PRECIPICE [h.s.]

Chapter Six

August 28th 1997

My breathing is so rapid it is debilitating. Any attempt to regulate my breathing is a failure. I am trying my best to get oxygen in my lungs without coughing. I feel like my lungs are filled with black smoke. My body is so drenched in sweat that I felt like I just got out of the pool. I was made of wax, melting from the fire in my dream. The smell of campfire and sea air infiltrated my nose, lingering in my memory. I squeeze my eyes shut so hard it's painful and I can feel my veins on my head popping out. I can't tell if I am trying to wake myself up or will my body to go back to sleep. Either way, I don't want to open my eyes.

I dare to open my eyes, but only once I have my breathing under control. I look to my right to see the sight I knew would be waiting for me. Knowing what it was didn't make it hurt any less. The sheets next to me are still tucked in. The pillows had no indication that a person had ever laid their head down there. I took one last deep breath, trying to come to terms with reality.

She wasn't there. She never was.

My collarbones actually ached because I was so used to waking up to her nails carving my skin. The digital clock read 1:32 am. I wouldn't be able to sleep without getting a paintbrush in my hand and at least attempting to capture my dream. It has been this way ever since I was a little kid. I have always had intense dreams, good and bad, that would wake me out of my slumber. When I was younger, I would grab paper and my crayons and sit at my desk drawing until morning. Or until I felt it was complete. As I got older and started to develop a love for painting, I played around with switching mediums, hoping something good would come from my dreams.

They were never this frequent, but since I left Spoon Lake a few days ago, they haven't seemed to stop. There was one constant. She was always in them, and I had no idea what that meant.

Jaime and I had a great summer together, but it was never meant to be anything more than that. We went our separate ways, and it wasn't a big deal. Which is what I keep reminding myself. She's back to her regular life, and I'm back to mine. But when my family packed up the cars, and we got on the Parkway, something didn't sit right with me. I knew this girl had affected me, way more than either of us had intended.

I threw my sweatpants back on and grabbed a random shirt from my closet. My body felt like it was a thousand degrees, but I didn't want to have to worry about scrubbing paint off my body later.

I stopped by my little kitchen to grab a water bottle, downing it all in one go. My throat felt so dry and I didn't know if it was because I was screaming in my sleep or if my brain was still convinced that it was infiltrated by smoke. It all felt too real. I have had bad dreams all my life, but they have never taken such a physical toll on me.

At least since I was living alone, I didn't have to worry about waking anyone up with my night terrors. I slipped through the studio as quietly as I could, not wanting to cause too much noise. It's not like anyone was here but I've always had this weird connection to art, especially what I create. To me, to disturb the studio would be to disturb the art.

It was quiet. I needed that quiet. I needed a moment to take in this place that was mine and only mine.

I had been going to the same art studio since middle school. I took art lessons there after school, and eventually started booking time to paint there in my free time. Augustine, the older woman who ran the studio, informed me about the apartment above the studio that she was trying to rent out. As soon as I was going to college, I knew I wouldn't be living in the dorms, but right here.

Classes started next week, and I was finishing out my last year. Not that I had a lot of freedom to begin with, but I knew once college ended I would be selling my soul for good. Would I even have summers off? Am I ever going to see Jaime again?