Zooming out.

Bedrooms and windows

Somewhere beneath that suffocating blanket of sleeping consciousness, I wondered if it was the hormones racing through my blood that evoked such a vivid collage of burst sunshine beaming through an open window; crashing pots and pans being thrown down the stairs, my mother at the top, crying with loud, fast words I didn’t understand tumbling endlessly from her mouth.

The bright orange walls were melting into her warm olive skin and mine, the red carpet on the stairs seemed to rise, every frame speeding up, the stairs undulating and moving like waves, extending between us before the nauseating movement and fiery light seared my eyes open. I was torn out of the haze, cast into the dark, awake.

Nightmare.

Jostling with the duvet, I flipped the corner over and, still on my side, I sat up in bed. My face was hot, arms and legs covered in sweat, eyelids puffy. Another night crying perfectly while obviously quite asleep. “Weird. Not again,” I said in my head, slowly shifting my weight to my feet so as not to wake anyone up further, least of all the cats that would often slumber in long, calligraphic letter Cs as though my husband and I were little pebbles in bed.

Feeling heavy, I walk to the bathroom in the early dawn light, steps taken as shuffles across the smooth wood. Cold water splashes around my face and the back of my neck and I cup more water over my eyes, letting the tap run just a little longer to enjoy the noise of it, grounding myself before…