Still Here

16

Every night I've been in the hospital, I've been haunted by dreams of Cara. Sometimes I think that it's worse in the daytime, even though I'm not asleep.

That's the thing: she haunts me always. Even when I'm awake. I can't escape her. She's in my brain. She won't leave.

Questions haunt me, too.

How come I got to live? We both had the same intentions. Why couldn't Cara have been in my place now?

It's evening and I'm still a little in shock of having a pacemaker in my chest. To distract myself, I think of Cara. I'm being particularly disturbed by painful questions when Jasmine comes into my room and interrupts them. I can't help my sigh of relief.

She blurts her words out, as if she's been waiting a long time to say them. "I hear you."

"Huh?" I say.

"At night. You cry. Really . . . loudly," she says, knitting her brow. "You keep me up."

"Oh, I didn't know. I'm sorry," I tell her.

"No, no, it's good. I cry, too. You make my nightmares stop," she says.

I don't know what to say.

She's unstable standing, so she takes the seat next to my bed. I notice that her purple hair is drenched in sweat. "I was napping," she explains. "Bad idea."

I'm fascinated by the person she is without a guard up. "What are your dreams about?" I ask.

"They aren't dreams. Dreams are good. Or weird. But they aren't bad. These are bad - they're nightmares," she says. She takes a deep breath before looking at me so intensely, I feel like she can see into my soul.

I stare back. "So what are they?"

She answers in a strange, confused voice. "It's the television. Like the one in here, that AJ was playing with. The static thing happens. Except I can't turn it off. I can't change it. I can't even look away. I'm just frozen, staring at a static fucking television. I don't know why it's so terrifying. I haven't figured it out." She runs a hand through her hair. "You think I'd have nightmares about gaining weight or something. Like, breaking a scale or being forced to eat. I don't know. Something like that. But it's never like that. Ever since I was little - ever since it started, it's been that static television. And I don't understand it."

"Have you told anyone?"

"I just told you."

"Somebody important," I say. She looks at me curiously, and I'm not in the mood to explain to her just how worthless I believe I am, so I add, "Like, a therapist or something."

She gives me a cold laugh. "No. Of course not."

"Why?"

"Because they can't stop nightmares. They can't get in my head. And I wouldn't let them, if they could."

"Why?" I repeat.

"Don't you know any other words? Fuck, because I know they can't fix me."

I open my mouth, but she stops me before I can say anything. "Say why again and I'll kick you in your broken chest. Look, they can't help someone who's this far gone. I'm fucked, Audrey. Completely fucked."

"No, you aren't."

She looks at me with a miserable, sickening grin. "Yes, I am. I'm as fucked as a porn star. Also, you suck at advice." Her expression softens. "But it's alright. So do I. Tell me about your nightmares, and I'll give you shitty advice back."

I shake my head. "There's nothing to tell."

"Hell does that mean?"

"What do you think?"

"Okay, you're not the sassy one here, Audrey."

I huff. "I don't remember them," I lie.

"Bullshit."

"It's not."

"You bawl every night and you're telling me you don't know why?"

I frantically rack my brain for lies. "They only started after the accident. They're just . . . I see the car, okay? I see it coming at me. It's horrible."

She seems suspicious. As if she doesn't really buy it, but she's going to pretend to. "Well, that sucks."

"Thank you for your input. Your advice? It really just changed my life right now. Honestly. Thanks."

"Oh, shut up." She pushes me playfully and I laugh for the first time that day. It's odd in such a solemn environment. But that stiff feeling evaporates and the subject changes. Talk of static television turns to talk of just television and we're discussing movies and shows. It's delightful. We're talking until it's the middle of the night, when she eventually admits that she's keeping the conversation going because she's terrified of falling asleep. I push her away, making her stand and stumble toward the door.

"You're going to fall asleep, no matter what. Whether it's by choice or passing out from exhaustion. So you should just go to sleep now," I tell her.

"If I pass out, maybe I'll be too tired to dream. Or - too tired to nightmare?"

"Stop stalling."

"I'm scared."

"Man, why do you act so tough? You seem like you aren't afraid of anything. But you're afraid of sleeping. It's absurd."

"Don't call me absurd. I am not absurd."

"It's a little absurd to be scared of sleep."

"I'm not scared of sleep alone. I'm scared of what accompanies sleep."

I search her eyes. "Do you know what the best way to get rid of a fear is?" I ask.

She gives me an exhausted, annoyed look. "What?"

"Facing it."

"You're very hypocritical. You know that, right?"

"You're very sleepy. You know that, right?"

"I think I've had enough Audrey Summers for one night."

I scoff. "Rude."

"You're just too wise for me at the moment."

And with that, she staggers away.

That night, my sleep is dreamless. Or nightmare-less, as she would say.