Coming Up For Air | ✓

9 | treading water

"I just–," Stella bites down on her lip, worries it between her teeth. "I'm just tired,"

It's true. She's barely slept at all.

Instead, she tossed and turned. Sat up, lied down. Propped her window open to let in some fresh air, listened to the crickets thrumming in the dark night. Closed her eyes only to have them spring back open seconds later as the scenes of the dreams—nightmares—having awoken her in the first place flashed before her. Flipped her pillow to the cold side. And then flipped her pillow again. And again. Tossed and turned. Desperate to fall back asleep, desperate to stay awake. Got up to close the window, covered in cold sweat. Pulled her cover up to her shoulders, fingers curling around its soft edges, only to kick it back down a heartbeat later. Sat leant against the headboard; attempted to read the one paperback she brought with her from home, attempted to take on a crossword to make hours pass. Flipped through an issue of Cosmopolitan. And then another.

As the sun rose at the crack of dawn, she had fallen too deep, had been holding too much within to even attempt to get up for her morning swim as usual. Instead, she found herself stuck in a bed she wanted nothing but to get out of, too exhausted to try until a couple of hours later.

Pushing her tears back, she lets her lips fall into a line but her attempt at a stoic surface betrays her as she speaks, voice breaking through her thick throat. "I didn't sleep that well."

"Hey," Jake softens in an instant, hands lifting on their own accord as if he wants to reach for her. They hover above her knees for a beat before he withdraws them, letting his elbows come to rest against his thighs instead. "Why didn't you sleep?"

Stella swallows, running her thumb roughly over the few tears having prickled her cheekbone. She knows healing isn't linear—deep within, she knows that—but she flushes warmth with annoyance either way. She should be better now. She's done the work. She's doing the work. All she's asking for in return is some peace.

She's about to shrug it off, the last thing she wants is to weigh Jake down with her demons, but as she lifts her gaze to his something falters within. Maybe its the intent in his dark eyes, blending so well with the notion of empathy always lingering there. Maybe it's just him. Maybe it's this house; this house that she, too, has begun to view as a home.

"Nightmares," She says, a bitter tone creeping into her voice. "They happen."

Only she'd been foolish enough to believe they were gone, once and for all. For one brief moment, she'd let them evaporate from her mind. She'd taken her eyes off the road, only to have them slam into her when she wasn't looking—like a truck on an intersection.

Words seem to linger at the tip of Jake's tongue as he considers her, brows drawing together as if he wants to tap her mind, make sense of what's going on in there but instead he lets his mouth fall into a small smile.

Sympathy dances over his lips as he says. "Must be hard."

"Yeah," Stella wrings her hands together, a heavier beat to her heart as it drops deeper in her chest. "I didn't see it coming is all. I haven't– it's been a while,"

Before he can utter a response, she flickers her gaze around the kitchen and speaks again. "Sorry about the mess."

Jake's shoulder lifts in a half-shrug, the perfect companion to his smile: one corner of his lips tugging up. "I'll take care of it."

"You don't have to do that."

"I want to."

She's about to object but the exhaustion creeps over her once more, settling in her bones as her breath hitches on an inhale as she nods. "Thanks."