goodnight

I stared bleary eyed into my half empty coffee mug. It had gone cold but I nursed it all the same.

Drinking cold coffee was nothing out of the ordinary for me anymore and I had refilled the cup so many times in succession now that the grounds had formed an inch thick layer of sediment at the bottom. I spat the last sip back in when I felt them on my tongue and gums and decided it was finally time to rinse it out before starting on a fresh pot.

I was tired; more so than I had been in a long time. The urge to sleep was always there and it was getting harder to deny its advances. It nagged at my every fibre. 

My vision was unfocused, and I frequently saw shadows move from the corners of my eyes. Every time I saw one the worry that I may have a mouse crossed my mind again. I had looked for signs though and I knew it wasn't the case. The half eaten remains of a pizza were still untouched where I left them in their open box on the floor to prove it to myself. I didn't have the mental capacity remaining to remember that fact each time it happened though.

I was at a stage of exhaustion that had rendered my fingers too slow and clumsy to be much use to me any longer. I had to abandon the cross word I had been working on because writing was now beyond me.

My mind was clear. It was curious just how closely I found I was able to relate to my every thought. I was nearly having full blown and in depth discussions within myself and it was a very calm and peaceful state. I understood myself on a new level and I was comfortable with my own company as I suffered the waves of exhaustion.

The internal conversations were slowing down every part of me. At one stage my nose itched and it took me probably five full minutes to discuss with myself that I felt an itch, that scratching would most likely help it to cease, that my left hand would most likely be the better hand to use to do the job since the itch was also on my left side, and then to also convince the muscles to complete the action. 

My mind started to go off on tangents as to what had caused the itch and trying to get my mind back under control to actually resolve the issue was becoming the main difficulty. The slowness of movement I could handle, but the idle time spent wondering about the reasons and deeper meanings of things when a simple action could solve them was getting worse instead of better.

I pushed myself hard to get up and make coffee, trying hard not to think about it. I stood in front of the kettle knowing I would need to put water in it and flip a switch but unable to perform either action without having first thought about each one in turn.

I slammed my hands down on the counter as hard as I could. The jolt of pain was muted but the unexpectedness of having done something without having to think about it woke me up slightly. 

I was losing the ability to surprise myself with these little actions and I knew I couldn't manage this for much longer as I took advantage of the sudden ability to move with slightly less mental restrictions. 

Once I got the coffee on I would be okay again. It would buy me the time I needed to get control back again and I would just need to get the next pot after this one on a little faster next time. This had been a close call. The fuzz of my brain nearly had me and if I hadn't stolen back control for the one second it took to slam my arms and cause myself unexpected physical pain, I would have slipped into the ether.

My eye lids hadn't threatened to perform the long blink in quite some time. Early into my forced wakefulness I had a few issues with that. I would blink and my eyelids wouldn't open again without a real fight. I would be so comfortable with them shut, my brain sending out all the chemicals it had in it's arsenal to reassure me that just a few seconds of keeping my eyes closed was safe, and not only that but it made me exceptionally happy every single time I did it.

I was waging war against myself. I had been sitting and discussing the need to stay awake inside of my own mind from the start, but the internal conversation was falling on the deaf ears of my body who was in very severe disagreement with the parts of me that knew better. 

I was approaching my fiftieth hour of being awake. That doesn't sound like much until you take into consideration that before the fifty hours had started, I had managed two hours of sleep after a forty-two hour stint of being awake. 

In the last month I had slept for about an hour per day on average. It was the very definition of hell. My mind was slipping. The slothfulness of my body was frightening to me, where even the most mundane task might as well have been lifting a car over my head for the reluctance of my muscles to make it happen.

At the start I had fueled myself with carbohydrates. I had plenty of energy to keep awake. Then the act of chewing suddenly started to feel like more energy was being expended than saved as a result. Meals would take me longer to eat. They were always well beyond cold by the time I could finish them. 

In time making food was far to much energy to waste. I was living off of my bodies reserves now and I didn't feel hunger at all. Feeling things was also something my body had decided to save energy by no longer doing.

I had a feeling that was what had led to my being so in touch within myself, where I was talking to myself just for something to do. I felt nothing anymore. Not even tired. That sort of clarity was truly a wonder to behold.

I realised I was still standing in the kitchen. The kettle had boiled and then proceeded to cool down again already by the time I had managed to escape myself and observe the world around me again. This simply wouldn't do. I was losing the battle.

I quickly flipped the switch to make it boil again and held onto the sides of it with both hands so that the warmth that was nearly hot enough to burn my flesh but not quite so hot as to be dangerous would help keep me alert.

It felt like it took forever and the kettle rumbled under my hands all the while before finally ceasing. I went to pour the boiling water into the coffee grounds but caught a glimpse of my palm before I could. It was bright red and small white spots were showing on it. I had burned myself and rather badly from the look of it.

I brought my other palm up and saw that both were as bad as the other. I hadn't felt anything more than the rumbling of the kettle and some warmth. I didn't feel burned, not even now when it was obvious that I should.

Before my mind could start contemplating the reasons for this at length I poured the water, being careful with how I grasped the kettle despite not being able to feel the pain from it at all. The urge to be in less agony when I could feel again was still there, self preservation, so it would seem, was with you even when you were doing things that were killing you slowly intentionally to save yourself from other greater evils.

I took the coffee back to the seat I had been occupying earlier, before giving up on the crossword which still sat neatly folded on the table. I sipped at the hot contents of my mug cautiously. It was far too strong and I knew it but I was desperate.

The fade had started. I was crashing. My eyes though open were no longer seeing things properly. It was at times as though I had my eyes closed even though I sat there with them wide and unblinking.

I drank deeply at the coffee and hoped that it would pull me out before it was too late. I couldn't fall asleep. I knew I would have to eventually but I wasn't ready for it yet. I knew I could hold on for a little longer, I had to.

I took a few more caffeine pills and washed them down with the last of the coffee in my mug. I immediately poured another one to replace it. That was the last of the pill form of wakefulness. I had been saving them for this moment and hoped they would work in time.

My heart had started palpitating in my chest, more from the fear that was possessing every part of me than the caffeine could ever hope to manage. I was afraid to sleep and with good reason. 

For months I had been aware of it. As it got more intense I started to sleep less. I simply couldn't face it any longer though and that was why I had moved on to such drastic measures. Now I slept when I absolutely could not stay awake any longer. I woke as quickly as I could once I was aware of having fallen asleep.

It was her. I was sure of it. I had caught glimpses of her from the corners of my eyes when I slept, just like the shadows I mistook for mice when I was awake. Her green eyes would flash in the light for just that one millisecond before her long black hair would block my view as she slipped out of my field of vision.

She was behind me, always. The most I ever got was a tiny glance, just enough to show me she was still there. To show me that she knew and that was how she had planned to extract her revenge. 

I was breathing heavily. Blinking my eyes hard many times in a row, I realised I was able to see a bit more again. Colour had returned to the room. I had beaten the fade for now. I had escaped, but it was inevitable that I would be pulled down by it's undertow eventually. I couldn't run from her forever.

I busied myself with thinking about her. Trying to use logic while I still possessed it. Trying to think clearly while I still could; before fear would again take over every part of me making me reactionary and vulnerable.

Her name was Melissa. We had met for the first time early in the summer through a seminar for work. She smiled at me from across the table and there was something about the look in her eyes when she did. 

It reassured me. It made me bold where I normally wouldn't have been able to be. It told me that it was okay, but at the same time it challenged me to do it. I asked her out for dinner before she could leave that afternoon.

She had accepted just as her emerald eyes had reassured me that she would. I didn't know anything about her, not even her name at the time, so conversation was easy. Everything with her was easy. Her eyes told me everything I needed to know. 

If she would only face me now. If I wasn't trying to avoid her at all cost when she would haunt me in my slumber, staying behind me at all times so that I couldn't get a single clue from their fascinating depths.

Melissa's soul communicated with me through those eyes. It told me what she wanted, and it told me she wanted it badly. 

She mocked me when I fell asleep. I could hear her calling to me. I could hear her whispers of how badly she wanted me. I had wanted her too. When her eyes told me to take her I did as they commanded.

It was the last time I had slept soundly that I woke up realising just what her eyes had commanded. It was that final night's sleep that she taunted me with when I slept now.

I had only intended to see her to her room and ensure that she got in safe. Her eyes invited me in though. That liquid hypnotic green surrounded by those full black lashes, they told me that she wanted me to come in and I obeyed them. I was helpless against them.

I threw her down on the bed and she stared back at me. He eyes were screaming with pleasure, telling me to continue my advance. I was under their spell.

When I woke up the next morning after I had my final night of proper sleep, before she began to prevent me from sleeping soundly ever again, I didn't realise at first what had happened.

There she lay with her back to me. Her long black hair was fanned out behind her. I rolled closer, cuddling up against her and putting my arms around her naked chest above where the sheet lay across her waist.

Her skin was cold to the touch and I held her closer, admiring how pale her perfect skin was in contrast to her hair.

She didn't respond though. 

I rubbed my hands on her hoping to create warmth through friction, and perhaps get some sort of a response from her.

Nothing.

Now I panicked and got out of bed, ignoring that I was naked. Something wasn't right. I needed to look into her eyes. I needed their amazing unreal green to tell me what to do.

I looked down at her face from the side of the bed where I stood and dropped to my knees at once.

There looking back at me was her milky white face, surrounded by her pitch black hair. Her perfect lips were shut in a line of discontent. Her small nose had a tiny trickle of dried blood that had flowed from it and onto the bed before drying.

Her eyes though, they were the thing that made me fall to my knees. I couldn't look away from them. The beautiful orbs that had commanded me completely the night before, that had told me what she wanted and how badly she wanted it... 

They weren't there.

Two empty sockets stared back from the gorgeous face of Melissa where she lay semi exposed on the bed. I kneeled in front of her staring at the place where her eyes should have been for a very long time. There was no blood, there was no sign that anything had been done to her, but her lifeless face was clearly without them and I could not figure out why.

I tried in vain to remember what had happened the night before. The last thing was pushing her into the bed after a coy smile played across her lips and those eyes of hers flashed with green fiery passion that had commanded me to do just as I had done.

Everything after that moment was a blank. 

I was scared. She was very obviously dead and I didn't know why. I looked over myself and couldn't see a single drop of blood or a mark of any sort. Why couldn't I remember what had happened then?

I was afraid and the fear pushed me to run. I got dressed in a hurry and took one last look at her where she lay still in the bed. One of her hands lay flat in front of her face. I hadn't remembered it being there before but it didn't matter. She was dead and I was going to be accused of killing her. I had to get home.

I drove like a maniac until I was outside of my own front door. All the way I went over the possibilities. Maybe someone broke in and killed her in the middle of the night. Maybe she had a partner and they were jealous when they found us in bed together. 

I ran inside and got into the shower. Why would they kill her and leave me alone only to wake up next to her corpse? It simply didn't make sense. Had I been drugged? Was it a set up?

I scrubbed every inch of my body several times until the water went cold. I was sure there hadn't been any signs that I'd been involved in her death in any way. I checked in the mirror, turning and searching for a clue, for anything.

I felt like I was seconds away from a nervous breakdown so I took myself to my bedroom. I pulled the curtains shut, locked the door, and lay down under the covers. I pulled them over my head.

The exhaustion of panic overtook me and I fell into a light sleep filled with vivid nightmares at once. 

I heard Melissa. I heard her screaming out. I heard her begging for someone to stop. 

Then I heard her giggle with that laugh that sounded like tinkling chimes. I heard snippets of our dinner conversation. I even heard her say my name.

Then she was screaming again. I knew she was behind me but every time I turned to see her she would stay there. She was behind me no matter how much I turned. I made myself dizzy in the dream just trying to see her.

I got my first peripheral glance at her in that dream. It's how I knew she was there behind me, screaming for help. Begging for someone to stop hurting her.

I yelled back and woke up completely soaked in my own sweat. Fifteen minutes had passed and I swore I felt like she was still there, still behind me. 

I made my way to the kitchen intent on a stiff drink and still I couldn't shake the feeling. She was back there, I knew it. I'd turn around and see nothing. I caught myself checking my reflection in surfaces, and I never saw anyone behind me. But I felt her presence very much.

Every time I fell asleep after that day the exact same dreams would haunt me. I tried to talk to her. I offered her help. I begged her to forgive me if I had anything to do with it.

None of my offers were ever answered. She never showed herself for more than a second. 

I slept less and less often. I was paranoid in my waking life that it was only a matter of time before I heard about her death on the news and police took me in for questioning. 

I didn't now what I'd tell them. The story was too crazy to be real. I didn't want to go to jail and I didn't want to be locked up in some sort of asylum, but how could I make them believe that I didn't do anything to the best of my knowledge? Would they believe me about her torturing me in my dreams and being able to feel her behind me even when I was awake.

The coffee pot was empty and I came to realise I had slumped forward. My face was balanced on top of my folded hands. My head leaned slightly so that one of my cheeks was mere centimeters from the cold surface of the table top.

I needed to get more coffee but I couldn't move. I saw movement from the corner of my eye and thought again of mice. The bright flash of green that I knew had been there for just a second stopped the thought dead in it's tracks.

I could see the red burns on the side of my hand below my face. I was awake.

She was behind me.