Child of Humanity: Chapter 1

Through squinted eyes, I stared at the red fluorescence given off by the alarm clock. The light hurt in the darkness, but I didn’t look away. As I lay there in the dark, numb and stiff from hours of sleeplessness, it seemed as if the red light seeping out of the electronic numbers, creeping across the face of the clock in a fuzzy red cloud, was almost unreal, like magic the way it transformed the dark. I stared at it until my eyes were dry and sore, and I was forced to blink. As the glow of the clock and the electronic numbers crept by, I felt small, insignificant, and empty.

It was 4:18 in the morning, and I hadn’t slept all night.

It felt strangely cold. I almost always left the window open when I slept, and lately, a warm, humid breeze had crept in at night to lull me to sleep. Not tonight, though. I could feel the cold rain in the air, though it hadn’t started yet. A chill crept up my spine, and I pulled the blankets closer. I heard the curtains whispering behind me. Most nights, the sound of the curtains rustling gently in the wind, the occasional voice echoing in the courtyard, the sound of crickets chirping and frogs singing in the bushes below the building, the rhythmic crash of waves from the ocean that lay not far from where I slept—all of those things usually helped ease me to sleep.

I didn’t like to be alone. The noise carrying through the window usually comforted me, but not tonight. Tonight, I felt isolated from the world, just the clock and me, staring at each other in the dark, cramped dorm room, waiting for the storm to begin.

I rolled over and stared at the ceiling—white, blank, and devoid of anything useful in my quest to quiet my mind and drift off to sleep. It wasn’t long before I rolled back over to watch the red cloud creep off the clock, clutching my blankets in the hope that the softness and warmth would soothe my restlessness. The minutes dragged on, until finally I tossed the covers back with a defeated sigh and forced myself upright. The clock was still looking at me, so I shuffled my way into the hall and toward the bathroom, trying not to wake anyone.

I flipped the switch and the light blinded me as it reflected off the stark white bathroom tiles. I threw my hand up in a futile attempt to shield my eyes and wearily shuffled my way to the sink. Sighing, I looked in the mirror.

“Good morning, sunshine,” I mumbled. The girl in the mirror simply stared back, her bright blue eyes bloodshot. The skin below her eyes was sagging, dragged down by the weight of the dark circles. Her red hair was sticking out at odd angles, and her freckles looked ghastly in the bathroom light, dark pinpoints on a sea of pale skin. 

“You have no one to blame but yourself,” I told her, before shoving a toothbrush in my mouth and groggily scrubbing. The pungent taste of cinnamon helped drive the fog from my head.

I threw my hair into a sloppy ponytail, pulled on my sneakers at the edge of the bathroom door where I had dumped them unceremoniously that evening, and quietly crept my way toward the front door, careful not to make any noise as I tiptoed past the two closed bedroom doors, the girls inside both sound asleep.

I heard, rather than saw, the third girl in the living room as I quietly crept around the corner. She was sitting on the floor, her back to me. I heard booming noises and other sound effects from the video game on the television. They masked the sound of me slipping out the door.

Two flights of stairs and a brisk walk across campus later, I had worn pavement under my feet and sea-grape trees lining either side of me, as my feet rhythmically carried me down the familiar jogging trail that connected Florida Eastern University to the coast. The cool morning air, heavy with moisture from the impending storm, filled my lungs. The crisp, clean smells of earth intermixed with salt had always been calming to me, as I hoped they would be now.

I always ran when I couldn’t sleep. I liked to imagine that I was running away from all of my troubles, leaving them behind me for a place I knew they couldn’t follow. I was running away to a place of peace and clarity, a place that I remembered from my childhood, when life was so very different.

My childhood felt like so long ago.

The pavement vanished beneath my feet as the jogging trail gave way to a beach of white sand, glowing softly in the moonlight. The crescent moon had fought its way out from behind the clouds and reflected off the waves in the dark water that lapped at the shore, leaving behind a hissing foam in their wake. The surface of the water was calm, and the waves that crashed to the shore were small, though I knew they wouldn’t stay that way much longer with the storm approaching. I sat down in the sand and tucked my knees against my chest, thinking of home.

But today, the rhythmic roar of the waves, the salt in the air, and the nighttime wind teasing escaped strands of red hair didn’t fill me with peace. The roar, though the waves that crashed weren’t powerful at all, was deafening as I sat alone on the white beach with only the distant moon to keep me company, and the wind was becoming angry and violent, tossing hair, sand, and salty spray into my eyes.

When the moon surrendered to the clouds and the first few drops of rain kissed my face, I brushed the sand from my legs and surrendered as well.

I slipped back into the apartment in what felt like an eternity later, and was just as empty and numb as I had been staring at those glowing red numbers.

“You’re soaking wet,” Tori remarked, leaning against the kitchen counter with a cup of coffee in her hands. Because of the way the apartment-style dorm was laid out, she saw me before I saw her, making it too late for me to slip away to my room unnoticed before I even realized I was caught. I had no choice but to face her.

 She was in her pajamas, her medium-length, black-dyed hair a mess. It was put up in a chaotic knot, in typical Tori fashion, adding to the aura of defiance that always seemed to radiate from the slender girl. Her eyes looked slightly bloodshot and glossy, and I knew she had been awake all night. It wasn’t unusual for Tori, our resident night owl, to stay up into the wee hours of the morning playing video games. We had grown used to it, for the most part. I was guilty of the occasional attempt to coerce her into an early bedtime, though she hardly heard me when I did.

I managed to give her a weary nod. I made my way to the fridge, almost in a daze, but when I opened it, I found myself just staring at the contents, not really looking. The blast of cold hit my wet skin, and I felt the threat of uncontrollable shivering as a chill crept through my body and the hair on my arms stood on end.

“You’re going to be sick,” she said, giving me a disapproving look.

I just nodded again, the words not really registering.  

“I made coffee,” Tori said. She eyed me, sipping her beverage slowly.

“Thanks,” I said weakly, though I knew I didn’t want any. I shrugged off the cold as best I could.

“What’s up? This is the third night in a row,” Tori said, her voice equal parts demanding and concerned, maybe even a little on the irritated side. Tori was rough around the edges, but she meant well. Her concern was genuine, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t try to forcibly extract an answer from me. As alone as I felt, Tori was not the person I needed to run into this morning. Warm and fuzzy was not her style, and I just wanted some peace, not an interrogation.

“Just can’t sleep,” I mumbled, trying to sound sincere. “I thought a run might make me tired.”

“Bull,” Tori mumbled into her coffee cup.  

I sighed and grabbed a yogurt out of the fridge. I didn’t want it, but “just tired” people still had an appetite. I dug around in the kitchen drawers for a spoon, only to find that there were none.

“It was your turn to do the dishes,” Tori said, still watching me from behind her cup.

“Sorry,” I sighed, as I went to dig one out of the dishwasher. I wiped it on a dishtowel before shoving a spoonful of strawberry yogurt in my mouth, and waited while Tori stared at me with her intense dark brown eyes. I felt the shivering start, but again I chose to ignore it.

She rolled her eyes and set down the cup of coffee, crossing her arms against her chest. “Look,” she said. “Jillian and Marie may be willing to ignore your little mood and give you your space, but I’m not.”

“I’m fine,” I said, sighing. “It’s the beginning of the semester. I’m just having a hard time adjusting to the new schedule. My classes are really hard.”

She started to argue.

“I swear,” I said.

I tried not to look guilty, but I couldn’t help it, as my stomach clenched and my gaze dropped to the floor. I was anything but okay. I set the yogurt down and crossed my arms. Tori eyed me. I was a terrible liar, and if it weren’t for the shivering that could no longer be contained, she may have taken my closed-off stance as a sure sign that I was not telling the truth. Thankfully, the fact that I was freezing spared me any more grilling from her.

She sighed. “Fine,” she said, tossing up her hands and rolling her eyes. “All this mothering and worrying about you has worn me out. It’s out of my hands.”

She gave me a grin. “I really don’t know how you do it.”

I couldn’t help but smile. Tori was always getting on me about the way I “mothered” my roommates, as she put it. She was always complaining that I was too mature and never had any fun. When we first met, I irritated her, and it was her way of lashing out, but over time, it had become our little joke.

I felt as cold on the outside as I did on the inside, but I didn’t move to do anything about it. The shock of it was oddly … poetic. It seemed unnatural to me that I might feel any other way considering the circumstances, so I just stood there and took it. Tori went back to sipping her coffee.

The silence was awkward. I stood there, trying to act normal, my eyes wandering around the kitchen in an attempt to avoid meeting Tori’s gaze. I had never noticed how small our humble kitchen really was. Standing next to the refrigerator, with its low, consistent hum, the fluorescent kitchen lights purring their own low song in return, I felt claustrophobic. Whereas before I had felt alone, now everything was pressing in on me, staring at me with accusing eyes. I was dazed and far, far away from it all, and yet, at the same time, this feeling made my skin crawl in the most invasive way.

 “All right, I can’t fake it anymore. The coffee is terrible,” Tori finally said, breaking the silence. At the sound of her voice, I snapped back to my senses. She dumped her cup down the drain. “You know, it took me a good five minutes to figure out which button made the stupid coffeemaker work. It took ten minutes before that to find the coffee in the cupboards. Don’t even get me started on where the water goes. I can’t handle this level of responsibility.”

She threw her hands up in mock defeat.

I couldn’t help it; I giggled, and for a split second I felt a gentle warmth in my chest.

“This place would fall apart without you, you know,” Tori said, grinning. I knew she had said it to make me feel better, but her words had the opposite effect on me. Emotions hit me with full force, clawing at me from the inside and threatening to rip me apart. I couldn’t breathe. I felt them wrapping around my throat and squeezing. I felt tears forming behind my eyes.

Marie’s alarm went off and I knew everyone would be awake soon. I couldn’t deal with them right now. I just wanted to curl up under the covers of my own bed and stay there, alone, and try to will some warmth back into myself.

I slowly put the spoon back in the dishwasher and tossed out the half-eaten yogurt, trying hard to make it look as if I weren’t coming unglued.

 “I need to get out of these clothes,” I mumbled, and that’s about as far as my resolve went. I tried to walk to my room calmly, but I was rushing for the comfort I hoped my blankets would provide.

 “Hey, you!” Tori called behind me. I turned, trying not to look too desperate to get away. “You thought I forgot, didn’t you?”

I smiled, but I felt my throat clench. I gritted my teeth. I decided I would go back to bed and stay there forever if I could. Forget the warmth; I just wanted to hide.

“Happy birthday!” Tori said, positively beaming—at least, it was beaming for Tori. Tori would always have that aura of cold reserve and strength—and perhaps bullheadedness—around her. I tried to give her a genuine smile through the clenched teeth, and mustered up enough strength to hug her. She didn’t even complain about my wet clothes as she wrapped her arms around me in a genuine embrace.

With that little act I felt a pang go through my chest, as I realized how much she cared about me. I clenched my eyes shut and just prayed that I could get through it.

 Once back in the confines of my room, I slammed both the door and the window shut, disregarding the wet carpet beneath the window; crawled in bed with my wet clothes still on; and stared at the red glow of the clock. I pulled the covers tightly around myself and listened to the rain beat against my window. 

Neither peace nor sleep ever came, and an agonizing eternity later, I heard the door creak open. The bed sheets rustled as someone crawled beneath and found me wrapped up in my blanket cocoon. They were warm, and normally that warmth would be inviting, but I didn’t move. I just clung to my blankets in the dark.

“Hey, Ally Cat,” a voice whispered.

“Hey, Jilly Bean,” I whispered back, trying not to sound as dreadful as I felt. There was a pause, punctuated by the distinct sound of the rain, which showed no sign of ending anytime soon. Beneath the sound of the rain hitting the window, I could hear both of us breathing. The warmth of her breath hit my face, and for the first time, I felt a little less numb.

“I heard this rumor,” Jillian said, her voice trailing off.

“Yeah?”

“I heard that Tori made the coffee this morning.”

“That’s a pretty ugly one, isn’t it?”

I heard, rather than saw, Jillian nodding.

 “Marie was kind enough to drink it. You should have seen her face,” Jillian said. There was a tone of genuine amusement in her voice.

I felt a grin tugging at the corner of my mouth. That was just like Marie.

“I didn’t really feel like coffee this morning,” I said.

“Hmm,” Jillian said. “And then you missed all of your classes.”

“I didn’t really feel like classes,” I whispered. I didn’t feel like anything but lying in bed and waiting.

There was a long pause, both of us just lying there, breathing rhythmically in the dark. I closed my eyes, and I could remember the days long, long ago when I always fell asleep with someone by my side. I was never alone, but now, falling asleep each night isolated in a room with four walls and a door that locked …

Life was so different, so innocent, back then.

“What’s going on, Ally?” Jillian said, snapping me back to reality. At the same time, I didn’t want to lose this life, but I couldn’t stop it. It was best in the long run.

“Just been tired. Really, really tired,” I mumbled, feeling lost and detached. I was so tired of the waiting.

Jillian pulled the blankets down, exposing my head. The room was dark. No light came through the window, save for the lone floodlight outside. The streaks of water running down the windowpane glowed brightly as they reflected the stark light. The absence of sunlight was depressing, as if the day had died while I had hidden from it, but the fresh air filling my lungs after so long under the stuffy blankets made me feel more alert and alive than I had all day. It was an odd feeling.

Jillian was across from me, her gray eyes looking at me with confusion and concern, oblivious to the cause of my private torment. I didn’t want to meet her gaze, so I focused on the glow of the clock behind her head.

After a few minutes, she spoke. “Did Eddie Johnson dip one of your pigtails in glue again?”

I couldn’t help it; I laughed, and felt strangely better—maybe even a little happy. But, then, that was Jillian. Jillian could always make me feel better.

“What?”

“If he did, I’ll go find another jungle gym to push him off of.”

“Jillian, we were six—and you broke his wrist!” I said, and I was desperately trying not to smile.  

“Little chump deserved it,” Jillian muttered. “Mrs. Carmichael had to cut it out of your hair. You bawled.”

“Because I was six!” I said. I threw my hands over my mouth in an attempt to quiet the giggles, but to no avail.

“Yeah, there you go, trying to be all polite. We both know it was funny.”

I gasped and tossed a pillow at her head. “He was a six-year-old boy, and you broke his wrist!”

She tossed the pillow back at me. “He was seven, because he was held back! What are you going to do about it?”

Suddenly my miseries were forgotten, or at least temporarily set aside, while I pounced on her, fingers aiming for her ribs, which I happened to know were extremely ticklish.  

“You want to start this, do you?” Jillian gasped, as she reached down for my equally ticklish feet. I squealed and kicked, but she was faster. “When you’ve lost, just remember that you started this!” she shouted between breaths, as she struggled to evade my flailing arms.

It didn’t take me long to lose, two minutes, maybe, and only because she let it drag on that long.

“I’m stronger,” Jillian said, grinning, as she pinned both of my arms above my head with one hand. I wiggled in a half-hearted attempt to escape, but not enough to encourage her to sit on me, which I knew she would not hesitate to do if it meant victory.

“Now tell me what’s going on,” she said, gently but firmly enough for me to know that she was done playing games.

“Nothing is going on,” I said, trying to sound exasperated, as if the question were completely unfounded. “I’ve just been tired.”

“Ally Cat, it’s your birthday, and you’ve spent all day in your room,” Jillian said, clearly not buying it.

“I know. It’s just—I think I must be coming down with something.”

It was a weak excuse, and we both knew it. I sighed. It was impossible to lie to her. It always had been.

Jillian sighed and settled down beside me. “You don’t want to talk about it?”

“There’s really nothing to talk about,” I insisted.

She was quiet for a while, studying me with her gray eyes, but she finally propped herself up on her elbows, looking thoughtful.

“I think I know something that will make you feel better,” she said. I raised an eyebrow at her.  

“Stay right here,” she said. She leapt from the bed, tossing yellow blankets in my face, and was out the door in a flash. She was back by the time I had managed to toss the blankets to the ground, entirely giving up on them and the shelter I was hoping they would provide.

She held a hand out toward me, looking meek. “I didn’t wrap it,” she said. “Sorry.”

I propped myself up and opened my hand, curious. She dropped something in it; a piece of metal jewelry, from the feel of it.

I switched on the lamp on the nightstand to better examine my gift in the dim light. It was a necklace: a cute little pink half-heart with a tiny silver heart on one side, fake diamonds around the edge, and the letters “BE FRIE” in silver in the middle. A few of the fake gems were missing, but the chain was new.

“Is this—” I began, but she cut me off.

“The necklace I gave you when we were eight?” she finished. She sat down beside me, and I saw her pull out a necklace from beneath her shirt. It was the other half.

“I know it’s a little childish, but … I found it when I was home over the summer. You know how my mom is always on my case about cleaning the junk in my closet. You wouldn’t believe the crap I found in there.”

“I’ve been holding on to it,” she said quietly, taking in the expression on my face. “I thought you might want it back.”

I just stared at it, speechless. There was a time when the necklaces had never come off either of us, but eventually they were outgrown and set aside. I thought they had been lost in time. A mixture of emotions churned in my chest, ranging from grief to nostalgia to insurmountable happiness. The gift was priceless.

“Thank you,” I said, though the words alone couldn’t convey how much the cheap, old necklace meant to me—nothing could.

“Now get up. We’re going out,” Jillian said firmly.

I started to say something, but she cut me off.

“You should know that Tori was hell-bent on dragging you out drinking, but I think Marie and I have convinced her to give up trying to corrupt you into a respectable member of society,” she said, smirking. “We’re going bowling. I know you’d rather be outside, but the weather says no, so suck it up. And try to keep the ball out of the gutter, okay?”

Again, I tried to say something, but she stopped me.

“No is not an appropriate answer,” she said.

“Marie made a cake,” she added, giving me a stern look.

I sighed, staring at the half-heart necklace in my hand. I felt the inner war raging in my chest: part of me was in torment and just wanted to hide in the bed, but the other half was yearning for people, especially Jillian. At this point, I didn’t know which would be easier for me to deal with, but I did know which one had the power to make me feel happy—for a little while, at least.

“Up,” Jillian said, tossing a pillow at me.

“I’ll be ready in a few minutes,” I responded with a weak smile, though my heart wasn’t entirely in it.

“I knew you’d see it my way,” she said, smiling broadly.

“She’s up!” Jillian shouted. I heard a “Hell yeah!” come from Tori in the living room.

Jillian made her way to the door, but she paused before she walked out. “Ally?”

“Yeah?” I said, still sitting on the bed, knees tucked against my chest.

“If there’s something wrong, promise that you’ll tell me? Don’t shut me out.”

The words cut like a knife.

“I promise,” I said, but the truth was, she would never know. She nodded, smiling and trusting, and walked out the door.

I stood up but felt dizzy. I sat down and clutched at my head, feeling nauseated. 

The familiar flash of light danced across my vision, the stars swirling in my field of view as I struggled to focus my eyes again. My ears popped, and I had to yawn to get the equilibrium back. The ringing, however, would only go away on its own. It was there and gone in a flash, but it was unmistakable.

I had forty-eight hours.

The necklace hadn’t left my hand. I realized then that I had been clutching it since the moment Jillian had given it to me, so tightly that my knuckles were white. Hands trembling, I put it on. The warm metal pressed against my skin, and the effect was instantaneous. I felt tears behind my eyes as the rush of memories of a lifetime that was over engulfed me, but they didn’t fall.

They never fell.

“Happy last birthday,” I whispered to no one.

Want to read more? You can purchase Child of Humanity in eBook, paperback, or audiobook formats at Amazon.com.