Lucas and Morgan: The Epic Continues Forum insomnia

Insomnia. Some nights, I can't sleep. My waking hours make me restless, I worry about the days events, and I suddenly have so much to do. I know I don't want to wake up in the mornings, so I use the time I have to scurry and better myself before stubbornly resigning to turn off my lights, take off my glasses, and surrender. But still sleep evades me, and I beg for help. It's not god who comes for me, but my characters. As a writer, they are closer to me than a Pedestal God, who never promised to keep any promises at all. No, I open my eyes, but not really, and there is my Morgan in the doorway, her black hair -unlike mine- barely visible in the dark of my room. "Come, love, it's time to go," she says, leaning over my bed readying me to run away with her. In a flash (for I am both with her and living through her, as I am not as real as she is, my vampire character) she has whisked me away to the airport- "No one, living or dead, can make these b******s hurry" she mutters over a copy of sports illustrated or country living magazine, and we are in the air. The place we land is dismal, and not even the grass grows green, but rough and stubbly like the five o clock shadow of that man you watch at Denny' from the corner of your eye. In front of us is a motorcycle, and I resist even as she confidently saddles up and settles into the worn leather seat. "Morgan, I can't drive this," I protest, gripping to her like hair during a heavy downpour. "Just sit back and lean with the bike, I can drive. There's no safe flying in Angel City." She kicks on the ignition and starts barreling into the thick darkness, pulling me along with her. We roar into the abysmal sludge of the city where even helicopters won't hover, where I cower at the idea of being mobbed or shot, but Morgan is solid, brave, and even cocky in the presence of the low life's around us. She is in her element, in the badlands of her city. It's both empty and full, like the eyes of the urbanites. At a sudden turn down an alley she stops the chopper, descends from her leather throne and opens the heavy door of the apartment building. The stairs are yellowing and narrow, but in another streak we are at the top and she pounds on the weathered, splintered door of 12B. From within, a growl is heard, but when the door opens, its a man, or the appearance of one, and he is surprised. Not to see Morgan, but to see me. "Come inside" he says gently, shooting dagger eyes at Morgan but standing down. His eyes only burn red for a moment. Inside is his twin, the same man, the same way I am the same as Morgan- he is the writer. He is slouched over; his ego is less overrun than his fictional character but his eyes are softer. When he sees me, his expression could stop the ages, and Morgan and Lucas stand by the door as if preparing to lock out a storm. His hands are clasped together in his lap, his forearms supported by his kneecaps. What did I expect but this awkward first silence? He wants to smile and kiss me and tell me to leave and never return to disturb his closeness to peace again and I can see it all in his eyes, and all he can do is let his jaw drop slightly. And in truth that is all I'm doing. I step toward where he is sitting on the couch, and realize if I sit next to him that I won't be able to look him in the face. I've gone too far to not see his face. Instead, I sit crosslegged on the floor in front of him, and look. I take him in, acknowledge all my mistakes on what I thought that face would look like. His brown eyes stay locked with mine. I'm suddenly terrified that he really didn't want me here, and overcome turn back to Morgan. She raises her chin, as if to say "keep strong, girl". I look back at him a moment, and put my head in his lap, my eyes turned instead on his large, comforting looking hands. I look like the lost puppy that I am, and I know it. His hands unclasp, and he pulls me to him, the bear hug restrictive yet warm. I'm so grateful for it I could cry. Here, I would let him hug me forever. "I missed you." I think we both said it, and our characters gives sighs of relief and playfully punch at each other and nudge each other's shoulders. The return journey doesn't happen, I just find myself in my bed with my sheets up to my ears, my glasses on the floor. Somewhere I hope he felt the (hug) journey, too.