Overwritten

41 : New Morning

Jake and I spent the next few hours cleaning up the mess around the apartment.

Apparently when he had returned home, he had a panic attack, felt trapped in his own skin. That's how he described it at least. He told me he couldn't stop seeing the little boy's face in his arms. I didn't know what to say, but I still tried my best to comfort him, tell him it wasn't his fault. But he wouldn't stop blaming himself.

One of the chairs had the leg snap off, likely after being thrown against a wall. I'd fixed things like that before, and it would only require some wood glue. Charlie and I used to rebuild old furniture all the time from the Futhers junkyard.

Many of our plates had been smashed, but it was easier to replace those then try and repair the tiny pieces. It was symbolic, in a sense, that it was easier to replace things than spend time fixing them. Although I tried not to dwell on it too much.

Once the apartment was cleaned, we both found ourselves beyond exhausted. It felt cruel to make him sleep on the sofa, especially after the day he endured. So, it was decided between us mutually that we would continue sharing the bed.

As friends, of course.

Once we'd settled into bed, I continued reading over Jake's shoulder at the book he was reading, Wake-Up Eliza. A girl who can't tell which of her two worlds is the dream, and which is reality. Falling asleep only to wake up in the other dream. Jake had the playing card to continue to mark where his place was.

"So which world is the dream?" I asked right as he had begun to turn the next page, "There's evidence for both being the real world and both being a dream,"

"That's the thing," Jake said, looking at me with those boring blue eyes, "We don't know. Only the author knows. And it's their choice whether or not we find out by the end,"

Some day, I hoped to write my own book. I'm not sure what about, nor the plot or characters. But, ever since I started reading, I wanted to write. Marie always said I would write my own book one day. Although she never understood the appeal, she supported me just the same.

I liked the idea of being able to make my own world, an escape in a way.

Because in a book, you can be anybody, any world, and create anything. It could be in the future, in the past, or in the present. An entirely new place to escape. Maybe there would be many characters, maybe there would only be a few. But whatever it was, it wouldn't be here.

I managed to drift off into sleep, resting against Jake's shoulder as I read through the world of the book. And, for the first in the past few days, I didn't have any nightmares that night. I didn't have dreams at all, really, and for once it was actually peaceful.

It wasn't my watch that woke me up the next day, but Jake, shaking me gently awake.

For a moment, I was dazed and confused, not sure where I was or how I got there. I was also surprised to see Jake at first, but when I saw him in a casual attire, I remembered.

"I'll go make breakfast," he said, before leaving the bedroom. He closed the door behind him, and I once more was sitting in silence alone in the bed, trying to convince myself to get up.

And when I did get up and get ready, just as I was about to leave, I saw something in one of my bags. I hadn't had a chance to unpack all of my clothes yet, I suppose none of us have really had a break after all. But I didn't even remember that I'd packed it.

It was the cowboy hat.

The one Dad had given me all those years ago. I didn't pack it, so it meant that Dad must have put it in there. When I put it on, it made me feel a lot more confident, even for a moment. And staring at myself in the mirror, although it certainly wasn't a good look, I finally recognized the girl staring back.