People are chasing me, through the school, down the hallways and in the classrooms, in and out of every door. I can hear their voices, the harassing comments and the taunting remarks that I hear all too often. I know who these people are, but I just can't look. I can't look behind me. I just have to keep running. Looking back would only slow me down. Sweat is pouring down my face and my legs feel like jelly, but I need to run. I have to keep running; they just can't catch up to me. All I know is that, if that happens, it won't be good.

And it never will.

I wake up to the sound of my own scream as I suddenly sit bolt upright in bed, huffing and puffing, drenched in sweat and a mess of tears.

"VIOLA!" Dad rushes into the room and throws his arms around me. "Are you okay, sweetheart? Did you have a bad dream?"

I nod my head, yes, as I wrap my arms around Dad and cry.

"Was it the same one that you used to have?" he carefully asks me, wary of my reaction.

Shaking my head, I sniffle and begin to sob as I hold him close.

I know that dream I used to have, and I know it all too well. The dream I used to have, though, was just a silly dream, really, about an evil witch that came into my room and tried to convince me to go away with her (never succeeding). I had that dream many times in my early childhood, and it was enough to terrify me, but this… This was my reality. This dream wasn't some frighteningly-imaginative figment of my young imagination, this was real. This was fear, and it was all too real.

"Shhh, sshh..." He tries to soothe me, rubbing my back as he sways me in his arms back and forth, just like how he soothed me when I was little. "It's okay now. I'm here. It's okay, baby. You're okay."

I hold Dad and sob into his pyjama-clad chest, releasing all the things I could never tell him in words.

"What's going on?" August sleepily wanders into my room and, although I look up to see him there, I quickly hide my face back in Dad's shirt.

"Viola's had a bad dream," Dad informs him quietly, holding me tight. "Go back to bed, buddy."

Once August leaves, Dad whispers to me while stroking my hair, "Do you wanna talk about it?"

I shake my head no. I feel safe in his arms, like if I just keep hanging on to him, things will somehow be okay. When he goes to let me go, I hold onto him tighter. "Please don't leave me."

"I was just-" he starts, and then sighs before gently smiling. "I'm not going to leave you, baby girl. Do you want me to spend the night here?"

Nodding, I let go of Dad so he can climb into the other side of the bed. I know I'm too old to have my Daddy sleep with me in the night, but I don't care. I just don't want to be alone, and that's the only thing I care about now. He lies down in bed and turns to face me.

"Try and get some sleep, Vi," Dad tells me.

"I don't know," I sob, "if I can."

Dad pushes my hair behind my ear, looking at me sympathetically. "Would you like me to sing to you?"

I sniffle as I nod.

Holding my hands, Dad begins to sing softly, barely above a whisper.

"Isn't she lovely,

Isn't she wonderful,

Isn't she precious,

Less than one minute old..."

Dad always tells me that, when the doctor first placed me in his arms, Isn't She Lovely? was the song that first came to mind. He even told Papa in that moment, "Isn't she lovely?", and it was the first song Dad ever sang to me. From then on, it's been Dad and my song, and it always puts me at ease.

When he finishes singing, he wipes the tears from my eyes softly. "I love you."

Between weak sobs, I reply, "I love you too."

I cuddle up close to Dad's body, his warm arm around me. He falls asleep within moments, and I listen to his soft breathing until I eventually settle into an uneasy sleep.