5. The Punch-Sleep
We didn't check into a hotel, or a motel or a bed-and-breakfast or anything. I guess Mum must have twigged that the police would have been on the look-out for a mother and blood-covered daughter residing for a night in a motel. So we slept in our car, in the parking lot of a Tesco superstore.
I am a heavy sleeper. I can sleep like a baby even when a thunder storm is raging on. I can sleep through winds that can throw houses and pull trees from the ground. But I couldn't sleep tonight.
I couldn't toss and turn, because the backseat of the car was too small.
I don't dream. Mum says everyone dreams, but I looked it up and it says that people who don't dream usually have personality disorders. If I had a personality disorder, people would probably understand me more. Well, they wouldn't, but at least they'd have a reason for not understanding me, and I could blame the personality disorder. But I don't have a personality disorder, even though people still find me confusing, and so I'm the one to blame for being so impossible. But I dreamt that night.
I dreamt of Sam.
I'd never really known how affecting dreams can be until I woke up the next day, and I burst into tears.