rapture. Adolescence brought forth skepticism and soon, Sadie doubted the magic she'd once been certain the nonsensical God talk held.
As her mom worsened, the writing had grown more broken. Word salad, they called it. Pain punctured Sadie's heart at the memory. Did her own writing make any sense? Would her words be a tapestry of unraveling meaning?
Her head thudded against the headboard. Fatigue ached in her muscles. She resisted a stretch and a yawn, fearing sleep, and dreams. The pit of her stomach lay knotted despite the hour she'd written through.
Partly, she was angry with herself.
Here she was, dreaming of this magnificent, seraphic specimen of man. More than dreaming, feeling him, as Elijah utterly seduced her senses, begged her for the simplest of favors. She should have opened her eyes. More. She should have opened her eyes, let him take her into his arms and died into the bliss he offered. The place where the impossible lived, alive, thriving...possible.
It was like she knew his kiss. She'd tasted his mouth, felt his arms cocooning her, sweeping her up into the heavens and stars. Other nights, not tonight. Had today’s disaster unnerved her so badly? Was she so fragile that one incident could destroy a perfectly good fantasy?
Her pulse quickened. She itched to paint the dream.
What the hell had she been so scared of and why couldn’t she shake it now?
If there were ever a real chance to have Elijah, to actually feel his lips on hers, how could she become brave enough to take it? Remorse battled with disgust and in the end, she decided it was best to give up and try to sleep. And if he came again, damn it, she would respond. But she would not give in and paint him. Not tonight, not again, so help her. Because for the first time in her life, the mania she’d witnessed so often in her mother, murmured in her own veins.
~ ~ ~
Chapter Five
The card aisle at the grocery store offered Sadie zero help. Get well soons, sympathies, puppies in grotesque costumes. None of them worked. She needed a gift of some sort. A thanks - for - having - me - for - dinner , but - please - stop - treating - me - like - an invalid gesture for Heather and Remy. Wine? No. Heather didn't drink and Remy did, but really, for the sake of mankind and stand-up comedians the world over, shouldn't.
Cookies? Cake? Flowers. She pictured Heather gushing, smelling a bunch of wildflowers. It made her gag a little. She couldn't show up for dinner empty - handed , though. If she had less time, not to mention a healthier sibling relationship, this wouldn't be so flipping difficult. But she had over an hour to kill before she was expected. Sadie wandered through each aisle, ignoring the nagging sense she was being followed. She wasn't, in truth, being followed. She knew that. Still, she couldn't stop looking past her shoulder every so often.
“ Still no one there, Sadie,” she said to herself.
Paranoia. Not good. Paranoia came with crazy. Not that there wasn’t plenty to blame her sensitivity on. Last week’s crash into Elijah, worry over her appointment next week, scaling her own dosage down. A mental shift was completely understandable. Add in the last dream and voila. Feelings of being followed.
She left the aisle, glancing over her shoulder. A mother and her toddler wheeled past.
Jen wanted her to go dancing tonight. Sadie had claimed she couldn't go out with Jen after dinner at Heather’s. But when her cousin had asked why not, she hadn’t found a decent answer. Fatigue? As it was, she'd slept a handful of hours each night this week. Heavy sleep. No dreams. Dinner would be tiring. True or not, blaming being exhausted sounded lame.
Really lame.
Sadie found herself staring at rows upon rows of ice cream. What flavor would her sister like? What brand? The expensive celebrity stuff or plain ol' generic vanilla? Sadie groaned. “This shouldn’t be difficult, Sadie. You should know this. She’s your
As her mom worsened, the writing had grown more broken. Word salad, they called it. Pain punctured Sadie's heart at the memory. Did her own writing make any sense? Would her words be a tapestry of unraveling meaning?
Her head thudded against the headboard. Fatigue ached in her muscles. She resisted a stretch and a yawn, fearing sleep, and dreams. The pit of her stomach lay knotted despite the hour she'd written through.
Partly, she was angry with herself.
Here she was, dreaming of this magnificent, seraphic specimen of man. More than dreaming, feeling him, as Elijah utterly seduced her senses, begged her for the simplest of favors. She should have opened her eyes. More. She should have opened her eyes, let him take her into his arms and died into the bliss he offered. The place where the impossible lived, alive, thriving...possible.
It was like she knew his kiss. She'd tasted his mouth, felt his arms cocooning her, sweeping her up into the heavens and stars. Other nights, not tonight. Had today’s disaster unnerved her so badly? Was she so fragile that one incident could destroy a perfectly good fantasy?
Her pulse quickened. She itched to paint the dream.
What the hell had she been so scared of and why couldn’t she shake it now?
If there were ever a real chance to have Elijah, to actually feel his lips on hers, how could she become brave enough to take it? Remorse battled with disgust and in the end, she decided it was best to give up and try to sleep. And if he came again, damn it, she would respond. But she would not give in and paint him. Not tonight, not again, so help her. Because for the first time in her life, the mania she’d witnessed so often in her mother, murmured in her own veins.
~ ~ ~
Chapter Five
The card aisle at the grocery store offered Sadie zero help. Get well soons, sympathies, puppies in grotesque costumes. None of them worked. She needed a gift of some sort. A thanks - for - having - me - for - dinner , but - please - stop - treating - me - like - an invalid gesture for Heather and Remy. Wine? No. Heather didn't drink and Remy did, but really, for the sake of mankind and stand-up comedians the world over, shouldn't.
Cookies? Cake? Flowers. She pictured Heather gushing, smelling a bunch of wildflowers. It made her gag a little. She couldn't show up for dinner empty - handed , though. If she had less time, not to mention a healthier sibling relationship, this wouldn't be so flipping difficult. But she had over an hour to kill before she was expected. Sadie wandered through each aisle, ignoring the nagging sense she was being followed. She wasn't, in truth, being followed. She knew that. Still, she couldn't stop looking past her shoulder every so often.
“ Still no one there, Sadie,” she said to herself.
Paranoia. Not good. Paranoia came with crazy. Not that there wasn’t plenty to blame her sensitivity on. Last week’s crash into Elijah, worry over her appointment next week, scaling her own dosage down. A mental shift was completely understandable. Add in the last dream and voila. Feelings of being followed.
She left the aisle, glancing over her shoulder. A mother and her toddler wheeled past.
Jen wanted her to go dancing tonight. Sadie had claimed she couldn't go out with Jen after dinner at Heather’s. But when her cousin had asked why not, she hadn’t found a decent answer. Fatigue? As it was, she'd slept a handful of hours each night this week. Heavy sleep. No dreams. Dinner would be tiring. True or not, blaming being exhausted sounded lame.
Really lame.
Sadie found herself staring at rows upon rows of ice cream. What flavor would her sister like? What brand? The expensive celebrity stuff or plain ol' generic vanilla? Sadie groaned. “This shouldn’t be difficult, Sadie. You should know this. She’s your
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