Nightmare

I have been standing for the past four hours without my butt touching a chair or stool.

I have been standing for the past four hours because each time I try to sit, a freaking customer comes to my aisle.

I don't know why, but the cafe has been buzzing since I got here. It's usually always busy but today seemed different. Maybe it's because it's a Saturday or there are too many sleep deprived people in this city.

"You okay?" Lisa asks me as she walks to grab a cup.

"I can manage." Was my short reply.

"You look beat. Why don't you go to the back and get a little rest?' She suggests. "I can cover up for you here."

"It's fine." I smile at her. "It's almost lunch anyway."

"Honey." She puts a hand on my shoulder. "It's way past lunch."

What?

So I've been standing for more than four hours?

No wonder I can't feel my legs anymore.

"I think you really need that rest." She pats my shoulder before walking back to her counter.

oof.

I sigh and take my apron off before walking through the staff-only back door. I pass through the kitchen to the back door and I stepped outside.

A soft breeze blows the loose strands of my hair into my eyes. I had packed my hair in a ponytail when I got to work this morning, I didn't know when It had gotten loose.

I take the strands out and sigh again. Then, I bring out my phone and checked the time.

3:37pm

Great.

The smell of caffeine must have made me seriously lose track of time. I didn't even feel hungry and the last meal I had was dinner the night before.

The only hunger I felt right now was the hunger my feet had to be laid to rest.

I sighted a nearby block and sat on it, while leaning against the wall.

I sighed again and closed my eyes, allowing the soft air to cool me down.

How many times have I sighed now?

I think I can explain why I was feeling like this. I could explain why I was feeling down and lethargic. I could explain why I didn't have the appetite to eat anything and why I didn't notice the day had gone by.

It was all because I had a nightmare.

A freaking nightmare.

I had dreamt about no one else but my dead boyfriend.

Isn't that nice.

I use my hand to move my hair from my face.

Ian Deavil. He has goldish brown eyes that always seemed to shine at mornings, and evenings when the sun was setting. He had black hair that was kept in slightly parted bangs, and an aura that could make you melt when you set your eyes on him.

But unfortunately, he's dead.

He died two years ago. I'm not trying to say his death is my fault or anything, buy I feel I could have done something to save his life.

We were eight months in our relationship when he died. Tragic.

That fateful day, I was at home, in my room, doing nothing but watching a live show because I had nothing else to do. Turns out the live show was more interesting than I thought it'd be.

Then an hour after the show had ended, I received a call from the hospital, telling me my boyfriend was in an accident and unfortunately, he didn't make it.

I was too shocked to speak, but the nurse worsened my situation by telling me they were able to reach me because my number was the last one he called before he died.

Surprising right?

Yeah, I was quite surprised too.

Funny thing's that I remember when his call entered an hour ago. I remember laughing my ass off at what an actor had said when his call came in. I remember seeing my phone ring, seeing his name on my phone as it rang and I remember putting the call on silence because I didn't want to be interrupted from my show. I remember saying I'd call him back after the show ends in my head, and I remember forgetting to call him back after the show ended.

Wasn't I an amazing girlfriend?

The nurse went further to tell him he might have made it if he had been brought in earlier.

The accident that killed him, the accident that took his life, that made me hate myself was a fire accident.

He lived with his parents in a rental apartment downtown. His father's a taxi driver, and his mom worked as a waitress at a restaurant and she had the night shift that day. So, he was home alone.

I don't know what caused the fire, but what I do know is that between the time the fire started, when he called me, and when he died, he was trapped in.

He was trapped in because of the fire and couldn't get out. Funny thing is that he was asthmatic. So that even killed him faster. He inhaled the smoke of the fire, couldn't breathe, and died.

But before he died, while gasping for air, he called his girlfriend thinking she'd have a chance to help him, to save him, but she was busy ignoring his call because she was watching a live show.

See why I said I could've done something to help?

If I had picked up the phone, if I had answered the call, maybe he'd still be alive.

I sigh and slowly open my eyes.

The nightmare was always the same.

The image of that night would replay as if I was there when it all happened, then at the end, I'd see Ian standing in the flames, blaming me for his death.

That's the type of nightmares I had. That's the type of nightmares I got as punishment. The type of nightmares I deserved.

I sigh once more and stand up, dusting the dirt off my black jeans and stretching my hands a little before entering the cafe to complete my stressful day.