A Dream of Death

I blink rapidly as Ryker’s broad shoulders disappear into the crowded hallway, leaving me grappling with a hollow, nauseous feeling churning deep in my gut. The chilling word 'death' still echoes in my mind. It bounces around my skull, freezing the blood in my veins. I stare at the empty doorway, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. What kind of person leaves a conversation like that? The heavy silence in my corner of the room breaks when a smiling, approachable girl smoothly shifts into Ryker’s newly empty seat.

“Don’t worry,” she cheerfully tells me, leaning her arm on the desk. “He treats everyone with that same abrasive hostility.”

I release a shaky whisper, my eyes finally tearing away from the door. “I’m not worried. I am just glad he finally left.”

She snorts, a genuine sound that cuts through my lingering tension. “Yeah, he tends to make everyone feel like that.”

I snort back, a weak sound, but a real one.

“I’m Tasha.” She extends a hand, her observant eyes scanning my face with easy curiosity. “You’re new, huh?”

“Jessa,” I say, offering a small smile. “Yeah, I am. It is only my second day at Oakhaven. Is it painfully obvious?”

Tasha hums, tilting her head. “Well, you’re really pretty. It is incredibly hard to miss you when half the student body is already gossiping about you.”

My stomach drops. A fresh wave of dread washes over me. My cheeks heat up furiously. I let out a miserable groan and cover my face with my hands.

“Oh, please,” I mumble through my fingers. “Tell me I haven’t become the school's newest spectacle. I just wanted to blend in.”

“Kind of hard to blend in when you have the school's two most polarizing figures constantly trailing behind you,” Tasha points out. She smiles like she holds the key to an inside joke I haven't been briefed on. “Having Declan and Ryker orbiting you makes blending in impossible.”

I drop my hands, shaking my head. Seeking clarity, I lean a little closer to her. “What is the deal with Declan, anyway? I thought he had a girlfriend.”

Tasha nods, pressing her lips together in a tight line.

“Then why is he acting like that with me?” I ask, frustration bleeding into my voice. “I thought he was flirting. I kind of flirted back, and now I just feel stupid.”

“Oh, trust me, he is definitely flirting with you.”

“But you just said he has a girlfriend.”

“Yeah, but he’s Declan.” Tasha waves a dismissive hand. “He casually bounces between girls like they mean absolutely nothing to him. You are the shiny new girl who caught his eye. His current girlfriend is Brielle. She swears they are destined to marry, but honestly? I am convinced Declan would drop her in a heartbeat for you the second you showed genuine interest.”

Panic flares in my chest at the implication. Me? Stealing Declan from a territorial girlfriend? No thank you. I do not need a target painted on my back. I am just trying to survive without drawing unnecessary fire.

“I’m not interested at all,” I stutter, delivering a fierce denial.

But my terrible lying skills betray me immediately. My voice pitches too high, and the flush on my cheeks deepens into a blazing red.

Tasha looks me up and down. She sees right through my terrible lying. “Okay.”

“I’m not!” I double down, desperate to salvage my dignity.

“All I said was okay.” She forces down a knowing smile.

Completely defeated by my own transparency, I heavily drop my forehead onto the cold, hard surface of my desk. I defensively whine into the faux-wood grain. “How am I supposed to help it? He is so undeniably hot.”

Tasha bursts into genuine laughter. “Oh, very hot. And a very good kisser.”

I snap my head up, my jaw dropping open. “What?”

She waves her hand again, entirely unbothered. “We dated a bit back in middle school. Old news. I assure you, there is no bad blood between us now. He is just the star athlete, and we occasionally say hi in the halls.”

“Is it weird that I just confessed to crushing on your ex?”

Tasha barks a laugh. “It’s hard to be weird about it when every girl in this school has a crush on him. No, it doesn’t bother me. Besides, I think you would be a massive upgrade from Brielle. The girl is a bitch.”

“Nice to know I’m a better alternative.”

“I’m being serious, Jessa. Declan genuinely has a good heart. He can be intense sometimes, yeah, but he cares. Brielle doesn’t.”

“I don't think a 'good heart' is usually a bullet point on a guy's checklist when looking for a girlfriend,” I mutter.

Tasha rolls her eyes. “Tell me about it. They just look for big tits and a round ass. Which you have both of, by the way.”

I sneer playfully at her. “Don't be such a guy.”

Her warm, infectious laugh wraps comfortably around me. For the first time in what feels like an eternity, the sour, twisted anxiety in my stomach begins to die down. The conversation feels natural, easy, and incredibly fun. It is a rare spark of light in my normally bleak existence. Tasha is becoming my first real friend and ally at Oakhaven.

The shrill ring of the bell pierces the air, signaling the end of the period. Tasha stands, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

“Find me at lunch tomorrow,” she says enthusiastically, her red hair swinging. “I usually sit on the grass in front of the library.”

I gather my things, a real smile forming on my lips. “I will. I promise.”

She waves goodbye as the classroom empties into the bright, crowded hallway. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, making my eyes ache.

But as the school day concludes, the terrible, suffocating ache of reality viciously returns. The brief, uplifting moment of friendly connection shatters. The end of the day means I have to face the inescapable reality waiting for me at home. I have to go back to my mother.

I hurry through the busy halls, keeping my head down. I desperately avoid any sight of Declan and Ryker, wanting to slip out the front doors unnoticed. My chest tightens with every step closer to my house. I drag my feet on the pavement, dreading what awaits me inside those walls.

The moment I push open the front door, the overpowering, stale stench of alcohol physically hits me. It burns the back of my throat and makes my eyes water. The house is deadly silent, save for the sound of harsh breathing from the living room.

My mother is sprawled messily across the couch. A half-empty liquor bottle is wedged carelessly between her legs. Her dark makeup is completely melted, streaking down her sunken cheeks in jagged black lines. Her hair is a tangled rat's nest against the cushions. She looks like a broken shell of a parent.

I tightly brace myself for her inevitable hatred. I stiffen my spine and lock my knees, waiting for the verbal assault.

“Look who’s home,” she slurs, her voice dripping with a sarcastic, venomous greeting.

“Hey, mom,” I offer quietly, keeping my distance.

The word triggers a cruel scoff. She glares at me through bloodshot eyes. “Don’t call me that.”

I immediately look away. I violently fight the sharp sting of tears welling in my eyes. I desperately cling to the fading memories of a time before the crash. Before the tragedy ripped our family to shreds. I try to remember the mother who used to smile, who used to bake and laugh and hold me. That memory is the only frayed thread keeping me tethered to sanity.

Then, she delivers the killing blow.

Staring blankly at the peeling paint on the ceiling, she casually slurs her next words. “I dreamed that you were the one who died in that horrific car accident. Instead of Toby and Dad.”

Her words literally freeze the blood pumping in my veins. All the air leaves the room. My lungs collapse in on themselves. I stand paralyzed in the entryway, the deafening silence of the house roaring in my ears. A physical pain rips through my chest, sharper than any blade.

She doesn't stop. She finishes the thought with a hollow, lifeless tone. “I wish I could have stayed in that beautiful dream forever.”

The cruelty is incredibly intentional and flawlessly executed. It strikes the deepest, most vulnerable part of my soul. She doesn't just want them back; she wants me gone in their place.

I press my trembling lips together. I can no longer hold back the dam. I finally let the hot tears fall, tracking silently down my cheeks in steady streams.

The most devastating part isn't that she said it. The most devastating part is that I cannot fight the bitter, agonizing truth. I have had that exact same twisted dream myself. Over and over again. I wake up wishing it was my ghost haunting this house instead of my brother's.

As much as I desperately want to hate her for wishing her own daughter dead, I am utterly broken by the fact that I completely agree with her. My deep-seated suicidal ideation mirrors her toxic grief perfectly.

“You and me both,” I whisper into the toxic, booze-soaked air.

I turn my back on her before she can hurl another weaponized sentence. I head slowly up the stairs to my isolated bedroom, where I spend the entire endless night crying my eyes out in the dark.