Insomniac

Prologue

“I don’t want you to go.”

Her hands faltered in securing the zipper on her navy blue backpack; she could feel his eyes on her. They started to shake so she clenched them, took a deep breath and continued her task silently, disregarding his statement. Nothing about the two of them seemed happy, and yet the sunlight streamed through the windows—making pretty shadows on objects that it touched.

Zelah was anxious; she couldn’t wait to be out of the room that held so many memories for them—the sad ones, the happy ones, the one that resulted in her running away from the place that she had called home for eighteen years, the big wooden bed with the black sheets that she had spent hours in, curled up in one place, eyes wide open. 

She glanced at the chair by the window—the wooden, rocking chair that Fred found her in every morning, knees up, staring out into the world but not really being a part of it. She always had her favourite mug, fingers wrapped around steaming re-fills of coffee, trying to stay awake—stay away from her nightmares that were gruesome, if one would judge according to her deafening screams.

“I can’t stay here. She’ll know,” Zelah said softly, her head hung low. 

On the outside, she looked normal, dressed in blue jeans and one of his tee shirts that she wouldn’t give back. She hated the colour orange, but she loved his shirt. It was one of the pieces of him that she wasn’t ready to let go of.

“I’m not talking about staying here. Let me come with you. Please.” 

She shook her head. “I can’t.”

“Why?” He pressed, standing to his feet. 

“Because I don’t want you in this. You don’t deserve to be.” Her voice seemed like it carried throughout the room.

Fred pressed his lips together for a while. Then, “She was mine too, you know? We made her together, so I am in this, no matter what you choose to believe.” 

She looked him in the eyes for the second time in three days. “Don’t.”

One word. Multiple meanings. Don’t talk about it. Don’t make me remember. Don’t touch me. Don’t be there for me. Don’t be everything that you promised to be. Don’t.

He left the side of the bed that he was sitting on and inched towards her. “You’re okay with leaving me behind. Like what we have is... nothing. Do I need to remind you of your feelings for me? The one that you recited every time I saw you. Like your favorite song. Zelah… what do I need to do?”

He stopped within five feet of her. She shook her head and he seemed to get the message.  “Saying that I love you feels wrong all of a sudden. It’s what's expected of me. But…I don’t expect it to get past this wall you’ve put up between us. You love me; you’ve said it more times than I can count. You said it when you were mad, sad, angry at me or just annoyed. You told me that your feelings would never change. Help me understand what happened, Zelah because I’m really trying to understand! We’re both hurting from this. Aren’t we supposed to be in this together? Why won’t you let me in?”

“I got torn apart. Literally. As a result of what we did. What is the point that you’re trying to make? What do you expect of me, Fred?!” He flinched at the sudden rise in her voice. “It is because of you that I’m in this mess! I felt it necessary to show you how much I love you, by giving in. I was not blind to the frustration that you portrayed. But never will I blame you for this. You never forced me to do anything. It will always be my fault. But you have to understand that my entire life has changed. This is how I choose to deal with it. You don’t get to question my love Fred, not today. Don’t.”

She swung her bag on to her back and moved past him to leave—but she stopped after passing him by a few inches. She was at his side, waiting for him to do something. Say something, anything. 

When her fingers brushed his limp ones, he considered it an invitation and pulled her into his arms, hugged her tightly. She was finally letting him touch her. And even if she let him do exactly that for an entire week, it wouldn’t be enough. She’d still leave. 

She didn’t hug him back.

“Please hold me, Zelah, I beg of you. Leave me with something to remember.” His voice cracked on the last word.

Reluctantly, her arms went around his neck—she held him weakly but it was enough. He was holding on for the both of them. He sniffed into her neck, and pulled her closer, revealing the fact that he was crying. 

“I love you…”

She didn’t respond, instead she hugged him tighter. She loved him but it wasn’t enough. She was broken. With no hope of being put back together.