Dagian: Part 1

1: Beginning Of The End

EVE

The light from the bedside lamp extended over my bed and touched the floor. Gradating from umber until it feathered into black. Light was good. Warming. Safe. Give me light every hour of the day. I used to like the dark. Now I feared it. Feared the things that were hiding there.

A gentle snort broke the unending silence. Followed by a longer, pronounced grumble. I looked into the blackness and flipped it a middle finger. Thank God for Jodie. Of course, she didn't know her snoring saved my sanity almost every night. An annoying, yet thankful reminder that I wasn't alone. Not that I'd tell her— we weren't friends. Jodie being one of three girls to frequent this room in the past five years. Her stay was the longest at thirteen months, though. Give or take a day.

I grimaced in her direction when another snorting grunt echoed off the walls. Wonder how many other kids can hear your pig-like chorus. I shrugged and turned away, flattening the hump in my duvet.

At least in a few more months I could forget this place. Can people ever forget their past? Doubtful. And no one — me included — would call my life brag-worthy.

I had no parents (or none that I knew of). Was that a bad thing? Tick.

Suffered with abandonment issues resulting in weekly therapy sessions. Okay, that's a given. Tick.

Moved from one children's homes to the next since the day they found me. Cross. I got to see new places? Cross.

Worst of all, a hopeless introvert. Triple, tick!

Fine, not everything in my life teetered on the brink of utter misery. I was acing A' level History. Leaving Norwich behind and heading off to Cambridge next year. Well, after the summer holidays thanks to Jane, my therapist. Though not strictly mine, she belonged to everyone in the home. But she did manage to persuade the local authorities in allowing me to stay— using me as a good example of why growing up in a home didn't affect your ability to succeed. Right.

And, I had friends. Sort of. Michael and Jason were Sam's friends. But they were great, despite my inability to communicate at a normal level.

Introversion sucks. Big time.

Sam was different, however. She got me, at least the parts I was willing to divulge, the usual topics of teenage conversation. School, boys, hairstyles, fashion.

School, easy. The rest, fanciful thoughts.

But even if I did think of Sam as my best friend. And even if I were the most talkative person in the world. Nothing could convince me to reveal the other side of what made me, me.

My eyelids lowered. I rubbed them hard, trying to erase the tiredness. Jodie's fitful snores refocused my attention and I pushed myself further up the bed. Horizontal equalled sleep, and sleep was the last thing I wanted.

Sophie was another person in my life. Though in truth, not a person. And, not alive. A minor technicality. I called her the warrior, the vanquisher of my demons. Of course, beauty came with the title. Raven-coloured hair. Violet eyes. A body of a goddess and a razor sharp tongue too.

So why did I fear sleep?

For five years now, I have suffered with horrendous nightmares. Shadow demons with no actual form, yet still capable of inflicting pain. A darkness so consuming, I feared losing myself to them forever. Sure, Sophie was always there to save me, but as I grew older I began questioning her intentions. Her answers were vague at best; she had no more of a clue than I did as to where the demons came from. Let alone their purpose.

If, of course, I believed her.

Then there were the visions. Auras so the search on the internet informed me. Colours that surrounded the bodies of the living. Essences were the name I chose. Some were brighter and pulsing with life. Others, less so. I soon came to realise, the others, were a telltale sign of death. I hated seeing those.

Lastly, and my pet peeve, the voices. Try concentrating on an important paper you need to get finished, and listening to last night's commentary on how far Freddie Fingers got to shove his hand up Sally Shameless' top. Then tell me what you think.

Telepathic. Maybe. Maddening. No contest.

Okay, so sometimes it proved helpful. But then the one time you're dying to know what someone is thinking, nothing. Just dead airspace. Like Sam, I never heard Sam. Or Jason.

A yawn formed at the back of my nose; I couldn't put off sleeping for much longer.

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