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The soft blue sky shimmers with rippling golden waves. Glitter freckling every inch of the great expanse. Abby can almost touch it—she’s floating, high, giggly. There’s nothing beneath her feet except miles and miles of air.
She blinks up at the sky, lying on her back in a wide, grassy plateau. Clouds turning a stormy grey, this is going to be the worst storm in the history of storms. Oh no. Abby heaves herself up with weakened arms, tripping in the process, and runs. Thunder shakes the world around her, the ground rumbling and growling. Followed by this electronic humming in the air.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
Lightning strikes behind her, run faster. She tells herself. Run, run, run. A clap of thunder, buzz, a lightning strike.
Abby screams, a buzz again. And then she immediately shoots awake, eyes weighed shut and bones turned to bricks.
“Shit.” She mutters, opening her eyes.
Her phone buzzes angrily next to her head on her pillow. Fumbling around, she clasps it loosely in her hand while it continues buzzing. Oh great, Max is calling at 1:57 in the fucking morning.
Abby picks up.
“Dude I was sleeping.” Abby grunts, voice raspy from the lingering sensation of deep sleep.
Quiet breathing hums from the speaker, “I can’t sleep.”
Rolling her eyes, she puts her the audio on speakerphone. “You always can’t sleep.” Abby tucks the blanket back under her chin.
“I know. It’s just,” Max sighs and Abby hears a faint knocking from the other end of the line. “I can’t sleep.”
“Are you like, having nightmares again?” Abby mumbles, eyes drifting shut. Silence grips the call, Max silent and realisation washes over Abby like a cold bucket of water. “Oh shit. Are they, are they bad? Again?”
“No, no.” Max rushes. “Upsetting, but not bad.”
She twists the duvet in her hands. “Do you want…if you want you can talk about them.” Abby murmurs with a hint of uncertainty.
“Not really.” Rejection pricks dull thorns into Abby’s chest. “I don’t want to think about them.”
She runs a flat palm over her ribs and inhales until the slight poking subsides. “That’s okay, yeah. That’s okay.” Abby squeezes her eyes, yanks at memories of being six and at sleepovers and listening to the girl next to her shaking, sobbing in her sleep. She follows a thread to a memory of an angsty, older age. “Do you remember…do you remember when we were like twelve and Marcus was pissing us off so we blasted Jagged Little Pill on Norah’s speaker, and he came into the room with Bridge and—“
“We started throwing stuffed animals at them?”
Abby laughs, bites her lip and nods. “Yeah.” She whispers, ruminating carefully in the box she’s begun to build for Max. “And—and, that time we all went to the beach and did chicken fights and Norah and I tried to both get on Bridge’s shoulders?”
Turning her head to the side, she opens her eyes and throws an arm above her head. Max has gone stiff and silent, nothing but heavy and quiet breathing and the occasional sniffle. Abby blinks up at the dark ceiling, illuminated faintly by the glow of her phone screen.
Inhaling, Abby clears her throat. “Max?”
“Yeah?”
Abby exhales in relief. “You were being quiet.” She admits, voice dipped in cautious concern. “I wasn’t sure…if, if maybe—“
“No, I’m still awake.” Max yawns and Abby finds herself yawning in response. The silence that follows is comfortable. Abby’s breathing slowing while Max hums delicately, something Abby knows Max does to not fall asleep. The humming pauses and Max whispers, “I don’t want to go back to sleep, but I’m really really tired.”
“I know, I know.” Abby acknowledges, stumbling over her own words in a hurry, too fast. Thumbing her shirt, she breathes steadily and slows. “If you do, I’m here. I’ll be awake, I promise.”
“Okay.” Max murmurs. “Thank you.”
Abby swallows. “Of course. Goodnight, Max.”
“Night, Abs. Love you.” Max’s voice is rough and tired over the phone.
“I love you too.” Abby whispers up into her dark room.