'It's because we have a new baby,' she says. No, that isn't it. 'It's because work keeps you late,' she says, but no, that isn't it, either. Eames; she gets it right, but she doesn't say anything to me. She knows I don't want to sleep. She knows it's a conscious choice to stay awake during the wee small hours.
She's been here, in this dark place, lost amongst the emotional shadows and the shapes thrown on the walls by the city's lights. She knows what it's like to relive and remember every time you close your eyes. Every time I close my eyes, I'm in Heaven--not walking with angels but lying with the devil's advocates.
I stay awake to avoid. But I always succumb and the nightmares are always there, lurking on the edges of my consciousness, waiting for me like a predator waits for its dinner. So while I'm tossing and turning and tangling in the blankets, my nightmares are getting fat.
Word count: 195