Wake Up (SG/MS)

Chapter 1

I wake up drenched in a cold sweat. It takes me a moment to gather myself, to control my fast and pacing breath. I touch the cotton sheets, moist with sweat and I realize I'm in my bedroom. I'm in my bedroom and I'm safe. It was just a dream.

I cover my face with my hands, moving upwards through my hair and finally setting them at the back of my neck, letting out a long sigh. I glance at the clock on my nightstand, it's 6:23 a.m. I know I won't be able to sleep again tonight, I know I'll be too terrified to close my eyes for now so instead, I slowly make it out of my bed and walk towards the bathroom to take a quick shower.

I feel the warm water on my skin and then my hair, gradually soaking this wild tameless curly hair of mine. I close my eyes to let myself enjoy the water, but the dreadful images of my dreams come flooding me quickly, hitting me like a punch in the guts, and once again I swiftly open my eyes. 

I have wondered, countless times why this happens to me, I mean I'm 30 and I still have nightmares, like a child. I have tried everything, I've tried therapy, meditation, and prescripted drugs. I've tried countless teas, working out, and reading myself to sleep, I even tried staying awake all night, just so I wouldn't dream about it again, and yet I always end up waking up startled, covered with sweat and my heart pounding in my chest. At this point, I just completely gave up.

When I'm eventually ready to leave my apartment, the clock reads 7:11 a.m. I make my way down the street to pick up some coffee and open the shop when my dad calls me.

"Hey dad, how are you?"

"I'm okay. You up early, going to class?"

Oh, this again. "Yeah, yeah. Don't wanna be late, right? Listen I gotta go, but I'll call ya later yeah?"

"Yeah alright sure, have a great day love."

"You too dad."

Upon hanging up I open the back door to the shop and, almost instantly I'm bombarded with the old dusty book smell that I adore. I turn on the lights and walk back to the front of the bookshop and begin to start my shift. This is it, this is my happy place. The books, the smell, the hardwood floor, the plants adorning the shelves, the way the evening light slides through the windows warming up the space and revealing the dust dancing in the air... I have been to a lot of places, I have traveled and stayed in different locations throughout my life and yet this is the only place where I truly feel at peace, where I can finally breathe and get this weight off my shoulders.

The days here are usually pretty slow, and the clients are often the usual, leaving me plenty of time to read my weakly book and just rearrange the shelves if I'm ever bored. I sweep the floors and open up the blinds to let the morning light in. I stand there for a brief moment, letting the sun bathe me in warm sunlight. If I focus on what's outside I can hear the cars and the ambulances rushing through the roads, honking at each other, always in a hurry, always having somewhere or someone to be with.

After the moment has passed I go behind the counter and begin to place some orders from the day before when I hear the small bell hanging on the front door ring. 

A short white-haired old man enters. "Good morning Mr. Hamill" I welcome him.

"Yes yes hello" he greets dispatching me as he waves back.

I have been collecting people's life stories since I was a child, I always have been more of an observer than a participant, always interviewing other people and never giving out more than a few basic facts about myself, recreating and changing the story to whatever mood I'm in at the moment.

Mr. Hamill lost his only daughter at only 12 years old to pneumonia and shortly after that lost his wife to grief. He is 81 now and he only smiles when he's petting the stray cat that occasionally comes in for his afternoon nap. When I ask him more about it he always tells me he's in a hurry and has somewhere to be, adding that he'll tell me about it later, but later is never.

"Someone's cranky today I see" I tease him as I watch him disappear among the bookshelves.

He doesn't respond but I know he heard me, which often he claims that he didn't. Another client comes in, asking for a book that unfortunately our small local bookstore doesn't have and I offer to order it for them, and shortly after, Mr. Hamill and I are alone again. He circles the shop a few times over, slowly walking with the help of the cane while his other hand rests behind his curved back.

"I see someone didn't get enough sleep today" he mocks, I knew he heard me. The old man makes his way to the counter with two small books in his hands.

"Ah well, you know me". I check out his picked choices and hand him the bag. "It's 23,60"

Clumsily, he hands me what he owes, never looking back at me, never making eye contact, always head down. Per usual, I open the door for him and watch him go, unhurriedly walking away, back to his small flat in the next building.

Once my shift ends, I walk around London, observing the people passing by. I suddenly feel a drop on my forehead and I momentaneously stop in my tracks to look up. It's starting to rain. I hurry back home with the groceries dangling in plastic bags in my hands. I place them on my kitchen white-marble countertops and throw myself on my green couch.

Suddenly, like a wave, I feel the depression settling in. Like a cloud circling above me, like a weight on my chest, enabling me from moving even a single inch. For long minutes I stay in the same position, fortunately in a quiet state of mind, thoughts distant like a childhood memory that I can't reach.

Abruptly the phone rings and I extend my arm to pick it up.

"Hey Lina"

"Where are you? We've been waiting for you for so long! Please tell me you didn't forget!"

Oh fuck, I forgot today is Sam's birthday. Oh no no no no. I jump off my couch, getting my keys and flying out of my flat. I still have to get him something.

"No no, of course, I didn't! I just finished wrapping up his gift."

"Oh great, please don't take too long, he's been asking for you"

"Yeah no, I'll be there shortly"

"Okay then, bye"

I aimlessly run around, trying to think of something worthy of a gift for a kid when I suddenly spot the National art gallery. Great! He loves all things Egyptian. I sprint up the stairs, tripping on my own feet, desperate for the gift shop to be open. I halt upon seeing the security right in front of the grand entrance and walk past him, trying not to raise any suspicions, only to return to my quick pace when I locate the small shop space. There's a man boredly making what seems to be inventory, I task I know quite well.

"Oh thank God you're still here!" I praise, almost out of breath.

"Uh what? I'm... We're... uh... closed. I was... I was just finishing up" he stumbles on his words, confused by my presence.

No no no, I can't show up without a gift.

"Please, I need a gift! What do kids like?"

"Oh uh, I don't..."

"He's like 12 and he really gives this stuff, egyptology and the gods and the deities, stuff like this. Please help me, please. I forgot his birthday and I'm his godmother and I really, really don't want to disappoint him, please!"

Throughout my rambling, I notice him confusedly looking at me. He hesitates for a minute until he gives up. "Yeah fine".

"Oh thank you, thank you so much..." I look for a name and his name tag gives it away. "Steven". 

~•[AN]•~

Heyy everyone, thank you so much for reading this far. Sorry this one as a bit slow. I haven't written in a while, but I couldn't stop myself from sharing with you my current obsession. I'm still not 100% sure how the story will be because a lot of things might change in these last episodes, but I'll try to follow the plotline. 

Anyway, I really hope you enjoy this! Please keep in mind that English is not my first language and I sadly still have classes, so it might take a bit to write, but I'll try to post daily.