I sat in the kitchen, under the small lights of the breakfast nook. The morning dawn was blossoming, giving the usually whitewash kitchen a kaleidoscope projection of purples and pinks and oranges. I sipped my coffee that had turned stale in the last hour or two. I looked towards the clock and it read 6:30am. As reliable as the chimes of a grandfather clock, I heard a trample of feet down the stairs. Dad walked in adjusting his tie and pouring himself some coffee. I didn’t think he had noticed me, but then he spoke out, “What are you doing up?”

I shrugged, “I couldn’t sleep. Bad dreams.”

Dad made a face like he didn’t believe me or something. I don’t know. He just looked displeased. He grabbed an orange and the paper and sat down across from me. He flicked his wrists and the paper bended and crinkled until it was in the perfect reading position. “Your brother will be down soon for school.”

I took another sip. “So?”

He shrugged, “I don’t know if you have like a… issue with him being in the room.”

I rolled my eyes, “I’m not a werewolf, Dad.”

He made the face again, “Some would beg to differ.”

I sat back and bit my tongue. I refused to let his words get to me. “Fine. I’ll go.” I got up, placing my mug on the counter and taking the stairs back to my room. I closed the door and laid back down in bed.

I heard your door open and the sound of your sneakers down the stairs. I heard you go in the kitchen and open the fridge. I heard the glass bottles clank together like you were reaching around stuff.

I heard Dad’s tough tone mumble my name. I pursed my lips. I sighed. I thought backwards and forwards. Weighted my options. I heard your voice respond something I couldn’t make out. I relinquished. I crawled over to the vent in the corner and pressed my ear against the metal slits.

“He said he was having bad dreams,” Dad sighed and I heard him slurp his coffee.

“I wonder what he dreams about?” I heard you say, almost to yourself.

“Who knows,” Dad said in a tone that said he didn’t care. “His doctor gave us some medicine to give him if they get to “be a problem.” Whatever that means.”

I gulped. I didn’t know this. I knew I couldn’t tell them about my dreams anymore. I couldn’t let them medicate me anymore.

“When’s your friend coming?” Dad said with a bit of a happier tone in his voice.

I heard a honk in the driveway.

“Damn, I’m good,” Dad giggled. “See you later, Mikey.”

“You, too,” you said like you were rushing. I heard you run around. Grabbing your things.

I went over to the window. I peered out and saw a red jeep in the driveway. A fair haired boy about your age sat in the driver’s seat, tapping his palms against the steering wheel.

I saw you come down the front steps and open the car door. You smiled at him and he smiled back. He asked you something and you replied. It seemed like a normal morning for you.

The blonde threw the car into reverse and put his arm behind your seat. He pulled out and I watched you leave down the street towards school.

I pursed up lips again and sat back up in bed. I was suddenly exhausted. As the light trickled in my window, I fell into an unapologetic sleep.