WHO ARE YOU WHEN YOU’RE NOT DREAMING?
story premise: On the 7th of every month, she appears to him in a dream, but what happens when after years he finally sees her–on the 7th–but this time not in a dream?
“Oh come on, Gryff. You know better than to ask me that,” a compassionate smirk tugging at her lips as her soft brown eyes look down at him. “Anyway, who are any of us really?”
Confusion is evident on his face, eyebrows crinkling together, “what’s that supposed to mean?” There’s a sort of defensive tone laced in his words.
“Do you know who you are, Gryff? Shouldn’t you figure that out before asking me who I am?,” an inquisitive look on her seemingly perfect face.
The boy jolted awake, sitting up in his bed, his racing heart making it almost impossible to get a breath in. Before he’s fully composed, he rushes to grab the small notebook and pen on his nightstand, shuffling through the other objects that clutter the top. He flicks the lamp light on, bringing the book to his lap, flipping through the numerous entries before landing on a blank page. He quickly scribbled down everything he could remember.
I tried asking who she was again. Said I should’ve known better than to ask that??? Used my name like always.
“Anyway who are any of us really?” Told me to figure out who I was instead of who she was.
She looked perfect again. Looked the same as usual.
Long brownish hair still. Kinda curly this time? Brown eyes.
Her smile was soft but she knew something… something I didn’t.
Her top was a white. Don’t know what pants she was wearing. Seemed like I was really focused on her face this time. Not sure why…
Shorter dream than usual. Not sure what to make of it.
He sighed, flipping through older entries, trying to make sense of it–like every other 7th of the month–but he was barely reading. Finally, he pushed the book closed, and set it back amongst the mess on the nightstand on autopilot. It was muscle memory at this point: dream, wake up, write, put it away, and try to go back to sleep. He fell back against the mattress, the covers beginning to feel like fire against his skin as he kicked them off and laid there, staring at the ceiling.
He’d started to keep a notebook on his nightstand three years ago, after she’d appeared in his dreams for the fourth time. They never really had a theme, though. Sometimes she was cryptic–like tonight–other times they were together, whether as friends or what seemed to be something more. There were even instances where it played out as them meeting for the first time, and she was totally oblivious to who he was–acting like she hadn’t called him by name, known his darkest fears, or brought up things no one in his life knew about a month earlier.
He hated that he looked forward to the 7th each month. It was always the worst night of sleep, but he would never admit that it was the best night of his life every time.
After an hour of tossing and turning, he eventually drifted back to sleep, only to be awoken by his alarm not even two hours later. He climbed out his bedroom window, light just beginning to make an appearance in the sky. The part of the roof just outside his window was damp from the overnight dew, but it was a grounding feeling as he stepped forward gently. This was his favorite part of the day–watching the light overcome the darkness gave him a sense of relief, as if there was something he had to run from during the night, and maybe there was. Her.
He had no idea who she was, had never seen her before, didn’t even know her name… but even when daylight came each morning, he couldn’t escape her. She was always in the back of his mind, and had been fo the past three years, but what was he supposed to do? It wasn’t like he hadn’t tried to search her up–online, in old yearbooks of his, and he’d racked his brain more times than he could count on whether it was someone he had any connection to. Nothing. The only thing he hadn’t resorted to was asking his family for help because well… it’s not exactly easy to tell your parents or your sister that you’ve been consistently dreaming about a girl you’ve never met like clockwork every month for three years. And he really wasn’t in the mood to be sent to therapy.
He’d thought about telling his sister, Delilah, because at least she could keep a secret from their parents, but it was no use. If he didn’t know who she was, there was no way Delilah would know either. He’d thought about doing it just to get it off his chest a couple of times though–maybe he did need that therapy after all…
The boy made his way into his bathroom, brushing his teeth, fixing his hair, and changing from his pajama pants into some sweatpants and a t-shirt. Before making his way downstairs, he impulsively grabbed the notebook sitting on his nightstand and left the room. He was in his hometown for the summer after just having graduated college. He had a job lined up to start June 1st, but honestly? He wasn’t thrilled. See, he originally went into college with his parents telling him how “finance has the best job security” and “since you don’t know what you want to do, why don’t you play it safe” but he did know what he wanted to do–music. Ever since he was young, he’s wanted to be a musician. His parents just didn’t know that because–as great as they are–“those types of jobs” were never in the cards, never even considered an actual job to them.
Gryff knew no one would be up at this hour, so he set his notebook on the island before making himself a bowl of cereal. After putting the box away, he opened the refrigerator for the milk, turning around only to be met with Delilah. She was bent over the island and had already flipped the book open, reading away like she was editing her one of her clients’ next novel.
“Hey! Not everything is your next project, D,” the boy said, defensively grabbing the notebook from her grasp with his free hand, “what’re you doin’ here, anyway?” He threw it onto the counter space behind him before pouring the milk into his bowl, hoping she hadn’t read enough to start asking questions or at least he had distracted her with his question.
And both would be incorrect.
“Who’s the girl?,” she asked calmly, even examining her nails as if that wasn’t his most sacred possession she was asking about. She had always had such big-sister energy in his eyes. Always cool, calm, and collected but somehow everything worked out perfectly for her. Gryff loved her to death, but man was he jealous of how easily things fell into her lap. She’d gone into college for English–much to their parents’ complaint–only to graduate with an already locked-in job offer at one of the biggest book editing companies, making a salary that made her literally say “told ya so” to their parents.
“What? It’s no one,” he shrugged off, praying that would get her to drop it, but knowing her much better than that. He turned his back to her to put the milk away, wishing more than anything she’d be leaving by the time he turned back around. But wrong again.
“Then why are you dreaming about her every month?,” she said in a sort of challenging, someone’s-got-a-crush type tone. Her eyes were narrowed, now looking at Gryff, awaiting her answers. He let out a deep sigh, head hanging in defeat. Was he really about to get into this?
“Honestly, D? I don’t know…,” he breathed out, looking up at her through his surprisingly-long lashes.
“What do you mean you don’t know? This isn’t a girl from school?,” she was shocked, slowly lifting herself from the island counter to give this her full attention.
Gryff couldn’t help but humorlessly laugh before his tone became more serious. “No. She’s not a girl from college, she’s not a girl from high school, middle school, elementary, she’s not even from preschool. I’ve never seen this girl before outside of my dreams.”
“Wait- you’ve never seen her ever, and you dream about her every single month?,” her chill composure was quickly fading, and he was unsure if she was going to call him crazy or overly involve herself in this whole thing.
“On the night going into the 7th, yeah,” he affirmed blankly, shifting to rest against the counter behind him, almost shielding the book from his sister–even though he had nothing much else to hide at this point.
“For how long? Because it seems like there’s quite a few entries in that thing,” she nodded towards where the book was hiding behind him.
“Three years,” he admitted, shyness and a hint of shame in his words. His gaze dropped to the floor as he fidgeted with his hands.
“I’m sorry- three years?,” she emphasized, eyebrows raising as she moved to the side of the island closer to Gryff. He had long since surpassed her in height, but she adjusted her neck to find his eyes turned toward the floor. “Sorry… sorry. You can talk to me,” she assured, a gentle smile on her face as Gryff lifted his head to look at her helplessly.
“Well, three years in June, yeah,” he scratched the back of his neck nervously, worried about what she could say next, what she might think. He knew she meant well, but he’d kept this in for so long, he wasn’t even sure where to begin.
“G… why haven’t you told anyone?,” she asked sincerely, her eyes softening as she thought about her little brother going through this month after month, and thinking he needed to keep it to himself.
He shrugged because honestly he didn’t know why… he was worried about people thinking he was a little crazy, sure. But as he sat there trying to think up an answer to her question, the only thing that came to mind was that he wouldn’t know what to do if he woke up on the 7th having not dreamed of the girl.
“Well, maybe we can get you some help- not saying you’re crazy! Just saying it might be helpful to talk all of this out.. ya know, with a professional?”
“I dunno D…,” he trailed off, only now really wishing she hadn’t been home today because this talk was slowly starting to kill him.
“Well, what could it hurt? It might even make the dreams stop,” she reasoned with him, some form of hope in her tone.
“I don’t think so,” he said with a soft certainty, like he was sure of it, but knew she wouldn’t like his answer.
“You don’t think they’d stop?,” she questioned, eyebrows crinkling together.
“No, I mean I don’t think I wanna talk to anyone about it,” he replied quietly, and suddenly her gaze was becoming too much to handle.
“Why not? I mean there’s really no reason not to-,” she was persistent, even though Gryff figured she would have noticed his attempt at avoiding the topic at this point. Gryff couldn’t look her in the eye, so he resorted his gaze to the floor once more.
“Unless… oh Gryff… you don’t want them to stop, do you?” she sighed out, confusion and maybe even some pity in her look. She stepped back, her back against the counter opposite to him as he continued staring at the floor.
He never wanted to admit it out loud, but he had no idea what he would do if the dreams suddenly ceased because maybe the girl was right… who even was he when he wasn’t dreaming?
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