Evergreen Everleigh - The Wattys 2020

Chapter Thirty-Five - Fitful Sleep

**Trigger Warning** - Death

There is mention of death by violent means in this chapter, please be careful when reading and if you feel, skip this chapter. Your mental health is more important than a single story. 

Chapter Thirty-Five

Fitful Sleep

My dreams have titled on an axis since coming to Freesia Fields, so much so that I can hardly remember what they were like at my mother's home.

When I used to lie tucked up under my lilac comforter, wrapped in my father's old jumpers I held the collar over my mouth all night. As I dreamt, my grip would become tighter. I would wake in the morning with my fingers spasming. Of all of the doctors I've been to and all of the clinics I've stayed in, it was a nurse on night duty who first asked me why I did it.

Are your dreams always nightmares? She asked me pity etched into every line of her stern yet kind nurse's face.

I don't remember my dreams. It's a fear thing.

Fear?  The nurse was utterly perplexed.

If I smother myself, no one else can do it. That was the blistering truth of it.

Now, in a dormitory, under a hand-painted mural, I always remember my dreams. Night after night, without fail.

Tonight I am dreaming of robins and wolves. In this world, this surreal, grey dreamworld, they exist. In Crippen Orchard, by my grandmother's home, I am lying on grass that feels as stiff as straw, touching every inch of my body. The sky above me is angry, steaming like a screaming kettle.

I reach out a hand as if to pull the rain from the clouds to wash away the painful scratching of the grass on my back. A growl sounds and I sit up, heart beating in my throat. A trickle down my arms, back, and neck. The grass is no longer grass, but little blades.

I look up and stare at a green-eyed wolf, who peers are me curiously from across the field. There is something tremendously familiar in those green eyes.

A shriek sounds and I watch the wolf blink for the last time before I am pulled from my sleep.

"Pop!" I am woken with a rough shrug. Sweet Pea is already dressed, a bandana in her hair, her cheeks flushed healthily. I groan at the sight of her prettiness but push myself up in the bed. It's morning, but earlier than usual if the slant of the morning sunlight is anything to judge by. The dormitory faces the east, by breakfast time it is usually alight and glowing.

Looking around, I see that Willow and Perennial are awake and running towards the bedroom door. Aloe's bed is empty. Juniper and Violet are somehow sleeping through the commotion on the landing. The boys peer down from the stairs in various states of dishevelment. Yarrow pushes Teasel and Aster back up the stairs as I find the source of the shriek that pushed the wolves from my mind.

"Aloe," Willow breathes as we see Aloe bent over a small creature on the floor. Mr. Flurry is twitching fitfully and choked. Tears stream down Aloe's cheeks furiously.

"I didn't mean to..." She sobs. I am jerked, pulled from the scene to a memory of seeing Harmony crying over my broken snow globe. I didn't mean to.

Sweet Pea is moving, calling for help, Yarrow is stroking the choking Mr. Flurry and asking Aloe questions but she's shaking too badly to answer.

Perennial takes her quiet presence and takes off her cardigan, wrapping it around Aloe's shoulders, she hugs her tightly. Aloe stares at the wall over Yarrow's head as his questions are now joined by Wister's and Lady Lavenders'.

There is a car started outside, talk of a vet clinic and then the air is still.

"I didn't mean to..." Aloe continues to say, no longer sobbing. I am holding Aster and Teasel's hands. They're crying. They don't understand what happened.

How can anyone tell them about the tiny razor Mr. Flurry ate? It is always the problem, it seems. How to tell the innocents of the agony of existing. How?

*

When my grandfather died, I was very young. I don't remember much of the funeral or even how he died. But I do remember that the sun was shining so brightly. The scented primrose from the orchard were smelling so sweetly. A bee rested on my frilled sock, popping out of my baby pink t-bar shoes.

When my mother showed up with tear tracks down her face and mascara smudging her eyes, she snatched my hand and whisked me away.

Today feels like that. After Wister took Mr. Flurry to the nearest veterinary doctor, Lady Lavender took Aloe into her rooms, a soft arm around her shoulders, still dressed in her fluffy lilac nightgown.

The sun is shining, but everyone is shaking. Not in the obvious way, not like me after my first hospital visit when they swelled me up with sugar water. But in the way the sky feels before a storm breaks.

We all sit around the kitchen table, still in our nightclothes, nursing mugs of tea. No one talks about what happened, no one mulling over the news. Apparently coping in Freesia Fields world means only one thing.

"Welcome to the world of Payday!" Cedar pronounces, pulling out a battered board game from a box under the rocking chair by the fire. Inside, he reveals an elaborate game with plastic money, miniature houses and little notebooks to take notes of our finances.

"Really?" I ask incredulously.

"You've never played?" Willow asks, sounding surprised.

I shrug.

"Of course I have. And every time my family ends up in a feud that usually ends in someone being on the naughty step," I wince at the memory of Henry's tantrums. Harmony drew a picture of him on the naughty step and gave it to him on their next birthday.

The morning became the afternoon as we played Payday. About halfway through Yarrow was losing with his chin held high in the air, and Sweet Pea was quietly collecting money under the table. After a time, when our third cups of tea were gone, Aloe wandered into the room with Lady Lavender.

Aloe nestled into a rocking chair, wrapping her arms around herself. Lady Lavender set about pulling out pots and pans, singing all the while. For a moment, I get lost in the icy blonde curls of her hair as she bops to her own song and offers insights into Aster's game tactic of putting the little houses in his mouth to avoid them being collected.

"How does pasta bake sound for lunch?" She asks. 

I admire that she can sound cheerful during a hard situation without sounding as though she's forcing it. I wonder if that skill shouldn't be one of my goals in my therapy sessions with Wister.

For the rest of the game, amid my laughing, amid my glorious loss, I watch Lady Lavender use every ingredient. I try not to run the numbers in my head, but I can't help it. When she turns around the reach for the tea towel, she meets my gaze. I realise I've been biting my lip as the blood tastes in my mouth.

She doesn't offer me a sad smile. Instead its genuine, kind. When the food is served, she pops me two slices of toast and a little portion of the pasta bake, mixing a safety with a challenge. Right then and there I get up and give her a fierce hug.  

A/N: 

Things are getting real - for the record, I love Mr. Flurry. I hope you're enjoying the story! 

Jen xx