If I Die Tonight

chapter five

I don't dream again from that day on.

To say I'm relieved is wrong, but to say that I'm upset is also wrong. I don't know what to think. It's been weeks, and I still don't know what to think. On the one hand, I should be relieved- those dreams have been haunting me ever since I was little, and they have been horrific. Dreaming about dying every night does something to a person, something horrible and scarring, and those dreams no doubt took their toll on me. But... they were a part of me. They were familiar, as sad as it is to say. They happened to me every night, they were something I could expect when going to sleep.

But now... things felt empty, they felt wrong. I wouldn't dream about anything. I would go to sleep, and it would seem that in a blink of an eye, the Sun was pouring through my blinds. That's not how it's supposed to be- I'm supposed to wake up after a vivid dream, sometimes in a cold sweat, reach for the cup of tea to calm me down, and prepare myself for the day to come.

The couple of hours where I had been convinced that I was, in fact, still in a dream a couple of weeks ago still has me shaken. My therapist and I had spent hours talking after that, enough for him to coax out all the information of my dream about the boy. When my mom finally took me home, her eyebrows had been furrowed from worry and her face resembling a white sheet, but she had simply kissed my forehead and told me to go rest for a bit.

It's been a month since that incident, and nothing has haunted my sleep- no voices, no images, no sensations, nothing. And slowly, but surely, I'm beginning to accept that. I'm not sure how to feel about that, but it's true- I'm beginning to accept the fact that my life has changed since those horrific nights, and my mind has finally decided to let me rest.

And of course, because I'm a stupid ass little bitch who has a peanut for a brain and about zero point zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-one of an ounce of common sense, I had to go and jinx it.

It was first period and Brook was telling us a work story- one of many. Working at a coffee shop deems to bring a lot of tales of crazy customers. Most of them were hilarious to listen to, actually, because Brook doesn't exaggerate when he tells these things- I've witnessed some of them first hand. However, at the moment I wasn't too focused on what Brook was saying- I was more so obsessing over what to get my mother for her birthday. I've been throwing ideas around with Monica for about a week, but the date is rapidly approaching and I only have one weekend to go out and get something.

Monica laughs as Brook finishes his story and they both turn to me, Brook kicking my foot underneath the table, causing me to jump. "What're you thinking about?" Monica asks.

"My mom's gift."

"You still haven't decided what you're going to get her?"

"No!" I groan, letting my head fall forward and bang against the desk, before cursing because it fucking hurt.

"Nice," Brook comments.

"Shut up."

"What about a necklace? Or a nice scarf?" Monica suggests, leaning forward, resting her elbows on the desk in front of her. Her long nails are painted a mat black, something I've always been jealous of- not the color, but the length of her nails. Mine break at least once a day. "Or just flowers?"

"No, I need to get more than just flowers. What about a... Oh, she reads on her iPad a lot! What about a Kindle?"

"Uh huh," Monica snorts. "Where are you going to work up a hundred dollars for a Kindle?"

I huff, resting my chin on my palm. Right. I'm broke.

"Get a job," Brook suggests.

"Yeah, and cry myself to sleep from stress every night like you do? No thanks."

Brook is about to open his mouth to defend his manliness when the class falls quiet. Our teacher- Mrs. Garth- is standing at the front of the desk, leaning against her desk behind her, her hands settled at the edge of it. Her short brown hair is tied up today, her wiry glasses sitting low on her nose. Mrs. Garth smiles kindly at us. "Good morning, class."

"Morning," comes the low rumble of a reply from the class.

Mrs. Garth chuckles at our lack of enthusiasm- she always does. "Before we start on today's lesson, I want to introduce you to you your new student. Class, this is November Clarke."

That's when I see the boy standing in the corner of the room.

Suddenly, I'm not listening anymore. I don't hear Monica comment under her breathe about what a weird name that is. I don't hear the sound of Brook kicking her foot under the desk. I don't register Mrs. Garth's words as she introduces November to the class. All my mind is thinking about- all I can understand, all the I can fully comprehend- is that I know the boy standing in the corner of my math class.

He's the boy I saw die in my dreams.

x

Halfway through Mrs. Garth's lesson, I can't take it anymore.

November- the boy- is sitting right there, three rows in front of me. Alive. Breathing. Smiling to the girl who tries to flirt with him beside me. Writing down the notes from the lesson. Blinking. Thinking. Moving. Okay.

It's driving me insane.

Monica and Brook have asked me multiple times if I'm okay. Apparently, I looking sickly pale. I feel sick. Like at almost any moment now, I'm going to vomit everything I ate this morning. How could I not? I haven't been able to focus all lesson, because all I've been thinking about is oh my God that's him, it's him, his name is November, he's alive, I saw him die but he's alive.

I can't take it anymore, I'm going crazy. Midway through Mrs. Garth's sentence, I raise my hand and call out, "Mrs. Garth?"

Everyone in the class simultaneously turns to look at me, including November. My heart picks up- out of fear or anxiety, I'm not too sure, but is there really a difference?- when I quickly glance to see his almond eyes on me, but I'm quick to turn away, my hand still up. Mrs. Garth looks at me with a confused glance. "Yes, Estelle?"

"Could I go the washroom?"

"Is it an emergency-"

"Yes."

Mrs. Garth just continues to stare at me with a hesitant expression. Brook, who- bless his soul- seems to notice my distress, speaks up. "Mrs. Garth, Estelle is a girl. I think if she says it's an emergency, then it's an emergency."

Giggles explode throughout the classroom at what Brook is implying, but Mrs. Garth just sighs. "Alright, go ahead Estelle."

I waste no time grabbing my backpack that's hanging around the back of my chair, forgetting about my notebook and textbook on my desk, and speed walk out of the class. My breathing is already shaky and my palms are already sweaty. I can feel my cheeks burning up too. Great, the last thing I need right now- a fucking panic attack.

It's too late to stop it now, though. By the time I reach the bathroom and call my mom on the phone, I'm having full on trouble breathing, needing to lean against the bathroom stall to support myself. "M-Mom?"

"Estelle?" my mom demands, sounding worried. "Estelle, are you okay?"

"I need you to pick m-me up. Ple-" I find myself having to pause to attempt at taking a deep breath. "Please."

"Okay, calm down. I'm coming, okay? Why don't you leave your keys in your locker so Brook can bring it home after school, alright? Take deep breaths, I'm on my way."

My mom doesn't bother interrogating me about what happened, which I'm beyond grateful for. She just stays on the phone with me, trying to get me to breathe normally and to calm down. But I can't.

I have zero doubt in my mind that November Clarke is the boy that died in my dreams. And it makes me nauseous all over again.

xxx

Hey guys! So sorry for the wait but hopefully I'll be able to update more often soon! I hope you guys enjoyed this update nonetheless. COMMENT AND VOTE! I love you all so so much! (: xoxo