I wanted to title this one 'Awake or Asleep, Reality or Nightmare? It's All The Same Shit When It's 2AM' but that was too long...

I'm too worried about Evelyn to sleep. She's completely refusing to come out of her room, and ignoring my attempts at communicating with her.

She wouldn't even pick up her phone.

Obviously, I've never been in her shoes. I've lost someone before, so I understand that pain. What I mean is, she spent two years with those people. They weren't really her family, but they were the closest thing to a family she'd ever had at that point. And now they're gone. All of them.

I still can't shake off the feeling that there's something else going on, though. Something that she's not telling me and this hell of a situation is only making it worse.

The thought of her ever feeling afraid or incapable of confiding in me for any reason kills me, but I can't say I don't understand. What teenager wants to tell their parents every little thing? I didn't.

It must be two in the morning, early on Monday, when I hear her scream. I don't realize what it is at first, but at the second scream I'm up and rushing to her room, not even thinking to knock.

In the faint moonlight, I can see tears are streaming down her face, but she's asleep. She has her blanket in a death grip at her sides and she's shaking her head wildly. "NO!" She shrieks.

I run over to her and shake her shoulder to try and get her to wake up. "Evelyn? Wake up."

She lets out another ear piercing scream, crying harder now, "Gerard?!"

"I'm here, Darling. Come on, wake up."

"D-DAD?! N-NO!" The pain in her voice doubled at that last word, which is the exact moment she bolts upright, finally awake. She looks around frantically for a second, even staring at her hands as though to make sure she's real, before her bloodshot eyes finally land on me. I watch as she breaks down into a fit of heart wrenching sobs, worse than when she was still asleep.

"It was just a dream, Eve. You're okay," I say while pulling her into my arms.

"I- I thought... I thought you were—" She can't finish her sentence.

"It was just a dream," I repeat myself, wrapping my arms around her small body even more tightly.

"But- but it was so... it was so real."

"Shhh, Evie. It wasn't real, you were asleep. I'm here, you're okay now."

She stops trying to talk, but still cries into my chest. The sobs die down eventually. She must be exhausted by the time she takes a deep breath and speaks again, her voice small and hoarse. "You were dead."

I suck in a breath. "I'm okay, Eve. It wasn't real."

"But it felt so real," she says shakily. "We were in a car and then... and then... I don't know, everything went black. I just heard glass breaking and then my ears were ringing. W-when I could see again you- you were..." She trails off then, but I can guess what she was going to say.

"I'm here now, I'm okay. We're both okay. It was just a dream, remember?"

"A nightmare," she mumbles.

"Yeah," I say under my breath, "A nightmare."

Everything, every part of that nightmare, was so vivid I could've sworn it was really happening. The dashboard felt solid beneath my feet where they were propped up, the music blasting from the car speakers was clear (the song that was playing was Sugar, We're Goin Down by Fall Out Boy), even the sun shining in my eyes was blinding until my dream-self put the visor down.

I don't understand, it was all so perfect. And then it wasn't.

"...WE'RE GOIN' DOWN—" We were on a long, empty stretch of a highway and I was singing along to the music, but stopped abruptly when I saw the car in the distance in the left lane. It was going fast. Much too fast. "Hey, Dad..."

He turned the music down, "Yeah, Eve?"

The car in the left lane— I don't know what kind of car, but it was red— was quickly approaching and I thought whoever was driving it must be drunk.

"Look out for that—" But it was too late. The shiny red car swerved into our lane. I didn't have time to react before it narrowly missed hitting us dead on and collided into the driver's side door.

I screamed as we spun a few times, tires screeching on the asphalt, then flipped into the ditch. Or, at least I think we flipped. I blacked out.

When I came to, I felt dizzy. I felt confused, disoriented, and somehow I felt numb. Shock. What happened? Everything was going in slow motion as I put my hand up to my head, my eyes still not adjusted, and felt hot, sticky blood on my fingertips. There was also a deep cut in the palm of my hand that stung like hell.

That's when I realized what had happened. "NO!" I screamed, because this was ridiculous. First the Millers and now...

I turn my head to the left. My dad is still in the driver's seat. He's not moving.

"Dad?" I ask. My ears are still ringing and my own voice sounds far off. I reach out and shake him a bit by the shoulder, the blood from my hand stains his shirt. That's when his head lolls to the side, facing me. There's a deep gash in his head and so. Much. Blood. It's a deep, deep red against his now ghostly pale skin.

"GERARD?" I shake him again, deep down knowing it's useless, but still I speak. "Come on, Dad... wake up. Please."

He's dead. I know it.

"No. No, no, no, no Dad... NO!"

But it wasn't real. I'm here in my room in Gerard's arms. And he's very much alive. The slice in my hand and the pain that came with it in my dream was really nothing but my own fingernails digging into my palms, which left little crescent moon shaped dents in my skin.

Twenty minutes later (it could've easily been two hours, though), he finally says quietly, "How about you try and get some sleep?"

But I don't want to. I've been spending this time trying not to shut my eyes. I saw it again if I did: His lifeless face with the blood still trickling down from his head, into his eyes.

Still, the whispered word that leaves my mouth hesitantly— but not hesitant enough that he'd notice— is, "Okay." So, he tucks me in, kisses my forehead, and when he leaves my room I don't reach out and tell him to stay. Don't get me wrong, I desperately wanted to. The last thing I want is to be alone in my big, empty bed with gruesome images swimming around in my mind. But my craving for comfort isn't as strong as my fear of being a burden.

My underlying feeling of numbness is overpowered by a sudden loneliness. The realization of how alone I really am. I have no friends, Gerard doesn't really understand what I'm going through— no one does, no matter how understanding they can act, they don't really know. They never will, and there's nothing I can do about it.

Then again, if the only way to truly understand my pain is for them to feel it themselves, then I don't want them to.

I pull my blanket up closer to my chin, trying to hold in some warmth. I'm so cold. Always so, so cold.

I'm weak.

I'm aching.

I'm hungry.

I'm shivering.

And I'm incredibly tired.

"Sing me to sleep," I whisper to myself in the dark. "And then leave me alone. Don't try to wake me in the morning, 'cause I will be gone."

Even as I cover my mouth to muffle my sobs I'm aware that fighting sleep isn't going to keep the nightmares at bay. I eventually fall into a restless sleep, tears still fresh on my face.

• • •

if you don't know, she was whispering a lil song called Asleep by The Smiths