BANGERZ 2: WORST BEHAVIOR (2015)

14. Cold Feet

I can't sleep.

It's either cruel irony or déjà-vu. Except one thing is different: I'm not afraid to go to sleep, even though I've had flashbacks in the middle of the night for the past week. I'm just really restless and troubled. The nightmares are just a side effect of being kidnapped. I'm sure they'll go away in a few days, which is more than I can say for the nightmares I used to have. But considering I'm having the same symptoms, it's nearly as worse.

I groan pitifully and roll over in bed. My phone is sitting on my bedside table. I know who I can call - Jason would be here in a heartbeat. He'd come and hold me, make me feel safe, and talk to me until I fell asleep. It's that easy.

Which is why it's so hard for me to resist reaching over and dialing his number. Instead I roll over again, this time onto my back so I can stare at the ceiling. I clutch a pillow and turn my face into my splayed hair, imagining Jason running his fingers through it. Absence really does make the heart grow fonder. But I've realized it's necessary.

Ever since last week, after my kidnapping and the tumultuous conversation we had afterwards, I've decided to give him that space he was talking about. It's the only way I'm going to get the answers I'm looking for - if I keep pushing him he'll just put up a guard. I can't keep anticipating disappointment. He promised he would tell me everything, in time. 

But that doesn't mean I don't want him around. He's my rock and my safety. Last week he held my hand on the way to the hospital, stayed with me while I sat through the stitches, and kissed my wounds afterward, telling me that they're going to make some beautiful battle scars someday.

Then we went back to his house, and we went to bed, Jason holding me close and not saying a word. I was the one who did all the talking, telling him everything that happened that night again, making sure I didn't leave anything out. It sounded even worse the second time, and, in retrospect, I realized how lasting the effects would be not only on me but on the gang.

We lost the Walker house and reneged on our duties to Ronnie. Jason, Za, and Khalil all have mug shots now, and not by any reckless desire or cause: they were all arrested unfairly. The Msfts feel guilty for misinterpreting the Wreckers' move - they feel like they let us down.

And I've been tortured and harassed, all to prove a point - I may not be weak, necessarily, but I am the weak link. I haven't lost any faith in our chances of winning, but I certainly see this ending only one way. Either we'll have to enact some tragic damage on the Wreckers, or they'll do the same and we'll finally have to back down. No matter what the end will justify the means. And that night was the beginning of the end.

I ended up okay that night. But for the past week my experience at the warehouse has been haunting me in my sleep. Unfortunately, my need for comfort isn't compatible with Jason's need for space. I'm worried that I'll want to reciprocate his solace. Meaning, I'm going to ask him to talk to me so I can comfort him just the same.

So I've been distracting myself all week instead, giving my thoughts a chance to dissipate. On Sunday I caught up on all my homework. On Monday I cleaned the entire house. Tuesday I straightened my hair and got my nails done. Yesterday I raided the drugstore for Valentine's Day candy for my friends.

And today, Thursday, I had everyone over for dinner. Along with studying, cleaning, and shopping, nothing gets my mind off things like cooking. I pulled out my mom's recipe book, whipped up a Filipino classic, and set the table for seven.

So sorting through this mess on my own hasn't been all bad. I still can't sleep - and even though I'm exhausted, part of it might be subconscious. No one wants to have nightmares. Maybe I'm not fighting my restlessness hard enough because I know what might happen once I'm asleep. Old habits die hard.