Redemption

THE SECOND-BEST THING TO EVER HAPPEN TO THE WORLD

I couldn't sleep. Not when the rain is assaulting the window panes. It's trying to break in. Or at least I think it is. It said the wind held it hostage until finally letting it go. When it did, droplets fell so harshly from the sky that staying inside seemed safer than leaving. I didn't plan on leaving at all. Something about staying pressed against the glass to watch the storm outside whip autumn leaves around settled me. It silenced something in my chest when I heard bottles clinking downstairs.

I'm not sure if anyone left or if they're still downstairs carrying on with their celebrating. It's nearly three in the morning. I can still hear the music through my pillow, their laughter through the cracks in my door, and the sound of friendship echoing through the halls. They drank alcohol yet everyone remained happy, but they drank alcohol, and I struggled to fall asleep without thinking I was in hell house.

I'm not blaming them for my fears. I'm not hoping they quit what brings their life joy. It's just that I'm realizing how badly these things affect me when I thought leaving that house meant leaving everything with it to. I guess I packed extra baggage. Somewhere in the backpack I dragged along was fear and next to it was trauma. I don't know how they made the trip, but when I felt alone, I was reminded they were always by my side.

So, I listened to the bottles clink. I listened to their heavy footsteps and slurred voices. I listened because I was waiting for those voices to morph into my dad's and for everything to be a dream. I waited for him to come barreling through my room and strike me for doing something wrong. I waited all night, and he never came. Because every time I opened my eyes, I was reminded that I wasn't at hell house. That my dad didn't know where I was, and that I was safe. But I opened my eyes so many times that I finally decided this time I'm staying awake.

Now I'm staring at the rain, trying to keep my eyes open. If I don't, I risk letting everyone in the house plus their guests hear my nightmares. They'll hear me scream, wonder what's wrong, and I won't be able to explain any of it. Because I can't tell these people what happened to me. They wouldn't understand, and I don't have the time to try and make them. I wanted to pretend I'm someone new. Someone who didn't get abused by their father and spent half of their life trying to escape. I wanted to be Sawyer Price – the girl who is so adventurous that she left home with nothing to find housing elsewhere. The girl who will live life to its fullest.

So, I pushed my window open and breathed in the fresh air. I wanted it to clear my polluted lungs. With every breath, I wanted to bring a new me to life. I wanted to feel the organs inside of me pump even if I wished for them to falter every now and again. I wanted to feel what it felt like to be alive. I needed to feel myself living just to prove to myself that I am. That despite everything my father did to me that I was still alive. No matter how dead I felt inside.

The knocks on my door stole my attention away from the storm, and before I could answer, it pushed open.

"Sawyer?"

I tucked my trembling hands away as Carter stepped into my room. The look on his face is one I can't decipher. A puzzle I can't solve. He's staring at me from the doorway like it's the first time he's been here, and we haven't met yet.

"Are you okay?"

I could only nod in response. I didn't trust my words. My eyes were drooping, and I'm sure I'd make a fool of myself if I answered, but Carter must be drunk by now which means he wouldn't remember in the morning.

"You didn't come sit with me."

My head fell to the side. "Did you want me to?"

"I didn't want you to run away to your room without saying goodbye."

The breath tumbling past my lips should've loosened the tension in my muscles, but I felt the exhaustion weighing on me.

"You look tired," he came toward me. "If they're being too loud, I'll say something. Just tell me what you need."

"I can't sleep."

"Why?"

I watched him fall into the space beside me. "You're drunk. Maybe – "

"No. I'm not," the space between his eyebrows collapsed. "I don't drink."

"Cade handed you a drink."

"Of Coke. He mixes it with his whiskey," he studied me. "My teammates know I don't drink. Everyone does. So, talk to me. Tell me why you can't sleep, Sawyer."

I contemplated. I stared at him until my eyes started to burn, and I felt like I couldn't bear it any longer.

"I have nightmares."

"Okay," he said like he's waiting for some kind of explanation. "What can I do?"

"Nothing."

"You don't know that," he rested further into the chair beside me. "I can stay here until you fall asleep. We can watch something on TV. Just name it. Anything. I'll do it with you."

"It's embarrassing."

"Having nightmares or asking me to stay here with you?"

My shoulders tipped. "Both."

"Why?"

"Because I'm an adult, Carter. I should be able to sleep on my own. I should be able to lay my head down at night and not worry about waking up the whole house because I'm afraid of what comes lurking the second I do. Every time I close my eyes, I'm haunted by my past. I'm an adult and it's pathetic. I'm an adult and I have nightmares like I'm a fucking child."

Amusement flickered in his eyes. "Not all children have nightmares."

"Thanks," I snapped. "Make it more clear on how pathetic – "

"My point is nightmares aren't solidified to one age group," he let out a soft laugh. "Anybody can have nightmares. It doesn't make you pathetic. It makes you human."

The breath of air rolling past my lips made room for the guilt I felt seeping through my chest.

"I'm sorry."

"For what, pretty girl?"

"Snapping at you."

"Don't be sorry. I enjoyed listening to the sound of your voice," he stared at me like I'm an ancient treasure the world has been trying to find for centuries and he happened to be the one who stumbled upon my remains. "I don't care if you're insulting me, reading me the back of a can, or telling me about your day. I just want to hear you."

"Why?"

"Because it's beautiful." He looked at me like he couldn't understand why'd I ask that. "I don't know if you ever talked a lot before or if there's a reason why you don't but hearing your voice is the second-best thing to ever happen to the world."

"What's the first?"

He blinked a few times with the corner of his lips tipping upward. "You."