Part One

Part One

One Hundred Sleepless Nights

I've been laying awake in bed since 8 PM yesterday. It's 5:47 AM now. I'm restless. I never really get much sleep anymore. It's either sleep, and receive numerous nightmares, or don't sleep at all. I'd rather just not sleep. The nightmares tend to make me paranoid.

Dim moonlight is filtered into my room by the open blinds on one of the windows. I'm laying on my side, soft black comforter pulled up to my breast, my aquamarine gaze fixed on the glass angel on the windowsill, which is being touched by a beam of gentle light. It's glowing radiantly, screaming with organic beauty. I drop my gaze, jealous of this angel. It's gorgeous. Divine. I bite my lip and turn over, staring at the wall, pulling the comforter up to my neck. 

I sigh. "Ugh, I'm jealous of glass. What the hell, Temperance," I mumble. I fidget for a moment, unable to get comfortable. I frown and my eyes wander to the clock. It's almost time to get up for open house at school. I might as well just get up. I close my eyes for a moment and breathe in deeply. I can hear my uncle Wayne tromping around in the hallway. Yep, time to wake up, Temperance. I laugh to myself softly for a moment and then sit up, swinging my legs over the edge of the mattress. 

"Get up, kid." I hear uncle Wayne say as he raps my door. He turns the knob and peeks his head in. His shaggy blond hair is soaked. Water is dripping from his tips to the floor. Drip, drip. Tap, tap, tap. God, I hate that noise. Stop. Please make it stop. He must have just recently gotten out of the shower. "Oh, you're already up. Come on, Temp,  breakfast's ready." He quickly withdraws, closing the door, and I can hear his footsteps fading. I'm grateful for the renewed silence.

I stretch. Damn, that feels good. I blink away the miniscule traces of sleepiness from my system and I let my bare feet touch the cold hardwood floor. I stand and yawn, shuffling sluggishly to the door, gripping the ice-cold knob, twisting and pulling. I let go in mid-pull, the door flies open, and it hits the wall with a thud. "Shit," I groan rather loudly. I check the wall for damage. None. I move on and walk out the door, leaving it open. 

I sniff the air. I smell bacon. Fabulous. I sigh in satisfaction. I like bacon. I speed down the hallway and into the kitchen. I spot the bacon on a plate on the counter, and there's a big loaf of multi grain bread beside it. I move to it and swipe four pieces of bacon and a slice of bread. 

"You got your appetite back, huh? That's good," uncle Wayne comments. 

I jump, alarmed. I turn around and spot uncle Wayne. He's in his spot at the kitchen table, munching on a sloppily-constructed sandwich. "Um, a bit," I say hesitantly, "bacon is my weakness, you know." I smile sheepishly and I stuff a whole piece of bacon into my mouth. I chew it up and swallow. Oh my God, bacon is so good.

He gets up and sighs heavily. "Temp, use a napkin. You're going to get grease on your shirt," he complains, taking the bacon from my hands and putting it in a napkin. He places it on the counter, produces another napkin, and wipes the grease from my hands. "You're sixteen, damn it."

"You're thirty-five, and you don't shower regularly," I counter, "I like bacon. Bacon is my ambrosia. Is being a greaseball your ambrosia?" 

"What the hell is ambrosia?" he asks, and then waves his hands in dismissal. "Don't answer that. It was rhetorical. I don't want to know. It sounds inappropriate."

I make a face. "What the heck did you think that it meant? How does ambrosia sound inappropriate?" I'm laughing. This is what I love about uncle Wayne. He's a pervert but he knows how to keep things PG-13. 

"Reminds me of aphrodisiac," he remarks plainly. He's looking at me like I'm insane.

"Oh my God. Oh my God." I'm laughing heavily. "Oh my God. What the...? What the......? Uncle Wayne, oh my God. You're cracking me up."

"Wait, what? Do you know what aphrodisiac is? How?" He furrows his brow and his mouth converts to an amused-yet-disappointed frown. "Kids these days. Good lord."

I try to get myself under control. I manage to stop laughing, but I've still got a stupid grin on my face. "I'm in eleventh grade, Uncle. That explains it all." I pick up another piece of bacon and quickly devour it.

He's staring at me, and I begin to feel uncomfortable. I fidget a bit, my gaze flickering from the bacon to his faded black Metallica shirt. After a moment of discomfort, he says something. "Correction: you start eleventh grade in two weeks. Finish eating, kiddo. Go get ready for orientation." He sits back down in his chair. "Do you know if Kezia still needs a ride there?"

"Uh, yeah. She said that she does," I reply, stuffing the rest of the bacon in my mouth. I put the slice of bread back on the counter. "Could we pick up Desiree, too? She said that her mom has to leave for work early and she has no way to get to school."

Face flushed slightly, Uncle Wayne hesitates. He finally sighs, "Desiree? Um, yeah. That's the girl that had shirt problems last year at your birthday party, right? Yeah, we can get her. Now, go get ready. And make sure she's carrying an extra shirt." He winks at me.

What the hell? Creepy perv. "Fine, fine," I say, pulling my cell phone out of my bra. He makes a face and I say, "what? Never seen a girl store her phone in her bra before?"

"I just wish that I hadn't seen that," he says, covering his face. "Why can't you still be ten and in training bras?"

I roll my eyes and check my phone for texts. There are none. I guess Desi and Kezzy will get up soon. I put my phone back in my bra and walk to the sink and turn the hot water knob. I lather my hands with soap and run the warm liquid over my hands and wash. I withdraw and turn the sink off, drying my hands quickly. 

I leave the kitchen and return to my room, closing the door. I enter my en suite bathroom and close the door behind me. I quickly brush my teeth and then wash my face.

Then I look in the mirror, and my mind takes over. I am now a spider stuck in my own web.