Night Lights and Dark Places

Chapter Twelve - Sunrise

Tolly had many horrible qualities, but what made her truly insufferable was the fact that she was a morning person. Most mornings, she woke relatively rested despite how few hours a night she slept. If she didn't, well, a freezing shower and a half-gallon of iced coffee would fix her up nicely. For the most part, anyway.

But God, she desperately needed to start going to bed earlier. She also desperately needed to change her alarm tone; it was way too chipper for six in the morning. A tiny hand snaked out from under the duvet and blindly slapped at her phone until it went quiet. She rolled over and pulled the comforter tightly around her bony shoulders, shuddering. Couldn't she sleep in, just this once? It was her day off, exams were over, and she had a four day weekend ahead of her. She had earned an extra thirty minutes. Hadn't she?

Tolly sighed in resignation. No, if she slept in today, she'd want to sleep in every day.

Lazy Mary, you gotta get up, she chided herself, rolled onto her back and forced her eyes open. Ugh, her head felt like it was full of mud, the gears in her brain jammed up by the thick gunk of a restless sleep. We need the sheets for the table.

She hated that song, but it worked. After innumerable summer mornings beginning with her mother's heavily-accented rendition, it was embossed in her fucking brain. Her little sister especially hated it, disgusted by the idea of her breakfast being tainted by dead skin, sebum, and dust mites.

Tolly yawned, stretched, and stumbled bleary-eyed from her too-tall bed. The mid-autumn chill had officially seeped through the brick and plaster, rendering her usual choice of sleeping attire completely impractical. Maybe if she made enough money to have the heater on, she could comfortably spend her days off in a sports bra and pair of boxers, but crushing her student loans before her 25th birthday demanded sacrifice. She grabbed an abandoned hoodie from the floor and a mismatched pair of socks and slipped quickly from her bedroom into the bathroom. The tile felt like ice under her feet, goosebumps erupting over her skin as she caught her disheveled reflection in the medicine cabinet.

Shaking little hands grabbed blindly for her contact lense case and she studied her appearance with nearsighted passivity. Perpetual eye bags aside, she looked especially awful; dry skin, chapped lips, tangled hair in need of a wash, and a nice little constellation of premenstrual zits scattered over her chin. What a mess. It was a good thing she didn't have anywhere to be, because she absolutely did not have the patience for her usual makeup routine, much less the added effort of covering up those blemishes. Granted, however, with her arsenal of expensive cosmetics, the effort would have been minimal. While heat was optional, high-end concealer and powder were a necessity. Why would anyone trust the skill of an embalmer who couldn't even make themself look alive?

Trembling slightly, she guided her contacts into place, sending streams of cleanser and tears running down her cheeks. She blinked, eyelashes matted, and reevaluated herself with newfound clarity. Nothing like bloodshot sclera to complement the stomach-virus green of her irises. Tying her hair into a tight ponytail, she set to work on fixing her face. Exfoliating scrub, toner, moisturizer, and a few swipes of witch hazel would suffice, probably.

Satisfied and slightly more lucid, she exited the bathroom and trotted towards the kitchen. She didn't make it further than five feet before she noticed the figure curled up on her couch. An uncharacteristically girlish shriek forced itself up her throat. With a similarly shocked yelp, the figure shot upright and tumbled gracelessly off the couch, banging its skull on the coffee table. Tolly collapsed against the bookcase, exhaling, relieved.

"I forgot you was here," She breathed. James looked at her over his shoulder, his upper half on the floor and his legs still spawled out over the couch. The jacket he usually wore was balled up in his lap; had he been holding it like a stuffed animal as he slept? He opened and closed his mouth like a fish suffocating.