That night, IÂ dream Iâm in the ocean.
Alice walks toward me.
Made of light and water, air and love.
But she canât reach me.
She disintegrates into the waves.
I scream for her but suck in only ocean.
Salty and cold. It fills me.
A wave tosses me upside down, right side upâ
tumbling me like a rag doll.
I want to swim up.
Out.
But I canât tell up.
Or down.
Or out.
So I just keep spinning turning tumbling.
The waves whisper to me.
I believe them.
Let them take me.
I become the sea.
â
I gasp awake, my lungs hungry.
The edges of my dream remain.
Water.
Waves.
Alice.
âYou were screaming,â she says in the darkness.
I suck my voice back in.
Inhale it like seawater.
Deep.
Deep.
My lungs fill with ocean and words and screams.
â
I wake again, more fully and drenched in sweat.
Alice hovers at the side of my bedâa ghost in the night.
âYou were doing it again,â she says.
âSorry.â
âAre you okay?â
âYeah. Iâmââ
ââfine.â
She retreats to her side of the universe, and I stare at the ceiling, my finger pressed against the vein in my neckâ165. My fingers are sticky and my side hurts. In the bathroom mirror, I lift my shirt and turn sideways to get a better angle on the side of my abdomen, right above where my jeans normally hit. There, where no one else can see, is a patch of bright red, angry splotches where Iâve ripped open my skin in my sleep.
I wipe the blood off my stomach, rinse it from my hands.
Back in my bed, I open my planner to the last page, to the evidence of my questionable sanity. I add a new line.
I canât keep doing this.
Across the room, Margotâs huddled up tight next to Alice, holding on for dear life.
canât keep doing this.
Even if Micah does help me find my muse (which is still a if), itâs going to take a lot more than UC Berkeley to save this family.
I flip to a blank page of my planner and make a new list.
Simple.
Easy.
Totally doable.
Except I have no idea how.