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She didn’t know if she could explain why she chose to sleep. Call it self-loathing. Call it a misguided attempt at recovery. Call it sickness, fantasy—anything but dreaming, that sickly sweet word. She didn’t have a smile on her face when she landed in whatever torture chamber her trauma had built that night.
It was a ritual to her. She would curl up in an empty field, the grasses pricking her body. Dirt wasn’t comforting to her, exactly, but it was solid. It felt sturdy and compact under her fingers, and she wanted the stability near her when she was asleep. Something had to be the same when she woke up, and she could count on the Earth to do that right.
Recurring Dream #1: The Hurricane.
Sometimes the water was against her. It was such a classic terror dream that she scoffed at her mind’s unoriginality. Sure, it wasn’t fun: the element you control strangling you in its grasp, your abilities reduced to nothingness. But lack of control told her nothing she didn’t know. She’d felt powerless when she was with Jasper, constantly fearing she’d break and let the other gem free. Not a drop of rest.
Not like that taught her anything about moving on.
Recurring Dream #2: The Blank Slate.
This one was a little more interesting.
She’d wake up in the middle of a white expanse, the flatness extending as far as she could see. The horizon would be blue and cloudy like any other night, but she could push herself to exhaustion and never see an edge. She would try, of course. It was habit by now.
Then the voices would call out to her. It didn’t matter what they sounded like; they talked like Japser, used all her words and her intonation. Had all the same deep, dark meanings. All that oozing invalidation.
“You think you know what happened!” She would cry. “But you don’t! Only I know what happened!” She didn’t bother to restrain herself, just screamed at the voices and the emptiness and the clouds until she was hoarse.
She was always impressed with herself when she woke up. At least some part of her still knew how to fight back.
When the dreams subsided for the night, she would search for the moon and wander until morning. She gained an appreciation for watching the sunrise: it surprised her, how quick it could be. The colors were the same each day, yet in different patterns, like a mythical code no one wanted to unscramble.
Steven found her tying knots one morning.
“Pearl says it’s going to be a while until you feel better.” She looked into his wide, anxious eyes and didn’t answer, tying and untying the knot. The rope was thick under her fingers, and she yearned for something fluid and easy to manipulate. Something clear and elegant. Like water. “Whatever it is you’re fighting…can I help?”
“No.” She winced internally. “Sorry, Steven. This isn’t the kind of hurt that you can hurl a spear at.” She gave him a weak smile. “I will get better, I just need…”
Time? Space? A fresh start?
Steven understood, at least a little bit. He told her all about his recent mission with the gems, exaggerating the mishaps like he so often did.
“I almost fell into the waterfall!” He grinned sheepishly. “Garnet grabbed me. She’s good at rescues.”
Rescue.
It felt weak to admit it, but she’d craved rescue when she was chained to the bottom of the ocean. Still did, honestly.
“No one will save you!” Jasper’s voice, distorted by the effort of speaking through the fusion, came at her from all sides. “No one cares about you, Lapis. You lived a miserable life, and—”
And, and, and. She’d heard it all before.
“Sorry, Steven, but I…I really need to be alone right now.”
She remembered a dream she’d had once—flying an endless loop around a tropical island. When she dipped down to see the trees more closely, they’d wither. The branches would crack and drop to the floor where they’d crush the flowers. Yet she couldn’t stop herself; she’d soar too close to the beauty and leave destruction in her wake.
She wasn’t that important, she told herself. The Earth didn’t care if Lapis Lazuli was on its surface. She could live in a forest and nothing terrible would happen.
Still, though—she needed to prove it wrong.
Lapis couldn’t stop the anxiety from slowing her down as she approached the one forest she knew. Nothing’s going to die, she thought fiercely to herself. She balled her hands into fists. You’re not…a bad person. She hovered for a moment before landing in a clearing. It was peaceful, nearly soundless. The birds were all in their nests, the smaller animals sleeping underground or wherever small animals lived. She wasn’t so sure. But the plants were here.
She knelt in the grass, eyes level with a small red flower. It looked barely grown, petals still hesitant to greet the world.
Lapis stretched out her hand, then stopped. What if she scared it? Maybe she should find an older flower, one more used to being touched.
No. It needs to be this one.
Almost too afraid to look, she extended a finger and brushed it against the flower. She gasped. So soft! It bounced away from her, then back, dancing between gravity and her touch. She laughed softly, tapping the flower again.
“I’m…” She smiled, tears forming in her eyes. “I’m OK. I won’t hurt anyone.”
She stayed with the flower until morning, unfolding what she remembered of the abuse as though revealing pages from a pop-up book. “I feel weird that I don’t remember much. It was so recent, yet it’s all slipping away.” She rolled onto her back and looked up at the stars. “I know it happened, but it’s already locked away. Like I’m keeping secrets from myself.”
A gentle breeze tousled Lapis’s hair as the sky began to change. She turned to watch the flower bounce along with the wind, smiling at how carefree it looked. “Stay just like that, OK? Don’t let anyone hurt you.” She got up to leave, spreading her wings. “And thank you. For listening.”
She could’ve sworn the flower smiled in reply.