AT FIRST, IT SOUNDED like it was coming from the neighbour's house. Within two seconds it sounded as though it was erupting inside her skull - the rhythmic rattling on her bedside table and invading sound of her mobile's alarm clock. She slapped it, hoping that the palm of her hand had somehow struck the snooze button.
Friday. Already? How?
Her eyes wouldn't open. She was stuck in the limbo between the tiring reality of having to get out of bed, and the tiring nightmare she'd had while she was in bed. Seriously... there really is no escape from this.
She finally surrendered, dragging her exhausted body out from under the mess of blankets, mentally refusing to tidy them up. In the shower, her eyes were closed and she stood there, shivering and shaking, despite the steam fogging up the shower.
Shit. She stood in front of her wardrobe, naked, hair dripping, staring at her vast assortment of clothes. I really don't have the energy for this. The once simple task of choosing what to wear to work was already overworking her brain. And it was already 7:56. She was already meant to be on the motorway. 56 minutes ago. She carefully applied her make up. She used to be against this sort of thing - daily make up. But lately it had become more necessary - puffy eyes were not a flattering look. And looking nice was one of the few luxuries she still had to look forward to.
To her relief, apart from getting beeped at for not checking her blind spot, there was little to be stressed about during the drive to work. She breezed through the door with a brilliant smile on her face, said a chirpy goodmorning to those in her office awake enough to hear her, and put her bags down. Immediately, the phone rang.
She spoke excitedly and laughed loudly on the phone while the new emails began to flash up on the screen before her.
"I completely understand!" She said, brightly, "Of course, I'll email the latest copy to you straight away... yup... clicking 'send' right now... thank you Brendan... it's always my pleasure..." (laughter) "Yes, always. And you know I'm just a phone call away... why wouldn't I be happy on a Friday?... Well yes, you have a brilliant weekend and we'll talk again soon... yes, ok... bye!"
Another three emails appeared in her inbox, and she noticed the red light flashing on her phone, indicating awaiting messages. She picked up the receiver and entered her voicemail number, her eyes scanning the most recent email.
Here you go gorgeous! (see attachment) How are you this morning? Love, Daniel.
She paused for a moment, wondering how to answer that question after such an affectionate greeting. She knew - unlike Daniel, Brendan, and everyone else who would call or email but never see her - that even though she'd stepped out of the shower over an hour ago, she was still shaking.
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6 hours ago
She was trashing around in bed, beads of sweat forming and rolling around the skin of her forehead. Then she was still and whimpering. Her face, usually bright and joyful, was twisted with violent fear. Please. She was whispering now. Please just go away. Please. Go. Away. More whimpering. Silence.
Then with a tortured scream, her back arched, her face contorted, and suddenly she was limp, motionless, in sheets soaked with her own sweat.
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