Gia

The first time I woke up gasping, my heart beating so hard I thought it was gonna fall out of my chest, he woke up with me, and held me tight in his arms, whispering sweet things that I've since forgotten, 'til morning. The third time it happened, he held me, and we made love. The fifth time, he didn't even wake up.

I don't know which was worse -- the fear or that he didn't know I was afraid.

It's a terrible thing to be so afraid. And, I know it's my own fault; I've created most of my own demons. When I lie down at night, I lie in the bed I made. That doesn't make it easier. If anything, it makes it worse.

Worst part is I never learned how to feel fear, what to do with it when it comes knockin'. I mean, look at me; I grew up in the mean streets. I know how to take care of myself, how to take on all comers. My mama made damn sure of that. When she sent her children out in this world, she gifted them with all the protective gifts she knew how to give and then some. So why is it that my mother's daughter can't sleep through the night without a panic attack of her very own?

That's a rhetorical question, of course. I know what scares me. Being found out. I don't mean the accident; that's just part of this whole damn thing. I mean my life, the mask I'm wearing. I'm not even a princess yet, and I feel like the worst kind of pretender to the throne.

In this life, you don't get anything for free, Gia. My mother's ideas of homilies rarely included the naive or the optimistic. Just the truth. You don't get anything for free. Why did I ever thing he would be?

It started out simply enough. Or, maybe it didn't. That's the thing about going over your life in your head. You get to edit your memories to suit your image of yourself. Maybe that's why I wake up screaming. In the daytime, I can tell myself the story of the way it's happening and pretend it's true. At night, I dream the truth. Which is this: it started out the way it is now. Complicated as hell. But, I didn't love him then. So it didn't scare me near as much.

Now, though, now. Now isn't the same as then. Now, when he says my name, sometimes -- I cringe. Now, he holds me in his arms, and there's this little part of me that screams like I'm in a trap and need to break free. Now, I look into his eyes, darker than anything I know the name for, and I see myself, and it's not an image I recognize. I don't blame him for that. He sees what I've shown him. Like I said, the demons that haunt me are the ones I made all on my own.

It was just that from the first, even before I knew who he was, he had this vibe about him. He strode through the world like he owned it -- which, more or less, he did. His crown was visible, even when he wasn't wearing it. And, a prince needs a princess, right? So I made myself into one, an urban princess to compliment his old world hauteur. It worked, didn't it? The prince and the princess waltzed off together, hand and hand.

And, at night, I drown under the weight of my techno tiara while he sleeps peacefully at my side.

Sometimes I wonder if he'd be the one who woke screaming in the night if he knew who I really was. Sometimes I think maybe we'd both sleep peacefully if all the masks were gone. I don't think I really believe that.

You don't get anything for free, Gia. That's one lesson my mama taught me I think I finally learned.