I’m in a car, it’s dark out. The street lamps are barely visible. She’s in the apartment, I can see her body and the other body through the window. They’re arguing. They never argue. I hear yelling. She’s running out the door with two brown paper bags in her hands. She never has two, maybe this time she needs it. The man is running after her, he’s throwing his hands in the air. This is the second time I’ve seen the man. Once she took me inside because it was too dangerous to be alone in the car. The man was quiet, soft spoken, maybe in his 60s. He seemed like a nice man. The man is fat, he has a bottle in his hand and throws it at mom.
“you’ll pay for this lucinda. you’ll pay! you hear me!!”
She opens the door and slams it. She hands me the brown paper bags. The engine is on. We’re driving somewhere familiar, she puts the car in park.
“I’m sorry mommy”
“you should be”
there’s a long silence. She coughs and starts to speak.
“why are you letting me do this”
“i-i-i don’t know. You won’t me let me help you”
“I am asking for help now Jane. After this, I’m done. Your father won’t have to ever know.”
“You always say that! You’re never as good as your word!”
She’s growing into a dark figure, her body is fading. She’s fading. The dark skinny figure is in her seat. It’s staring at me. It’s blank. It’s face is blank.
“you did this jane”
I’m crying, I can’t breathe. I want to wake up. I need to escape.It’s 3:36am. I’m sweating, and I can’t breathe properly. It’s happening again. I can’t move. It’s still there, the dark figure. It’s above me, staring blankly. I’m trying to scream, but nothing comes out. I want to reach for my phone and call Peter but I can’t move. It is anchoring me down, it is watching me. My ears are ringing, it’s smiling with teeth as pills. It’s growing, the figure is growing and its smile is from ear to ear. It’s not letting me go, and it’s leaning closer. As it’s about to lift its shadow hand above my face, I gasp. Sitting up, bringing my knees to my chest. I can’t breathe properly. It should’ve been me. It should’ve been me. It should’ve been me. I feel tears streaming down my left check, and now it’s both. I can’t handle this. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. I’m shaking again, my body is trembling. I still can’t bring myself to grab my phone. I count to 5. I count, I count, and I count until my mouth feels tired from speaking. I don’t sleep, it’s too dangerous to sleep.
Author’s Note:
This short story is apart of the book I am currently working on. This chapter shows a recurring nightmare that brings this character back to her old ways. She becomes isolated again, she feels she’s a danger to others and to herself. Her nightmares are based on a traumatic event that happened in her life. I wanted to write a character where teens can feel seen by, and that is Jane to some teens.
Jocelyn Bella Salas | 16 | @js.bbella on TikTok & @bellasalas.09 on Instagram
