Say My Name [ Teacher-Student Romance -- Robert Downey Jr ]

Ch.37 - A Juiceless Fruit

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It's 4.44 a.m and she's awoken with sweat beads dripping off her forehead. Eyes wide, blood shot from lack of sleep, and shivering more than she ever has before. Her bones feeling brittle and bare, ready to snap from the pure force of gravity.

Her heart lurching in her throat making her already laboured breathing hoarser.

She hates Brandon.

She hates him but even in sleep she's terrified of him. The hate and fear mingled into one.

The dream that never truly fades even after she's woken. An endless loop. Like she's some puppet placed in the centre of a lazy Susan, gripping on as it spins and spins and spins and she's simply not strong enough to hold her grasp until she's being tossed off, abruptly woken in an icy sweat, throat closing out a feint murmur of terror.

There's no hope for sleep, even the though she so desperately tries. A repeated game trying to convince herself that no nightmares will come this time. That time. Next time.

Twenty minutes and an ache in her jaw from chattering teeth, she kicks her thick blankets to the foot of her bed, sitting rubbing at her dark eyes with a small frown.

A thought appears. A not all too entertaining thought. Maybe (maybe, maybe) she could try something she hasn't done for a very long time. Something that sounds almost crazy, like lunacy to even breach the thought, but alas, swinging pale legs over the edge of her bed, she gets up with a low grunt.

She hadn't slept Friday night either, and with no sleep tonight, her body is seriously angry-exhausted. The low burn of pain leaving just enough energy to allow her to get on with her days tasks. A very considerate thing for sleeplessness to grant her, but she much rather just sleep. Be able to sleep and get the hours her body is dying to have. Her senses are elevated, limbs numbed to sludgy like movements and a brain pestered with negative thoughts yet no actual power to motivate a change of pace.

Does that make sense?

Maybe she's so overtired she's no longer making sense. That'd make sense to no longer be making sense.

Ugh.

With black rings circling under her eyes, like she's ready to become one of those spotted hundred puppies, she finds the bathroom.

The light burns as she flips the switch, right to the cornea, it hurts like all hell. Her eyes tearing with confusion as to why she's up when she'd only fallen asleep three and a half hours ago. And it only took three restless hours of tossing and turning for her familiar night terrors to revisit her defenceless slumber ridden brain into awakening.

It was like circling the drain--this forever cycle she was on. More tired she was, the more thoughts flooded her mind. The more need for sleep, the more endless screaming in her dreams, trapped inside her own (re)imagination.

Sleep deprivation is hardly good to anyone though.

God, she can barely think, it actually hurts to think (how hilarious that all she does is think because of her sleepy state).

Stumbling with unusually bare feet, slapping lazily against tile, she steers away from the bright bulbs, blearily finding the two nozzles of the bathtub.

Hot and cold. Twisting with no hesitation, she is greeted with the splashing sounds of water hitting an empty porcelain tub. Too loud, way too loud for her sensitive ears.