Waiting on Morning

After the recurrence of her terrifying nightmares, Nebraska-native Maeva Blake has to find out why she's having them again. In the midst of be courted her charming Sebastian, Mae has to learn the truth about her gruesome dreams and their ominous messages. Unfortunately, she has to dig through her painful past to find her answers.

( Have an open mind going into this story! It can get a little vulgar and violent, sometimes even a bit risque. Comments, likes, critiques, all is welcome! Enjoy! )


5. An Accident

           Slowly, awareness crept back into my body. As my eyelids gently peeled open, I noticed that the light from the sun was very faint and light, coloring the sky a gorgeous gradient of blues. It was sunrise.

            I sat up in my bed immediately. It was sunrise. I slept through a whole night and didn’t have any episodes. At least, nothing I could remember; and I always remember my nightmares.

            Elation filled my soul. With the realization that I hadn’t had either a terrible nights sleep or a nightmare, I began my day well off. Tying up my hair and slipping on some running shoes, I actually went for a morning run, which was an activity I had postponed since the reoccurrence of the nightmares. The brisk morning air licked at my cheeks, flushing them with color; my ears and fingers felt numb. It felt so good.

            After hitting my halfway point, I let my mind wander. Upon returning home the night before, I was almost sure that my sleep would be jarred with a dream. My time with Sebastian became something more than I had anticipated, and since I concluded that he was the untrustworthy subject of my second terror, I expected another to follow suit. But it hadn’t. It excited me to be proven wrong. It meant I could see him again.

            All of a sudden, there was yellow caution tape in front of me, severing my train of thought. I take out my ear buds and look over at a mortifying scene. The large SUV looked as though it were compacted, both the front and rear ends of the vehicle were smashed in. The long bed truck in front of it was hiked up on the fender of the SUV, and the U-Haul behind the SUV was crammed into its bumper. In the bed of the truck were thin, wooden rods— which resembled those used to make fences— and these posts were projected through the windshield of the SUV. Both the driver and passenger of the SUV remained pinned and bloody in the car, dead on impact. There was a body, a very small body, being carried into the coroner’s vehicle. There were two others, assumed to be children, hauled into an ambulance. Paramedics attended to the unconscious driver of the U-Haul, as the passenger’s lifeless body hung halfway projected from the windshield.

            I turned away, unable to absorb anymore of the horrific scene. A police officer called from behind me, asking if I was okay. I stood there and shook down to my bones, silent. I suddenly felt extremely light-headed. The officer called again, this time his voice sounded familiar. I turned my head slightly towards the voice, but my eyes locked on the ghastly sight of the passenger of the U-Haul, still wide-eyed and hung from his waist, his entrails slowly oozing like gelatin onto the hood of the truck. His mouth mimicked a leaky faucet, tiny drop of blood slipping from his bottom lip. Before I could even think, I vomited. I tried to stand upright, but my body felt incredibly weak. I vomited a second time, feeling all the blood rush to my head. As my body was in mid-collapse, a strong, warm body caught me, assuming it was that police officer. I looked wearily in the man’s face.

             “Sebastian?” My whole body lost all sensation and I succumbed to blackness.


            My eyes cracked open, stiff and weary. I blinked rapidly, trying to grab hold of my surroundings. I sat up and peered around; I was on Sebastian’s futon. The front door opened and that broad shouldered, tall figure emerged through the door. Once his gaze fell upon me, he quickly removed his jacket and rushed to my side.

            “Thank God, you’re awake. How are you feeling?” He said, his eyes searching my face.

            “I feel a little weak, and my mouth tastes disgusting,” I admitted, immediately regretting that comment.

            He chuckled, “I figured so. I bought a toothbrush and some toothpaste for you to use when you woke. Go wash up and then we can talk, okay?” he assured, placing a gentle hand on my knee. I moved myself to the bathroom, washed my face and scoured my mouth with the minty product. He was kind to think of me and buy me a toothbrush, for Pete’s sake. But all too quickly, the terrifying images of the incident etched themselves back into the front of my mind. I walked back out into the main room, clutching my arms. I looked up at him; he was staring at me, watching my every move carefully. Gently, he glided over to me and set me back down on the couch, wrapping a blanket around my shoulders. He went to the kitchen and returned momentarily with a hot cup of tea.

            “I’m here to listen, whenever you’re ready,” he sat down beside me, his body radiating heat. So badly I wanted to smother myself into his chest.

            “I don’t want to talk about it…” I shook my head, trying to shake the thoughts out of my head without avail.

            “I understand,” his voice rang with compassion.

“So, you’re a cop?” I asked, changing the subject. I held my cup of chamomile tea with both hands, hoping it would warm my whole body through my fingers.

            He ran a hand through his hair, “Not exactly…”

            “How are you still wearing civilian clothes?” I questioned, genuinely confused.

            “Look, Maeva…”

            “Don’t ‘look, Maeva’ me. Be real with me. I just saw death too many times.”

            “I can’t,” he admitted.

            “Why not?”

            “I just can’t.”

            “Holy shit.”


            “You’re an undercover cop!”

            He shook his head, as if I was being childish, “no, I’m not an undercover cop.”

            “Then what the fuck are you?” anger lined my words.

            “Mae, calm down—“

            “No,” I replied sternly. I set down the tea and let the blanket fall away from my shoulders, “I’m not going to comply with you until you answer me.”

            He glowered at me, his jaw flexing in frustration. “I’m telling you, I can’t.”

            “I’m not leaving until you answer me,” I crossed my arms, hoping my pervasive attitude would shake him.

            “Looks like you aren’t leaving anytime soon then.”

            This had become a battle of wits. I knew he was going to win; there was no doubt in my mind. Even if he didn’t win with his words, there were several ways he could distract me…

            He got up from the futon and waltzed into the kitchen. I sat there, holding my ground, as he pretended to carry on with his day. He made himself a sandwich and snatched a beer to accompany it. Without a word, he returned to his place next to me on his futon and flipped on the television.

            “Are you kidding me?” I said, my arms crossed, my tone exceedingly sassy.

            “You aren’t going to let this go, and you won’t leave until you let this go. So I will avoid the topic until you give up,” he said, finishing with a victorious bite of his sandwich. He changed the channel to the football game, it being Sunday and all.

            “I’m not going to sit here and let you ignore me.” He set down his food and exhaled sharply. Too quickly, he was inches from my face, either of his arms caging me in.

            “Stop it. Stop acting like you’re going to win this,” he said, his eyes piercing through my soul, “because you and I both know that I will out-wit you. Either you let this go, or you sit there and don’t harass me when you’re the one torturing yourself.” Every word was sharp and dug into my ego. I thought I was persuasive enough to let him leak just a smidge of information to me, but instead he went Terminator on me. I hardened my expression and he backed away. I stood up and headed straight for the door.

            “Where are you going?” he called after me.

            “Home,” I snapped.

            “Mae, wait.”

            “Back off, Sebastian.” I hissed, grabbing my things off of the kitchen counter. His hand grasped my forearm and he tugged me around to face him.

            “Maeva, please. Don’t be angry with me.”

            I tore my arm out of his grip, “don’t be angry with you? Are you kidding? You’re kidding, right? You scold me like a child after I ask you a simple question, and you’re telling me not to be angry with you? I’m not your pet; I’m not yours at all. We aren’t even dating. You just so happen to be fucking everywhere I go. So don’t treat me like I owe you, because I don’t owe you shit,” I growled. His furrowed brow eased and apology lined his handsome features. His eyes welled with remorse.

            “Mae, I’m really sorry. Please forgive me,” he cooed, reaching for me.

            “No, Sebastian, I’m done with this. If you see me anywhere again, avoid me. Because I can promise you that I will be doing the same to you,” I demanded. I opened his front door and rushed out the door. I quickly descended the stairs and plugged my ear buds in. I knew he was calling after me, and my music served its purpose in drowning out his voice.

            Upon returning home, I went straight to my room. Flinging myself onto my bed, my chest felt incredibly heavy. A knot formed in my throat, tears welled in my eyes. Disappointment surged through me, in myself for becoming so attached, and in Sebastian for not fighting harder to keep me on his side.


            “Mae?” My dad called from the doorway. “It’s six-thirty. I think you should come eat.”

            A groan left the curled-up, accumulation of blankets that I was. “No,” I said, muffled by fabric.

            “What happened today, kiddo? You’ve been in here since you got home,” he sat on my bed, the mattress shifted under the new weight.

            “I saw an accident,” I mumbled, purposely failing to mention the Sebastian incident.

            “You what?”

            I rolled over to uncover my face, “I saw an accident.”

            “Like a car accident?”

            “Yeah; it was really bad. It came out of nowhere, too. I turn the corner and bam- three mashed up cars and a lake’s worth of blood.”

            My father stayed silent. He looked at me uneasily, “How many people died?”

            I sat up, trying to recall the specific information, “Er… I think four of them died there. I don’t know about the two kids and the driver of the U-Haul because they were rushed to the hospital. I didn’t see the driver of the pick-up, I’m pretty sure he was removed from the scene, but I’m not positive. Why?”

            My father stood up. He paced the room, rubbing a hand on his smooth, bald cranium. His face looked panicked, his eyes darting back and forth as though he was putting together a puzzle in his mind.

            “Dad, what’s going on?”

            “There’s no way…” he murmured. I felt a lump in my throat as I tried to swallow.

            “Dad, please tell me what’s going on. Did you know them?”

            My father looked at me, his eyes filled with fear, “No, but I’m sure your mother did.”

            My heart skipped a beat.


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