Page 2 of Synodic

I jolted in shock, nearly knocking an assortment of beauty products off the counter.No. Not again.

Natalie's candid statement completely caught me off guard. I had no idea she could hear me through the walls of our home or that I’d fallen back into the old habit of screaming in my sleep.

I shivered as I recalled the hidden creatures that lurked, hunted, and warred in my dreams. It was very possible I had screamed.

A lot.

I involuntarily wrapped my arms around myself, warding off the cold coursing through my veins when I realized Natalie was waiting for my reply. “Sorry,” I muttered, shame and embarrassment flushing my cheeks. “I…didn’t realize.”

She’d touched a sore spot. My parents used to say the same thing to me when I was younger; that my cries kept them up at night.

“You worry me sometimes, you know,” Natalie said, a perfectly manicured hand sweeping her blonde bangs back into place.

I cringed. I couldn’t stand people worrying over me, it brought up memories I’d rather avoid, but I faked a smile anyway. “It’s just a few bad dreams, nothing to worry about.”

My excuse seemed to appease her, and she shrugged. “Anyway, I came in here to tell you I have meetings all day, so I won’t be back until late.”

“I’m starting to think this new job is stealing you from me.”

“Trust me, I would much rather spend time with you than work as an unpaid intern at a stuffy mid-size law firm, but this place will look great on my resume.”

“I know, now go be amazing,” I said, proud of how hard she’d worked for this opportunity.

We’d both graduated almost a year ago, and Natalie beamed with pride while collecting her hard-earned undergrad in preparation for law school, whereas my degree had just been a formality. I couldn’t think of a single thing I wanted to do, much less do it for the rest of my life, and I almost didn’t attend college, but when I received a full-ride track scholarship, I couldn’t refuse. Running was my only escape.

I wasn’t sure if I truly loved the sport or if the quicker I moved, the better I felt—the more I knew I wasn’t slowly crystallizing like a dragonfly in amber.

I know it’s said you can’t run from your problems, but for the whole twelve-plus seconds of a race, I felt like I could.

My parents always said I enjoyed running because of the link between aerobic exercise and cognitive clarity—they are both psychopharmacologists who manage their own practice, and between the two of them, there was never a moment I wasn’t being analyzed. But whatever the reason I ran, it had me skewing just on the right side of sanity and kept my body lean. Healthy.

However, it soon became habitual, in more ways than one. I was so terrified of waking up stuck in a life I couldn’t escape that not only did I run for sport, I ran from everything else as well: jobs, boyfriends, relationships, and now my bed.

Natalie was my only constant.

“And try some concealer for those under eyes; they’re pretty bad. Oh, and don’t forget I made you some breakfast. It’s sitting on the counter. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Don’t wait up.” She flashed me a quick reassuring smile before pivoting on her heel and disappearing around the corner.

I was alone, alone with my thoughts, which at times was very dangerous because I could think my way straight to the bottom of a deep, dark oubliette. Plus, this was all starting to feel vaguely familiar: dreams that felt too real, restless nights, concerned roommates or parents kept awake by my screams. I’d been able to manage the night terrors for years, but I was slipping again, and I needed to regain control before I lost my footing completely.

I finally decided to brave my reflection in the mirror, hoping to find answers locked somewhere within my pewter irises. My mother once told me my grey eyes looked like twin moons caught in a lunar storm. With their faded glow and dark, scattered shadows, they mimicked the mountainous peaks and imprinted craters of the moon. But just like the orb in the sky, my eyes appeared as smooth and round as glass marbles.

Usually muted and dull, I noticed they were a bit more alert, and it gave me hope that my appearance could be salvaged today.

Twenty minutes later, I managed to mask my restlessness with dabs of makeup, highlighting my high cheekbones, slender lips, and winged lashes. Knowing my brown hair would be an ordeal to brush through, I left it down in long, unruly waves; but still, I looked infinitely better than I did this morning.

Natalie would be proud.

Feeling somewhat accomplished, I walked into the kitchen, and sure enough, the lumpy beige concoction Natalie called breakfast was waiting for me on the counter.

Over the years, preparing healthy breakfasts had become Natalie’sthing. She took an interest shortly after we moved in together, and kept the tradition alive ever since. I told her countless times she didn’t have to cook for me, but Natalie always emphatically insisted, going on and on about the importance of breakfast, or something like that.

It did seem to make her happy, plus I got sustaining meals out of it, so I’d stopped objecting. And while we used to eat breakfast together every morning, her busy schedule of late prevented it.

Recently she’d been on a chunky smoothie kick, and I had to admit, I was not a fan. But because breakfast was so oddly important to her, I couldn’t bear telling her they were inedible. So instead of facing her and admitting the truth, I would quickly throw it down the sink without her noticing.

And today would be no different.

I picked up the unappetizing brew, shaken by how quickly I was losing control. Not only was I sneaking around my own home, unable to get a good night’s rest, but now my nightmares were creeping up and bleeding into my waking life.

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