Starting Position

Chapter 4

I woke with a start. My head shot straight upright, hands clenching the sheets beside me. Heart racing and breath reeling, I tried to orient myself, a feeling of deep dread churning inside of my chest. Once I realized it had been a dream, no, a nightmare, I started the process of pushing those feelings back down. Down to the dark pit deep inside of me. Down where I couldn't see them. Down to where they belonged.

I hadn't had a similar nightmare in nearly two weeks, a personal record. While I didn't have a "14 days since bad dream" plaque hanging on a wall inside my bedroom, the fact didn't elude me. I hadn't missed the abrupt, panic inducing wakeups in those couple of weeks.

Wiping the cold sweat from my forehead, I rested a hand across my chest, shut my eyes, and focused on willing the feeling from the surface. A few deep breaths later and I could feel the dark, ugly emotion descending back to where it dwelled. As long as I kept it out of sight, it was out of mind.

I hugged my legs to my chest and took in another deep breath. It came easier than the others, which was a sign I could begin my morning. But just as soon as I stood up, an image of empty, helpless eyes filled my vision, and I fisted my hands and shut my eyes once more, cramming it back into its box. With another shallow breath, I wiped my memory and focused on heading downstairs to get breakfast.

I could do this. I had done this for almost three years.

"Morning," my dad called from over the rim of his newspaper, a steaming cup of coffee placed on the dining table next to his arm.

I grumbled "morning" and headed for the cabinet next to the fridge, which I knew was stocked with breakfast bars. I then picked an apple from the fruit basket and headed for the front door.

My father did not look up from his beloved newspaper and black coffee. Instead, he said, as if working off routine, "Have a good day."

Stepping out of the door with my messenger bag slung over my shoulder, I didn't reply, as I was certain he wouldn't have heard me even if I had.

***

"Thank god."

I snapped by head towards the approaching silky voice. With an exasperated look on her face, I found the shiny, black hair and deep, warm skin of my closest friend.

"What's wrong?" I asked Cambrie, her hands linking around my wrist. She was typically one for dramatics, and so, despite her crazed eyes, I prepared myself for something rather unremarkable.

"If you run into Jake today, don't make eye contact. Better yet, turn the other way."

My body instinctively pivoted towards hers. "What happened?" I asked.

Jake, Cambrie's boyfriend of the last two months, had been one of the longest relationships she'd had since, well, forever. She dated frequently and liked to jump ship often. If one managed to last beyond the two-month period, or even got close, Cambrie would cut them loose. So, while I wasn't surprised the relationship having started the beginning of November had seemingly ended, I couldn't quite say I was happy. Jake was nice, and if I was completely, honest, good for Cambrie.

"You know what happened," Cambrie said as though I could read her thoughts. Sometimes, I was pretty sure I could. And this moment was not an exception.

"Did he wear the wrong color of shirt?" I teased, rolling my eyes when she rolled hers. "Has it been two months already?"

Cambrie groaned as she pulled my wrist to drag me along the hallway. We had class together in about ten minutes, and she usually met me in main building by the small café so she could order a coffee before class.