Lost in a Reverie 18+ Only (Book 1 of Lastor Series) ['23/'24 EDIT]

Chapter 18

I watched the clothes swirl in a continuous cycle as I sat on the floor while drinking orange juice from the box, the buzzing of the machine becoming a redundant white noise in my ears.

I haven't slept. I couldn't. Not with someone beside me. I couldn't even remember the last time I slept in the same bed with someone while sober and I guess I've forgotten the comfort it brought me to know that I wasn't alone. I've always hated being alone but I've grown used to it. Being alone was always safer. No one would be able to hear me scream if I was alone.

"What are you doing?"

I looked up, seeing Rick standing by the doorway. I pointed at the washing machine.

"Doing your laundry."

His brows furrowed and he glanced at the washing machine for a moment before looking back at me.

"It's 5AM, Angel."

"I was bored."

He frowned. "Don't you sleep?"

I shrugged. "Sometimes."

I emptied the juice box and crumpled it before throwing it in the bin next to the toilet.

"I put my clothes in. I hope you don't mind."

"I don't," he said, staring at me still. "Can you be honest with me for a sec?"

"I'm always honest."

"When was the last time you slept, Angel?" he asked. "And don't try to lie. I'm a doctor and the last person I've seen with the same vital signs as you was an alcoholic ex-marine who suffered from PTSD."

I gave him a sharp look. "I don't have PTSD."

"I didn't say you did. I just asked when the last time you had a decent sleep was."

I pursed my lips, keeping my eyes on the clothes as they tumbled around in the machine. "Four years ago."

"Excuse me?"

I sighed, closing my eyes briefly. "The last time I had a decent sleep was four years ago."

He was quiet for a moment, as if he was struggling to come to terms with the information.

"You're an insomniac."

I nodded. "I was diagnosed when I was eight," I said, dragging a hand through my hair. "I have horrible anxiety and it gets worse with inactivity. I can't stop thinking long enough to fall asleep."

He sighed and came to sit beside me. "Do you take medication?"

I pulled my legs up to my chest, resting my chin on my knee. "I hate taking sleeping pills cuz it fucks with my memory. I used to play the piano to relax whenever I got too overwhelmed to fall asleep, but I can't anymore so I just do chores to exhaust myself instead. Doesn't really help though but it's a good distraction from the shit in my head."

"You never told me why you stopped playing."

I opened one hand, moving my fingers slightly. "A few months after my grandfather died, my family hosted a memorial for him on his birthday," I mumbled, focusing my thoughts. "The Lastor Foundation created a scholarship in his name and we were going to award the first fifty scholars that night. I didn't want to go but Jude wouldn't let me leave so I just got shit faced. The host noticed me and asked me to perform something. I didn't really care and I was used to giving impromptu performances. But when I sat in front of the piano, my fingers started shaking and every note I played was either broken or wrong. I started having a panic attack and out of habit, I looked across the stage, where my grandfather always stood to watch whenever I performed. But he wasn't there. The spot was empty. He was just... gone. And at that moment, I was forced confront the fact that he was never coming back. I was never going to see him again. He can never watch me perform again. I can never talk to my best friend again. It just didn't make any sense to me. He was gone and they were celebrating like a bunch of twisted psychos, and they expected me to just sit there and be okay about that. It wasn't their fault they weren't miserable but I was. I was so fucking miserable and I hated it."