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! )

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7. Another Visit

            The day passed in a blur. I remember my father shaking my shoulders and trying to get me to respond, I remember the car ride to the hospital, I remember them hooking me up to machines; I remember the whole thing. My body was unresponsive. My emotions had turned off while my mind tried processing that dream.

            I’ve never had a nightmare like that before. Obviously this was something bigger than just my mom’s and my night terrors. I tried hard, so hard, to process what I had to do. I didn’t know what the next step was and it took all of me to try and figure it out. Searching all the caverns of my mind, my psyche was picked apart and dissected within my own head.

            Who were all those women? The faces were familiar, and I recognized one of them all too well. She resembled my great-grandmother. I only saw her in pictures, and I didn’t know all that much about her other than the fact that she died young.

            That triggered a fork in my train of thought: my mother died when I was sixteen. She was thirty-seven. And if I remember my grandmother’s stories right, she was sixteen when her mother passed away. But why is my grandmother still alive?

            Something didn’t add up and I didn’t know what it was that was tying us together.  My head began to ache and my body was so tired of fighting that I slipped into sleep fairly peacefully.

 

            I opened my eyes and saw white. Only white. I was immediately terrified; I thought I had died. I looked around: only white everywhere. I screamed, and my voice bounced off invisible walls and I only heard my voice drift away slowly… “Maeva,” a voice spoke around me. I couldn’t tell what direction it came from, so I whirled my head in every direction until I met my mother’s face. Here she was beautiful, full of life and glowing as I remembered her most. She smiled at me. I embraced her for an eternity, then she spoke: “Maeva, you have a job here. You are part of something much larger than just yourself here.” We pulled from our embrace, and her glow had dimmed. Before my eyes, she seemed to age and wither. The terror in her eyes gripped me stronger than her hands. “The blood line, you can end it; My mother, she knows; Stop, now,” she spat out as her body began to decay before me, then all together she rippled into ashes that fell through my hands. Under my feet, water seemed to gush from nowhere, washing away the remains of my mother, slowly filling up this white room of eternity. The water was so clear as it began to swallow me whole. I could see anything, if it had been there. Trying to swim to the top that never came, trying to break the bottom that was endless, I gasped for air only to swallow water. I felt my muscles surge into hyper drive, despite the fact that I knew I was dead before I started. Then I felt it. I stopped moving and looked at my hands. I was in control now. I watched as my hands wrinkled and aged, I let my body go. I floated in the water, letting the imaginary pain in my lungs subside. The water drained into the floor and it placed me on the floor on my back as I let it all wash away. I took a breath of air, so clean and crisp. I stood up and watched as my mother’s ashes reassembled at my feet and reverse my mother’s decay. She played all her actions the same as the first time, but as though someone pressed rewind on a tape recorder. She drifted away into the white emptiness, and I was alone again.

 

            It was bright behind my eyelids. I squinted and put a lot of effort into opening my eyes. As my eyes opened, I could feel the uncomfortable tubes lodged into my nostrils and the soft beep of the heart rate monitor. My eyes adjusted and I recollected being in the hospital. The clock read eight o’ clock. I looked around the room, my father asleep in a chair. I yawned and examined my state. I had the typical set-up: heart monitor, fluid bag and an IV, and a hospital gown. The assisted breathing was new and extremely uncomfortable. Perhaps I had an episode while I was asleep.

            A nurse walked in and looked at me agape. She stuck her head back through the doorway and said I was awake to someone else. A few nurses came in and checked me up and down. I kept asking what was going on, and no one answered me until they all left and a doctor entered. He beamed at me, and I couldn’t help but give a weak smile back.

            “How are you feeling?” He said, hovering over me.

            “A little thirsty,” we both chuckled, “How long was I asleep for?”

            He walked over to the small little table and picked up a water bottle for me. “You were in more of a coma than sleep, I’d say.”

            “A coma?” I said, almost too surprised.

            “No need to get excited, I don’t know if your body can handle that just yet.”

            “I was in a coma?” I said, still deeply concerned.

            “Yes, but it wasn’t too serious. You were catatonic for about a day and a half before you slipped into the coma, and that’s when we were most worried. You showed signs of waking up. We were just worried you would wake up and be catatonic again. But those worries are all gone now,” he smiled at me and I took a long, strong drink from the water bottle.

            “Well, how long was I under?”

            “A little over four days; a total of 104 hours, to be exact.”

            “Wow,” I murmured before I took another gulp of water. It must’ve been a big gulp, since the water bottle crunched with emptiness. The doctor laughed and assured I’d get another.

            It was three water bottles in that my father woke up. He just opened his eyes and sighed heavily, relief washing over his face. I chuckled. He sat up and cracked his back, wincing.

            “How did you sleep?” I asked.

            “I should be asking you that, actually.” We both got a kick out of that one. “I slept alright, I mean as well as I could have slept in a stiff chair.”

            “Right,” I said starting on the fourth water bottle.

            “So, how are you feeling?” He made his way to the bed and sat down, placing a hand on my knee.

            “I’m alright. As you can see, I’m incredibly thirsty. I’m a bit hungry too.”

            “Do you want me to get you something to eat?”

            “Oh, no, you don’t have to do that.”

            “You’ve been out for four days. I think the least I could do is get you some food.”

            “Thanks, Dad.” As he opened the door to leave, there was someone on the other side of the doorway that I couldn’t see. My father looked at me, and looked back at the person and nodded, continuing on the journey to find me food.

            Sebastian walked through the door and my heart monitor started beeping a little more rapidly. He looked at the machine and back at me.

            “Are you still mad at me?” He asked. I giggled; it was assuring that he didn’t take my heartbeat increasing as my attraction to him. I shook my head. He ambled toward the hospital bed and stood near my feet, looking at me with a pained look on his face.

            “C’mon, sit.” I patted the cot, smiling softly. He sat down gingerly, making sure he didn’t hurt me at all. He looked at my hand and ever so gently put his on top.

            “I was worried about you,” he said, now cradling my hand between his own large ones. “I went to your house to try and apologize. But when there was no answer, I asked your neighbor to see if they knew where you’d gone. They said that your father left early and in a rush, with you in the car. I had assumed the worst, and I didn’t know what to do, so I did a little snooping and found out you were in the hospital…” his thumb stroked my small hand in his; he was so warm compared to me.

            I sighed, and smirked, “That’s what I get for dating a cop.” He looked up at me and gave a half smile.

            “So you aren’t mad?”

            “No,” I assured him, our eyes locked. “I should have respected what you had to keep secret. Everyone has his or her own life, and I was awfully rude to assume that you’d just tell me everything about you. After all, we hardly know each other.”

            “Well, I want that to change,” he admitted. We just sat there for a while, looking at each other, knowing that it would only get hard the more we would get to know one another.

            “I’m a lot to handle. You sure that’s a commitment you want to make?” I warned.

            “I’d rather be learning how to handle you than to rip myself apart for not trying.” He said, looking at my tiny hands in his. He kissed the back of my hand, and then looked up at my face again. We both knew that this is what we wanted, despite the fact that we didn’t know what would come to hit each other in the face. I had thirty times more baggage than I did when I first met him, but I couldn’t see myself doing this with anyone else. He had his demons and I had mine.

            “So what now?” I asked, suddenly becoming aware of the tubes in my nose yet again and how unattractive I looked at that moment.

            “Well… I don’t know. Will you call me when you get out of the hospital?” It sounded more like a plea than a simple question. I smiled and nodded. “Okay. We can just have a night to ourselves when you’re better. How does that sound?”

            “I couldn’t ask for anything more.”

            He smiled, wrapped a hand under my ear, and planted a lingering kiss on my forehead. He dropped his forehead to mine and I rested my hand on his wrist.

            “I’ll see you soon,” he whispered.

            “Okay,” I whispered back. He kissed my forehead again and left, turning around once more to look at me lying in the hospital bed. I hadn’t even realized that my heart beat had picked up a little bit since he walked in until he left. Not much later my father walked through the door, carrying a tray of food from the small café they had on site.

            “Thank you so much,” I said graciously.

            “You’re more than welcome. So, who was that?”

            I laughed as I adjusted my grip on my sandwich, “Long story, Dad.”

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