Justice Is Not My Name

Chapter 1

Beads of sweat dripped down from my forehead while I gasped for air.

I have been reliving this nightmare for as long as I can remember, increasing its intensity with each passing day.

It is fucking torture.

I looked over the alarm clock as the red digits burned through my eye sockets. It is 02:02 AM, the same time I have been waking up without fail.

I gave an audible sigh as I plopped back into my pillows while I stared at the dark ceiling.

I lay silent as I listened to the hum of passing vehicles with their headlights streaking across my bedroom.

I do not know what this nightmare means or care to find out. I want it to stop.

"Honey..." a soft groan escaped my partner next to me. "Are you having those night terrors again?"

I glanced over to look at my partner as he reached to give me a full embrace before I could provide a complete answer. He rested his head on my breasts as I kissed his forehead and gave an audible sigh.

"No... I am just an insomniac, and you know that." I lied. "Why don't you go back to sleep? I will be alright."

Ezrah nuzzled my chest as he hugged me tightly while I watched him drift back to sleep. I slowly escaped his embrace as I quietly left my bedroom and closed the door, muting his soft snores.

I walked in the darkness and found myself sitting on my couch with a wine bottle next to me, looking outside from the balcony toward the night sky as I drank straight from the bottle.

I am a fucking disaster.

With a sigh, I put my wine bottle down on the glass coffee table as I listened to the snores from my bedroom. "At least he can sleep peacefully," I mumbled before taking another swig from the bottle.

"Dreams... they mean nothing anyway." I stared in silence as I listened to the hum of vehicles passing through. At least living in the city has perks for night owls like myself.

My eyes darted at the time again, and it was 2:47 AM. Barely any time had passed.

I groaned as I stood up again with the wine bottle in my left hand, reaching toward the counter for the melatonin, taking two pills, and downing it with the rest of the alcohol that was left.

I scoffed in annoyance at the empty bottle and tossed it into the garbage with a loud clang. The snores continued to echo from my bedroom, despite the door being closed.

"I need more alcohol," I grumbled.

The wooden floor creaked as I walked toward my bathroom and turned on the lights as I observed myself in the mirror. I washed my face and brushed my hair as I inspected the dark circles under my eyes. It is getting worse.

I continued to stare at myself in the mirror. I hated how I looked. I do not look normal, as per today's beauty standards—just an exotic freak with an acquired taste. I look like I belong from nowhere but everywhere at the same time. How can my face look androgynous, but my body is feminine?

I sighed. I have issues. Way too many issues. I started toward the sink in silence, waiting for the medication to kick in with the alcohol I consumed before heading to bed again.

With a soft creak, I opened my bedroom door, only to be welcomed by the usual snores from Ezrah. I quietly snuck back to my side of the bed and stared at the red digits of the clock before me as it burned bright at 03:03 AM. I kept seeing these same numbers without skipping a beat, no matter what I did or what routine I decided to go forward in the night. Nor do I care what it means. I want this all to stop.