single tangle in it.
My gaze flickers to my eyes in the mirror, actually taking in my appearance for once. The bags under my eyes are still there, but are much less pronounced. Even my skin has a bit of a glow, though that’s likely from the hot shower I just took. Either way, I feel another piece of hope fill me.
Deciding to just get dressed in my room, I gather everything up and head that way. It’s still pretty warm for fall, so I just put on a tee and jeans and my old, worn in shoes. When I check the time I’m surprised to see it’s already close to ten. With nothing else holding me back, I grab my wallet and pull up Google Maps on my phone. I don’t want to head out in the wrong direction and get lost before even starting. With my luck, I’d end up on the wrong side of town.
Following the GPS, I make my way toward the shopping district of Arcadia Hills. The day is fairly quiet for a weekend, but I notice quite a few people walking around enjoying the day already. It’s still really nice, especially for September, and I find myself just enjoying the sunshine and fresh air.
I’m not really interested in clothing sto
res since I’ve already seen their inventory, so I walk past the few boutiques that I run across. The next store is a small vintage style record and music store and I stop, internally squealing and doing a happy dance before opening the door and walking in.
The store is absolutely perfect. The walls are covered with band posters ranging from Eighties hair bands to pop stars and rappers. String lights circle the room, adding to the soft glow of the overhead lights.
They also have a record player hooked up to their sound system so you can test out records before buying them. The speakers are currently blaring a techno beat, the guy behind the counter dancing and humming along as he puts inventory away. He gives me a wave at the sound of the bell then returns to his task.
The music is separated by genre, and then by CD or record. It’s easy to navigate at least, which I appreciate. Nothing is worse than a music store that has genres mixed together.
Knowing exactly what I want, I immediately make my way to the punk rock section. It’s my secret obsession and one I hid even in my old life. Lizzy was the only one who knew and I always had her to dress me before, so I ended up giving off a preppy vibe. With my good grades and quieter nature, nobody expected it. To them I had good girl vibes and was mainly just called Lizzy’s friend. Now that I don’t care about anyone or their opinions, I finally get to embrace whatever makes me happy. Well, as happy as I allow myself to get.
I quickly pick out some of my favorite bands and have a ridiculous stack before I even realize it, but I refuse to let myself feel bad. She told me I had an allowance and this is likely the only time I’ll actually use it.
For a moment I hesitate, unsure if I can even play them. Though I’m sure the computer in my room has a CD drive, and if not I can probably buy a CD player of some sort. That thought motivates me enough to grab one last CD.
After way too long, I carry my purchases up to the counter. This is always my most hated part. I may not care what people think, but it’s always a struggle when you don’t speak back to the cashier. Thanks to the judge’s orders, I know sign language. And despite how angry I was at the time, it’s made my life way easier and I use it in most public settings.
The guy working behind the counter appears to be in his twenties and seems super laid-back. I put my CDs next to the cash register, and he gives me a customer service smile before adding up my purchases. The number rises slowly and I’m actually pleasantly surprised to see how cheap it all is.
“Oh, I love this band. They were way better before the lead singer quit, but their new stuff isn’t that bad, right?” he asks, trying to chat with me.