I am screaming. My head is pounding and my throat is raw but I can't stop screaming because something is wrong. The room is floating. My bed is floating off the floor beside my books and my clothes and — is that a knife?

There are guns floating too and I then I start to see limbs. Arms, legs, Brianna's head, and now I'm screaming louder.

I know its a dream but I can't get out. My throat starts to bleed. I try to run out of the room but I'm floating too, my legs won't work.

A matchbook floats past and I know what to do. I set myself on fire, and as my flesh burns off, I feel free.

I wake up screaming, drenched in sweat. It's 4:02 AM. Perfect time for a good cry. I sit up and all I can think about is death, death, death. The battered bodies and the burned limbs. I try to blink away the images but they get brighter every time my eyes close.

Every breath I take turns to a sob, and soon I'm hardly breathing. My body is shaking as the sobs wreck through my chest, the tears claw at my face. I try to choke it all down. I hold my breath until I can't see straight.

I call Edilio as soon as I stop crying. A soft, sleepy voice picks up the phone. "Hello?" He has never sounded so vulnerable. I sit in silence, reveling in the calmness of his voice.

"Dekka, you there?" He sounds more urgent and awake now. "Are you okay?"

I take a deep, shaky breath. "I'm fine."

"Nightmare?" It sounds like he is getting out of bed, maybe moving down the hallway so he doesn't disturb Roger.

"It was so bad, Edilio." I sit curled up on my bed, knees drawn up to my chest for an hour, talking to Edilio. It has become routine: scream, wake up, call Edilio. Why haven't the nightmares stop for me? When will everything stop haunting me?

I hang up the phone. The conversation had ended lightly. Edilio told me about his new cat. He told me about Roger's latest painting. He told me about a visit with Lana. I listened. His familiar voice calmed me out of my terror.

I look at the clock beside my bed. 5:14 AM. I get up and walk to the bathroom. As I strip out of my pjs, I note the scars along my legs and sides from the FAYZ. I run my fingers along them, reading through the memories like braille. I had gained weight since we got out, but I still look emaciated.

Getting in the hot shower is blissful. There is nothing more calming than the feeling of clean, scorching water burning the memories off you skin, clearing your head of all thoughts. I scrub the pain out of my hair and wash the depression down the drain with a bar of Dove.

Getting out of the shower is less blissful. My house is cold. I had trouble paying the heating bill alone last month and had to ask Sanjit for money. He happily obliged, but I refuse to ask him again.

It is my second month living alone, and just a year after the FAYZ. I moved out as soon as possible. Any more time spent with my parents and I would have driven the family Sedan off a bridge. Everyone else is having trouble adjusting to the outside world too. Albert calls me and tells me about his nightmares sometimes too. Lana and I reminisce over dinner on weekend nights. I hear Diana has hardly left the house.

I change into a pair of sweatpants and my favorite sweatshirt and head downstairs. The smell of clean laundry lingers around me and I can't help but smile to myself. Cleanliness feels so beautiful.

As I make myself a cup of coffee, I think about Caine. I pour in the cream thinking of Jack, put it back in the fridge with memories of Dahra. Orc walks with me over to the couch, and Brianna sits beside me, tapping her foot impatiently as I turn on the TV.

Be glad you had these moments, cherish the memories, I try to convince myself. Everything happens for a reason.

The news runs a story about a missing girl. She is 13, blonde hair, brown eyes. I try to be concerned, try so hard to care. All I feel is apathy.