On The Run

Chapter Twenty - "Letting Go"

Chloe

I couldn’t sleep. I tossed, I turned, but it just wouldn’t come.

The bedside clock read five a.m., which made me even angrier. It wasn’t that I wasn’t tired, and it wasn’t that I was afraid of having nightmares. This time, it was just plain insomnia.

I rolled out of the bed and walked into the dark kitchen, where the first rays of the morning light were streaming through the slits in the curtains. Trey was asleep on the sofa, and I didn’t want to wake him up and lead to a string of questions, so I didn’t bother to turn on the light.

As a kid, whenever I had a bad dream or just couldn’t sleep, I’d crawl into Annie and Harold’s bed. And for a while, they’d let me lay there as they cuddled me, but as I grew older, Harold would say, “Chloe, what are you going to do when we’re not here? You have to learn, honey.”

And of course, at the time, I was only seven, so I couldn’t help but wonder why they wouldn’t be around. Anyway, Harold would take me to the kitchen and pour me warm glasses of milk until I felt drowsy. It worked like magic every time. Which was why, I decided to give it another shot right then. The pure nostalgia and sadness of the occasion made my heart clench and my eyes sting, but I sucked it up and began to drink.

I sat there gulping down glass after glass, to no avail. And then, the lights suddenly came on, and I jerked up.

Ricky was standing by the light and he said quietly, “Chloe? What are you doing in the dark?”

“Sorry. I couldn’t sleep,” I replied. I was beginning to see just how weird I must have looked. Honestly though, my weirdness was the least of my problems.

“That still doesn’t explain the darkness,” he said walking over.

I just shrugged; I didn’t have it in me to begin to explain.

“Are you okay?” he asked. 

“I’m tired, but I can’t sleep. Where’s the rationale in that?” I answered. It was one of the most frustrating things really. Sometimes, I just wished my mind would give in and my body would follow, and that would be it. But it was the reverse; my body had given in and my mind was still alert.

“What’s with the milk?” he asked.

I was certainly not going to tell him my sad sappy story, so I just answered plainly, “It seems to work in the movies.”

“You know, pills work too. Want me to give you something?” he asked. I knew he was just probably joking and being nice, but the thought was just so tempting and I knew what I’d do if I got a handful of pills, so I just shook my head slowly. Milk was just going to have to do. I gulped down what was left in the glass as quick as I could.

“If you’re not careful, that’ll go to your head,” he said as he sat next to me. I knew it was a gesture of comfort, but most of all, what I wanted was to be alone wallowing in my misery.

“That’s what I’m hoping for,” I replied under my breath.

His phone rang quietly, signaling a call or a message or something, and he grabbed it quickly, probably so I wouldn’t see who was calling. Not to sound rude or mean, but I really couldn’t have cared less.

I watched a small smile form on his face, as I began to put two and two together. It was one of the cons of studying psychology endlessly, and of being intelligent, supposedly.

“Um, are you okay on your own?” he asked. I had actually just started to enjoy the company. But that was a simple example of what my life was like; when I started to get satisfied or accustomed to something, it was ripped away. I was used to it, so there was really no point dwelling. I don’t mean to be morbid or anything, but seriously, just take a look at me. Everything about me screamed sadness.