Leah's Hero - Miranda Martin Page 0,2

our own celebrity, Ziva. Well, she was a celebrity, back on the ship where stuff like that could matter. How much of a celebrity can you be with only eleven people?

I sigh heavily. Another stupid thought rather than sleeping. Who cares if she’s still a celebrity or not? I don’t, that’s for sure. I didn’t care about her ‘celebrity’ status on the ship, why would I start now? Yet here I am, lying in the dark debating if that status still applies.

I need to sleep. Badly.

Sometimes when my thoughts drift around long enough, I catch a light snooze. It’s the best I’ve managed since the crash. I sleep until the nightmare comes, then I lie back down and catnap until it’s time to get up.

Get up and go through the motions of another day. Another pointless, endless day that blends with the day before and right into the next. They’re all the same. This place sucks. It sucks, it sucks, it sucks!

I could be thankful. I like to think I’m a grateful person anyway. I never considered myself a jerk or self-centered, at least not on the ship. I mean we survived the crash. That’s something to be thankful for, right? Angota has done nothing but take good care of us. Since the other one, Rakstan, joined our ragtag band, it’s gotten better too.

We haven’t had any sightings of the Order patrols since he convinced everyone to move. We found this abandoned building close to the coast that is a lot better than the cave we were sleeping in. We have doors we can close so the big, monstrous things out there in the jungle aren’t going to wander in. At least they’d have to knock first.

I like this building. Inside here is the safest I’ve felt since the crash. How long can a body hold up to being on high alert without a break? Apparently, a couple of months and more, but it really is feeling like I’m at the end of my rope. I feel stretched thin, like I have nothing left to give. I don’t know if I’m going to lash out, scream, or cry, but something has to give, and it has to do it soon. I can’t keep going on like this.

The others are seeing it too. I know I’m pissing them off. I don’t want to. They’re good people, and they deserve better than I’m giving. Everyone else is moving past it, accepting life here on this planet. Why can’t I?

Why can’t I let it go? Why can’t I get over it and move on? What is wrong with me? Why does it have to be me who is broken?

I’m broken. That’s what it has to be. Something inside of me broke when the attack on the ship happened. I don’t know what, and I don’t know how to fix it. All I know is, I can’t keep living like this, but I don’t have a way out.

A yawn comes and I shift, squirming around to try and find a position comfortable enough to let me fall asleep. The leaves and grass rustle loudly so I stop, not wanting to wake Allie up. It will be morning soon. I think. I hope. This is the worst part of the night. Knowing I won’t be sleeping anymore, and now I’m waiting.

I’ve always hated waiting. Waiting when I’m exhausted brings that hate to a new level. A level of loathing. There’s nothing I could do though. If I get up and move around, I’ll wake up everyone. Then they’ll hate me even more than they’re starting to.

They don’t hate me. Or maybe they do. Or maybe they will.

There it is. The circling drain that my thoughts sink to every single time. No escape and for sure no sleep.

This is stupid. Maybe I’m stupid. I never thought of myself as stupid before, but this is dumb. If everyone else is fine, then I have to find my way to being fine too. Except the dream. The barely remembered images that do nothing but inspire terror. My stomach drops even though I’m lying on my side. Bile backs up into my empty stomach and I’m suddenly feverish. I’m going to vomit. Struggling, I swallow down the acid burning my throat and count my way through the waves of nausea.

I’m fine. I’m not sick. I’m not sick. I’m not sick.

That’s right, it’s fine. Quit thinking about the nightmare. Push that thought away. There we go. Put it in this