Week 3 Journal
Most nightmares eventually came to an end, but not Veda’s nightmares. Almost every single night for as long as she could remember, she would scream for help as she burned alive in a fire, but no one was around. She’d wake up with skin that felt as if it were still burning. The only way she could cool herself down was by drenching herself in cold water. The worst part was, she knew it wasn’t just a nightmare, it was real. She would wake up covered in burns. Her skin would remain bright pink for days, and some of her scars never went away.
She wanted to escape from the nightmare, but people would probably think she was crazy if she told anyone. Besides, maybe she was just hallucinating. That would be a much more rational explanation. She wanted that to be true, but knew all too well that it wasn’t. There was definitely something wrong with her, though. Even a therapist probably wouldn’t be able to help her.
Veda had lost contact with almost everyone she knew. She barely even left her house anymore. She didn’t dare tell them about her nightmares, and she wasn’t good with socializing when she was sleep deprived every day. She was afraid of sleep. She didn’t want to burn again, but sleep would inevitably come every night, whether she wanted it to or not.
Veda lived by herself, and had just recently bought her house. It was located in almost the middle of nowhere, so no one would bother her, and she could go crazy on her own. It was two stories high, with white walls that had been recently repainted and a hardwood floor that was installed a few days ago. She didn’t know what had happened to this house, but she had felt drawn to it for some reason, and it wasn’t just because it was socially isolated. Veda felt as if she were connected to the house in some way, but she’d never seen it in her life. Maybe she did live here once though, she couldn’t remember anymore. The line between reality and nightmare had been blurred so much that she could barely remember who she was.
The phone started ringing. It was one of those old, cordless, home phones with the buttons still on it, and would light up green when Veda pushed any of them.
She hesitated, but picked up the call. “Hello?”
No one said anything, there was only heavy breathing on the other end of the line. And then screaming, like the person was being murdered. Had they meant to call 9-1-1?
“Hello? Are you okay?” Veda was asking, but the screaming only continued.
“Help!” The person cried, “help!”
The phone felt as if it was burning, and the caller hung up. Veda dropped the phone to the ground, staring around in shock. Maybe she truly was going insane.
It seemed as if God was laughing at me. Gabrielle Emerson, He was probably saying, stop falling for stupid girls who don’t want you.
I know, I wanted to tell Him.
I didn’t understand it. Why wouldn’t He do anything? I wanted to get revenge, but I didn’t know how to. He should have stopped her. He should have punished her for thinking of anyone other than me. What had I ever done to her? Why would she do this to me?
I tried to drown out my feelings by playing rap music at full volume through my earbuds, but the music only made me more angry. I knew God was mocking me right now. I was so pathetic.
I stared at her photo on my dresser; a beautiful girl with glowing skin and a smile so bright that she looked like an angel. Wherever she walked, the whole room would light up. I felt blessed every time I saw her. I missed her more than anything in the world. I’d never felt this kind of longing before. She was perfect.
But her hair…I stared at it in the picture. It was brunette back then. She had ruined her beautiful hair. She decided to color it so much and cut it so short that I thought she was a lesbian. The last time I saw her, she had dyed it a shade of lilac purple. I missed her long brown hair, my long brown hair, that flowed halfway down her back. She had changed so much since then.
Thinking about her hair gave me a renewed sense of anger, and I tore up the photograph. I didn’t want to look at her anymore. I threw it into my garbage can. Then, I deleted every single picture of her from my phone. She didn’t deserve me. I treated her like better than any other person I’d known, and she never returned the favor. She never cared about me. Why else would she have cheated on me? I saw so many pretty girls when we were dating, but I never once cheated on her. It was tempting, but I never did it. How could she?
I just wanted to feel numb, but my feelings wouldn’t stop blaring louder than the music. I didn’t want to keep them inside, but I had to. Who would I talk to, anyway? No one would care. I had friends, but we never talked about that kind of stuff. And no girls cared about me enough to listen.
I felt a strange urge to start writing it down. I felt so powerless, but maybe writing would help me. I mean, I’d never really written before. It was kind of dumb, but who was gonna judge me? With a pencil in my hand and a blank sheet of paper, it all began to flow out of me.
I began by writing about my anger at Lena, and how much I wanted to get revenge on her, but God had failed me. I had prayed to him for revenge, but nothing had happened. I had to do it myself, but I wasn’t sure how to. Then finally, an idea came to me:
I knew Lena was a lesbian all along. Let’s say, she cheated on me with a girl, but then the girl found out that she had a boyfriend, and the girl got so mad at her, she kicked Lena out of her house. Upset, Lena came running back to me, begging for forgiveness…
I jumped at the ring of the doorbell. My mom’s footsteps walked over to see who it was. I held my breath at the creak of the door. Probably a sales person, I thought, but at this time of night?
My mom knocked on my door. “Gabe?”
“Yeah?” I asked.
“Lena’s here for you.”
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