Fighting the Nights

Chapter One

'Hands, everywhere at once. Never ceasing in their attacks. Pressing, feeling. I tried to block them, to push them away, but they had refused to leave, a constant presence in my tortured state. They came faster and harder until a sharp scream pierced the painful silence. My scream. Everything just came closer until my world exploded in my mind and…'

I sat straight up in bed, gasping for air to fill my lungs as if I had just run a marathon. My sweat soaked sheets clung to my hot skin and moisture dripped from my face. I could not tell what was sweat and what were tears, but I was strongly aware of the presence of both. Shadows danced and flickered across my darkened walls, but the air was hot and stifling. Eager for cooler air, I pushed aside the bed covers and pulled myself out of my bed. Walking to the double doors and throwing them open, I stepped out onto the small balcony I had claimed as my own. I once read a quote that said something like "The cure for anything is saltwater; sweat, tears, or the sea." As I looked out across the deserted beach behind my home, I couldn't help but wonder why it didn't work for me. As the waves crashed against the shadowy shores, they did nothing to ease the pain in my soul. After dreams like those, I was forced to consider the idea that nothing ever would. I sighed and sat down on the cool tiles of the balcony. Leaning against the railing for support, I let the chilled sea breeze cool my feverish skin. At least there, the comfort of the stars and the sea could keep my mind from the pain in my soul. Slowly, I drifted off into a fitful sleep once more.

A large bang on my front door brought me reeling back to the present while I had been daydreaming beside my window. I sighed, giving myself three mental guesses as to who was attempting to knock down my door. I knew I wouldn't need three of them. My muscles protest, but I pulled myself from my perch on the window seat to answer the door before the cops arrested my friend for attempted breaking and entering.

"ANI! Ani, I know you're in there, let me in this second or I swear I'll knock your fucking door down. ANI..."

I opened the door just as he renewed his efforts to break it down, and narrowly avoided his fists. He stood there panting softly, suitcases in hand. I saw a car back out of my driveway and head back down the sandy road.

"Ani, it's about bloody time! You haven't answered the door or replied to e-mail. I was scared to fucking death. God damn it I hate those producers, not letting me leave. They think they are the only ones with lives and we are just their little slaves, but not I. Today I finally went straight up to him and…."

I let him ramble on for a few more minutes and jumped in quickly as he stopped to breathe.

"Taylor…just a suggestion…SHUT UP DAMMIT!"

His cheeks flushed a slight pink, but, not to the least of my surprise, recovered and started up again.

"But seriously, are you ok? I know that's a damn stupid question to ask after what happened, but I mean, will you be ok? Do you need anything…" he trailed off, uncertain of what to say.

I shook my head and groaned inwardly at all the stupid people who refused to let me forget. Not that I could forget mind you, but we can pretend can't we? When Taylor saw the look on my face he obviously thought I needed some comfort. He moved to hug me, but as soon as his hand touched my shoulder, I flinched and involuntarily drew back, my eyes squeezed shut. When I unclenched my eyes, his hurt face stared back, looking like a toddler whose goldfish had died. I took a shuddery breath and tried to apologize.

"I'm sorry…." My attempt to make a joke out of it crashed and burned as my words came out as a frail whisper.

He sighed, and he still had a dejected air about him. "No it's ok, I understand. I should have known…I just thought…" he trailed off again, leaving me feeling even worse than I had to begin with. The absence of Taylor's continuous chatter only added to the awkwardness that had settled in my front hallway.

"Well, I'm here now. Is there anything you need, anything I can do?" he mumbled in an attempt to break the uncomfortable silence.

I tried to look as normal as possible and forced out my old smile. "Just stay here with me would you. Though it appears you had no intentions of even asking by the size of that suitcase. Now please just remember to stay away from the neighbor. I don't want the police arresting you for harassment and the girl who moved into 604 across the street is a huge fan of yours, and believe me, I want nothing to do with a lovesick teenager when you leave."

Taylor looked relieved at some glimpse of my old cheery self, but I inwardly groaned yet again. I was gonna have a hell of a time sharing my house with my best friend if I had to pretend to be perfectly all right. I hadn't wanted to lie to him. But now, after seeing his reaction I wasn't sure which would hurt him worse, a lie…or the truth

"So Ms. Black, how are we doing today? Are we feeling better today?"

I sat in yet another tedious session of "counseling ". I wanted nothing more then beat the idiot through the wall and blow up the whole building on top of his bloody corpse. Taking deep breaths, I tried to cool down; murdering him would do nothing to reassure the world of my stable mentality. No matter how tempting the possibility might appear. And believe me it did. The man talked to me as if I was a retarded monkey, barely capable of intelligent conversation. God I hated that man.

"So, a little bird told me your friend has moved in with you. What's his name Ms. Black, could it Taylor maybe? Is that it Ms. Black?"

I clinched my teeth until I'm sure even that blonde receptionist in the main office could hear them grinding together. I managed to hold in my scream of pure frustration, but mentally, I was seething. 'What kind of mother fucking son of a bitch does this guy think he is! I would know my own friends name!' My efforts not to strangle the fucking retard were not getting any easier.

"But Ms. Black, we aren't getting better and I think our friend Taylor is to blame. Not that it's his fault of course, but his presence could be setting you back. Mentally you could be connecting him to the one who…"

BAM! His sentence ended right then and there as he flipped over the back of his snazzy leather chair, blood streaming from his face. I snagged his best pens just out of spite and ran out of the office. I passed the smug blonde receptionist with steam pouring out of my ears I'm sure. 'How dare he think of Taylor like that! He had no right to compare him to that…Taylor would never do anything like that!' Taylor was my best friend and a damn good one at that.

I had known Taylor since I was 15 when one of my stage producers had decided I should try acting in films as well as theatre. Taylor had been cast in the lead role in the only movie offer I got. It hadn't worked out for me at all; I was a theatre actress all the way through and I'm not ashamed to admit that I completely suck in front of a camera. But Taylor and I had really hit it off while I was there. For ten years he had been my best friend and I had watched proudly as he went from struggling talent to teenage heartthrob and finally to an award winning actor and household name. People always asked me if his fame affected our friendship, but I really don't think they ever understood. I wasn't friends with Taylor James, superstar. I was friends with the loudmouth yet still incredibly sweet guy who sometimes (ok most of the time) used language that could strip paint off walls. Not that I would ever tell him how cool he was wouldn't want the fame to ever go to his head. But I had never imagined life without him and it ticked me off to no end that that son of a bitch psychologist thought he was the sort of person who would do something like…

I sighed, sitting down on a park bench covered in spray paint writing that lined the busy street. It was obvious the man was wrong about my friend, but his suggestion had planted a tiny seed of suspicion and worry in my mind. I gently massaged my aching knuckles. Felt like I broke at least one finger. 'But he couldn't be right…could he?'