I couldn't sleep.
The same dream. The screams pierced through my head and didn't realise I had screamed out loud until I heard loud bangs on my room's door. When I unlocked it, my mum stood, worried.
This time, I didn't cry. I strode away into the kitchen after a minute of unspoken words I was glad she understood. I made tea, put in milk but I didn't want to sleep.
My body craved it. Begged for it but I was frightened. There was a slight switch to how the dream went—Martha had opened her eyes, whites staring at me. She begged for me to come close. I tried backing away from her but unfortunately trapped. I couldn't unstrap myself, neither could I find the doorknob.
What was wrong with me? I shivered under the blankets I was huddled under. The chills kept crawling over me: my arms, my face, legs, leaving goosebumps in its wake. My stomach held a certain feel, like something about to drop in any moment.
