He's Always Watching

Chapter Six

I'm sorry this took so long D: I've literally been spending 5 days at my cousins' house, and 2 days home at a time...And let's not forget the writer's block factor -_- I'm starting to draw a blank on this story. Never fails...That's not much of an excuse, but I do apologize. You have  my personal promise that I'll try harder. Oh, and I've recently had a few people unfan me, and not gonna lie; I thought about closing this account and just quitting. But then I realized I wouldnt know what to do with myself...But have I really gotten that bad? Anywhooo, figured I'd just mention it... Enjoyyy.

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       I shot forward in bed gasping for air. My hair clung to my neck uncomfortably, forcing me to push it out of the way as I brought my head between my knees and tried to slow the breaths escaping my lips in near hyperventilation. The nightmare flashed through my mind again and I couldn’t help but flinch at the ending. Let’s just say, I didn’t make it away from the hooded figure this time. The nightmares had been absolutely out of control lately.

        I automatically glanced at the shoebox pushed against my closet door. The same shoebox I drug out before falling asleep that I promised myself wouldn’t come out from under my bed unless there was something else from my stalker to put into it. For some odd reason, after getting coffee with Colby, I felt compelled to look at the three notes and picture again. That probably caused my nightmare, come to think of it. I should’ve known better.

     My body hit the sheets with a dull thud as I tried to settle back into them and salvage whatever amount of sleep I could before school. It didn’t look too good, though, considering it was already four in the morning and my brain couldn’t grasp the concept of shutting down. Another sleepless night was exactly the opposite of what I needed with two tests and an essay due that morning. All I could do was stare at my ceiling and pray that sleep would mercifully overtake me once again, and lull me into a dreamless blackness.

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       “Rock bottom, have I sold my soul? I don’t wanna, wanna know,” Jenny sang out loudly.

       I raised my head from its spot on my desk and looked over to see her mouthing the words to some song on my iPod. I groaned and dropped my head back down on the smooth wood.

      “Can you not sing so loudly?” I grumbled. “I have a migraine.”

      She turned her coffee colored eyes on me and reluctantly pulled the earbuds away from her ears. “It’s not my fault you didn’t sleep very well last night. You were practically a zombie in school today.”

      “It’s not my fault either! These stupid fricken nightmares are kicking my butt. It’s like whatever sleep I actually get does nothing for me whatsoever.”

      Jenny frowned. “Maybe you should take a sleeping pill or something. My mom has a mild form of insomnia and they put her on these pills that knock her out cold, no dreams at all.”

       “I’m not taking anything to help me sleep, Jen. I’ll be fine when this is all over…” I told her.

       Her brows furrowed down in confusion. “When what’s over?”

      It had somehow slipped my mind that she had yet to know about my ordeal. “Nothing. Just…nothing.” I lied.

      She gazed over at me suspiciously but thankfully didn’t comment. We lapsed back into silence, all except for Jenny’s soft singing and the sound of paper against paper as she flipped through the pages of her psychology book. Surprisingly, she was set on a career as a psychiatrist one day.  She struck me as more of the beautician or make-up artist type, before I got to know her all those years ago anyway.