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Three miles back on the still damp pavement lays a dirty toy horse. The left ear is barely hanging on, just a few tawny threads holding it to the bulky head of the animal. There’s a section of the mane, tangled and chewed from years of building anxiety. But the animal's hooves, soft and still filled with beans, are as clean as can be, having just been scrubbed down in a gas station bathroom a few miles back. Yet, here it lay, abandoned.
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Sitting up, Reggie sighed and rolled over to look at his bed companions. The queen bed in this hotel, a gifted upgrade from the venue, held three other bodies, all fast asleep. Bodies is a sort of relative term, though, as two of the three Reggie is looking at are actually dead. Still, if they can all touch now, they have to have some form, right?
Shaking the confusing maze of thoughts away, Reggie drags himself out from under the pillowy comforter and goes to sit on the windowsill on the far end of the room. When they’d become ghosts he hadn’t expected to ever feel so human again. He’d never expected to have the needs he had when he was alive—things like food and water and sleep… Sleep was the only one he actually detested needing again.
When he’d been alive, sleep had been an issue. It’d never made sense to him. If his parents were fighting, it made sense that he couldn’t catch any shut eye. On days where they were quiet, or had left him at home alone, it’d never made sense why slumber evaded him. Reggie had grown used to staying up, sometimes for days at a time, and only crashing when he was in the comfort of Bobby’s garage or Luke’s bed.
For a while, as a kid, he’d had a stuffed horse that had allowed him to sleep. It was a soft brown color, the eyes a honey gold, and he’d received it as a gift the day he’d turned one. It had been a constant companion, something he carried with him every day. The horse, affectionately named Mr. Horsington, had kept him safe and protected from the time he was gifted up until Reggie was eight.
Unfortunately, the bickering his parents had started began to become more tumultuous fighting as he aged. At eight years old the first punch had been thrown and Reggie had unknowingly glimpsed the future he was going to be stuck with.
On a car ride home from the grocery store, an affair that had gone as badly as possible since his father had spent the last of their food money on booze and cigarettes, Reggie had gripped Mr. Horsington tight to his chest, silently pleading for some protection. His ears hurt from the yelling and his small fingers were bone white against the fur of the stuffed animal. He’d all but lost himself to the mantra in his head—it’ll be over soon. You’re safe. It’ll be over soon—when a hand had reached back and snatched the item from his grasp.
Reggie listened to the tirade of “you’re too old” and “you need to learn to grow the hell up, Reginald” before the window had been rolled down. The bitter air blew around the car, whipping his mother’s hair about and turning Reggie’s nose a shade of red that could outshine Rudolph. He watched in horror as Mr. Horsington was tossed from the car and tumbled through the air to land with a wet smack on the still damp pavement. He’d cried so hard he’d fallen asleep before they’d even reached the house.
It was nights like these, where Reggie couldn’t sleep even though he was pressed up against his favorite people, that he wished for that damned horse back. As dumb as it was, it’d always made him feel safe and he’d connected it to the love his parents once had. The childish ache in his chest could only be soothed by that dumb horse and Reggie could never get it back.
A hand landed on his shoulder, gentle but firm. He turned his head back, eyes locking with warm brown in the darkness. Her voice was soft, a mere ruffling of wind through the curtains, “C’mon, Reg.”
Trusting, he followed her from the room. Julie’s monster slippers slapped the floor quietly as they entered the elevator down the hall. Keys jangled quietly in her palm and Reggie quietly wondered when she’d filched them from Ray, but it didn’t much matter.
Soon they were crossing the empty lobby and walking into the cooling summer night. Julie led them to the car and climbed behind the wheel, flashing her band mate a small smile.
Clambering into the passenger seat, Reggie buckled in and watched Julie turn the key in the ignition. A quiet rumble raced through his body as the engine started and Julie slowly backed out of their spot, eyes focused on the road.
The windows were rolled down, the warm, damp breeze blowing through the car like a lullaby. The radio stayed off and neither of them spoke as Julie pulled them out and onto the Highway. This routine was common on the nights where grief pulled Julie from sleep, or the nightmares ruined the peace, and Reggie’s insomnia kept him up.
The dark surrounded the pair, the wind rushing past the windows drowning out any thoughts. As Reggie leaned his head against the doorframe, eyes sliding shut, he felt the tension drain from his muscles like water through a colander. With a final huff, Reggie allowed the Highway to lull him to sleep, safe and protected, a kid in a car seat. Julie smiled as he drifted away, hand reaching out to squeeze his wrist before returning to the wheel. They’d be back by the time the others woke, the sun filtering through the curtains, and both Julie and Reggie would feel better when they returned to the hotel three miles back.