Get You
DELILAH
Peabody… |
The cursor keeps blinking in front of my face. The air on the airplane is sterile, stale from the recycling of a thousand passengers.
I can’t sleep. Never could on planes.
I was one of those weird kids who fell asleep with the lights on. And even now, thirty some-odd years later, the lack of sleep still plagues me, insomnia pricking me like a thousand little needles all over my body.
It’s the panic, really. Frayed nerves as a kid turned into anxiety as a teen, and after my parents’ accident, the two merged into the onset of paranoia, attacks waylaying me at often and odd intervals, paralyzing me.
My only cures? My sister, Penelope. The ocean. Baking. And at the oddest time of all of them—long, long ago…the dark-haired man sitting beside me, a devilish Adon
