So that’s how I told the girl I’m dating I have … drumroll … narcolepsy! Yeah, I lied. Kind of. I do still fall asleep randomly, obviously, so it’s not a lie as much as it is not … the whole truth. And it’s not like I’ve made a habit of going into her dreams—this was only the second time I’d ended up in her dreams and both times it was something sweet and innocuous. I’m not spying. If there was something genuinely revealing in them, I’d force myself to wake up. I know I would.

I wish I could just wake up from this whole

Never mind.

Stupid pen. All my pencils are in my work locker, because now that my wrist is healed I’m spending as much time as I possibly can there, just observing and helping where I can, even though I’m not officially back because they can’t have someone on the line who might fall asleep at any moment, but it’s the best way for me to ensure that between sleeping, work, and Emily, I don’t have to—

Anyway. I’m home now. Just like my parents want. For me to be spending more time at home. And it’s not that I don’t want that too it’s that …

Well, what am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to just go about normal life, just pretend like we’re back in July and I’m sleeping great and my dad is healthy and Aaron is being his annoying self instead of weirdly doting and considerate and my mom is demanding the best from everyone instead of skulking around the house with fear in her eyes?

It’s the worst when I come home to an empty house. Like I did tonight. I opened the door, put my keys on the front hall table, and heard the clink of metal on wood echo through the house. I didn’t call out—wasn’t sure if I actually wanted anyone to know that I was home, didn’t know what I would possibly say to any of them to fix things. I’m not even sure what’s broken, I just know something is.