Sleepless REVISED: Chapter Twenty-One

Up is Relative [And Down Doesn't Exist]

Margo hadn’t expected much to come of the day.

More than anything, she’d been content to coast through the waking hours and head right back to sleep when they got home.

What she’d expected to be an uneventful day had instead thrown a curveball or two her way. Or… were they still curveballs if they weren’t necessarily bad?

Jaime knew about her and the mask. That was definitely a curveball, and she wasn’t sure how she would’ve figured it out. She’d eventually come to the conclusion that it must be some kind of witch magic. Even if Felix insisted that she wasn’t one, Margo was pretty sure she was the expert on Weird and witches fell quite handily into that category.

All the same, Jaime didn’t seem super upset or interested in everything going on with the Dream. She hadn’t asked a single question about it, just left Margo alone to doodle beneath the counter while she worked. It was rough going, doodling with her non-dominant arm while the other sat in its sling, but she was starting to get the hang of it.

The hardware store wasn’t as busy as the radio room. A lot of people came in to buy various tools and screws and use the 3D printer in the back, but there wasn’t constant noise the way there was when everyone’s literal job was communicating over a radio.

A few times, other teenagers came in and checked on Jaime. Sometimes they asked where Margo was, and Jaime told them she’d stayed home. What possessed her to lie for Margo was anyone’s guess, though she did appreciate it.

When Jaime’s shift was over, they packed up all their things and handed the responsibility for the shop over to the next person, who didn’t look at Margo even once.

Standing outside the hardware store, Jaime delivered the second curveball. She held up a hand for Margo to wait a moment, typing out the words, “Is there anything you want to do today? We could go visit Carina?”

It figured that Jaime’s witchmagic would have filled her in on the situation from last night. Admittedly, Margo wouldn’t mind going to see her — she might still be wondering where Margo was, assuming the news hadn’t gotten to her yet about the ball.

The main problem with that being… well… Margo didn’t know where to find her. However, she had a solid guess.

But that guess would take her right back into the eerie white jaws of the one place in the world she’d do anything to leave behind. Margo couldn’t go back. She wouldn’t.

In response to Jaime’s question, Margo had simply turned on a heel and started for Felix’s apartment.

The three of them made it back in good time through the ever-dreary conditions outside, shoes slapping on wet ground and disturbing puddles.

By the time Margo’s head hit the pillow, she was still wide awake. She skipped dinner and Jaime stayed out in the living room watching some show while Margo retreated into her room and tried her hardest to fall asleep quickly.

It was no easy task.

At first, she was just too excited for anything to happen. Her mind ran wild with thoughts of the ball, of being a Parhelion, of getting her wings, and heroically fighting the nightmares with the others by her side.

The longer she lay there, the more the direction of her thoughts warped, wondering about everything that had happened the night before.

A thought crossed her mind that she might fall asleep and wake up tomorrow having just… had a normal night. No secret kingdom, no wings, no ballroom dancing. That she might go to bed every night after this one hoping against all hope that the Dream would be there, and there was every chance that it just wouldn’t be.

There’s a special kind of dread that sometimes comes with finding things you love. It’s the kind of dread that watches you from empty chairs and lingers in doorways after you leave the room, the kind that puts a hand on your shoulder when you least want or expect it to. It can be quiet. Or loud. Or both. Sometimes it’ll be content with turning your insides out. Most just let you do that for them.

Such was the dread lingering in Margo’s mirror that night, watching her from across the room as she lay waiting for sleep. Its eyes glinted in the darkness like a cat’s, but it said nothing; it didn’t have to. It knew her thoughts. It had her face.

It knew she was waiting. That she’d been lying there for a long time. Waiting. Hoping. Dreading.

Listening.

It was a little game between her and those eyes, really. The trouble was, the only way to win was not to play. They thrived off her attention no matter what the outcome. Whether she ended up back there again tonight was inconsequential. They would be waiting for her regardless.