I unlock the door to my apartment and step inside, finding Brad's sprawled out on the couch—the couch I had full intentions of sprawling out on the second I got home. "Well, you look like you had a day from hell," he says while pausing his video game.

"This is what normal people look like when they come home from work, Brad," I reply with a quick eye roll. "Maybe you should try this whole adulating thing."

He sits up, pretending to be offended by my true words. "For your information, I had a very busy day today." I take a few steps closer to the TV, looking at the score at the top of the screen.

"Yeah, I can see that."

"Come on, Haley, cut me a break. I've only been out of work for four months. I haven't found the right job yet."

"Oh, I don't know," I say, placing my bag down on the kitchen table. "I thought you did so well at your last gig, being a male escort."

"Whoa, that's offensive," he argues. "I was a waiter at Rooster's."

I tilt my head to the side and give him a look. "Same thing," I argue.

"Look, I can't help if I was the attractively gifted one in the family."

"And I can't help the fact that I got all of the brains," I retort while walking into the kitchen, finding a sink-full of dishes. "Come on, Brad. What the hell is this?"

"I'll get it to it when I'm done with this level." He left it for me on purpose, knowing I can't leave a dirty spoon in the sink, never mind a load of dirty dishes.

Clanging the dishes around as I tersely load them into the dishwasher, he shouts in, "Hey, can you keep it down in there?"

I want my apartment back to myself. I told him this was temporary until he got back on his feet. Meanwhile, I don't remember the last time I've seen him standing on his feet. He's been wearing the same stupid sweatpants for a week, and white t-shirt that has a stain from a dinner I cooked for us last week.

After placing the last dish in the dishwasher, I walk back out into the living room, staring at Brad's wide-eyed stare, burning a hole into the TV. "You promise to help out around here. I work until six-thirty every night and I kind of think since you're living here rent free, you might possibly get off your ass and make dinner once in a while. I buy the food. All you have to do is prepare it. I'm not Mom, and I don't know why I have to keep reminding you of this."

"Probably because you look just like her," he says without taking his eyes off the screen.

"Brad!" I shout to get his full attention.

"Haley!" he replies while twisting his entire body into some weird contrition with his game controller.

"That's it. You need to move out," I tell him, knowing that will be the force to pause his game.

"You'd kick your own brother out?" He pauses the game and places his controller down on the coffee table.

"You'd let your little sister pay for rent, food, gas, and everything else while she works her ass off every day all while you're playing video games?"

"Yes?" he questions. "It's because I love you." He smiles and I want to throw something at him. "Why are you extra pissy today? Did something happen? PMS maybe? Come, sit down, talk to your big bro."

"Nothing happened today, Brad, I'm just tired, and I was playing catch up all day because I was late this morning."

"Well, no one asked you to clean the apartment spotless before I left this morning. If you took that off your morning agenda, you wouldn't be late every day."

I don't have the energy to play the cat and dog fight with him anymore. Brad and I have fought like this since we were kids and right now, I'm not in the mood. "Did you already eat dinner?" Why am I even asking? He's already had three dinners. I just cleaned up the remanence in the sink.

"Not really," he responds. "Are you cooking?"

"No, Brad, I'm not cooking. I'm ordering food because I'm too tired to cook right now."

"Awesome, I'll have two orders of beef lo-mein, a pork-fried rice, and a beef and broccoli. Oh, and can you get a white rice and a moo-gai-pan?"

"No, I don't want company tonight," I tell him. "I'm well aware of Lenny's normal order and I'm not in the mood for guests tonight."

"He's already on his way over, though," Brad says, leaning back into the couch.

"You know what, I'm going out and I'm eating somewhere alone and in silence."

"You're going out to dinner yourself? That's kind of a loser move, don't you think?"

"Yes, it is. And I'm a loser. A loser with enough money to buy dinner for myself."

"What is that supposed to mean?" he asks.

I ignore his question and close myself into my bedroom where I flop down face first onto my bed.

Almost the moment my face hits my pillow, the argument between hunger and sleep fights against each other. Who am I kidding? I'm not going out for dinner. I can't even consider moving right now. I kick my shoes off, slide my scrub pants down to my ankles and pull my shirt off over my head. Almost the moment I yank the covers over my head, I realize sleep will win this battle.

When the darkness opens into an orange glow, I step inside of the four metal walls and the opening closes me in, taking me as its prisoner. I reach out and press every illuminated button on the wall, needing the doors to reopen. The walls move in toward me, leaving me little space and less air. I pound my fist against the buttons, begging for the doors to part, but instead, the walls crowd me a little more. My back slides against the cold wall until I hit the floor. With my knees pulled into my chest, I bury my head into my chest and cry. As soon as the last lick of air has been taken from this enclosed space, the doors open back into the darkness and dozens of people crowd around me, stepping on me as if they can't see me sitting here. I try to pull myself up to my feet, but it's hopeless. The humidity from the hot breaths surrounding me steal more of the air I had regained for a short moment and my lungs begin to flatten. The heat from the crowd smothers me like a hot flame and my only way out is to scream.

And I scream.

I scream until the doors open.

I scream until the people leave my space.

I scream until the light refills some of the darkness.

Waking up to a dark room is never helpful after dealing with this nightmare so I flip on my lamp and pull myself up against the headboard. Glancing over at my phone, I find it's three in the morning.

"Haley," Brad says groggily from the doorway of my bedroom. "You okay? I heard you screaming again."

"Sorry," I tell him, pulling the comforter up to my chest. "I'm fine."

"You know it's not normal for grown women to have these kinds of nightmares so often, right?"

"How do you know?" I snap, feeling embarrassed, even in front of my own brother.

"Because it's not. I thought you were going to go talk to someone about getting some sleeping pills or some shit?"

"Okay, Brad. Sorry for waking you," I tell him, laying back down and turning my back to him.

I hear my bedroom door close and squeeze my eyes shut, hoping to fall back asleep.

Except I know how this works. The second I wake up in the middle of the night, I do not go back to sleep, no matter how hard I try. Instead, I stare at a hole on my wall until the sunlight fills the shadowy imperfection.

Despite the lack of sleep I've been getting since I was a child, I never feel tired when I get up for the day. The worst part of my insomnia is pure boredom and endless thoughts of things I'd rather not think about for hours at a time.

I scrape myself off my bed and find a clean pair of scrubs in my closet. I step into the hall and find the bathroom door closed. Come on! "Brad!" I yell, banging on the door. "I have to get in there."

The water turns off and the shower curtain tears across the metal rod. The door flings open seconds later and steam pours out into the hall. This is why I've always lived alone. There's nothing grosser than getting into a dewy shower filled with someone else's steam. "Sorry, I lost track of time," he says.

"Why are you even awake right now?" I ask.

"Besides the fact that I couldn't fall back asleep after your outburst last night, I have an interview today," he says, using my hair towel on his head. Ugh.

"You do? Why didn't you tell me last night when we were talking about this?"

He shrugs. "You seemed like you needed to vent, so I let you."

I roll my eyes and shove him out of the way so I can get into the bathroom.

My shower is quick, as is the rest of my bathroom routine, as refreshing as it is to clean myself in Brad's post-shower steam, it's not going to be the highlight of my morning. Plus, I'm determined to get to work on time today since no-one seems to think I'm capable of it. I dry my hair and apply a light layer of make-up while staring at my foggy reflection of dark hair, pale skin, and rosy cheeks. Fabulous. I look like a blushing zombie today. It's the only look I'm really great at nailing.

When I step out of the bathroom, I find Brad dressed nicely, as if he truly is going to an interview. "You weren't lying?"

"No, I really do have an interview," he says, shoving half of a bagel into his mouth.

"Where is this interview?" I ask, moving past him into the kitchen.

"Jumping' Jacks. They're looking for a bartender."

I huff a loud sigh. "Brad, you always had good grades and you have a business degree, why not do something with that?"

"I think this is worthwhile. I also have muscles and strength, and I choose to utilize that part of my body instead," he says with seriousness.

"You need muscles and strength to bartend?"

"Yeah, it's a lot of upper body work," he says.

"My God. What would Mom say?"

"Follow your dream, honey," he mocks what her voice sounded nothing like.

"Mmhm, okay." I take the half-emptied pot of coffee and fill my travel mug. "You made coffee?"

"I do have a brain, like you said, Haley, but thank you for underestimating my capability of making coffee." He grabs a napkin from beside me and wipes his face before chucking the rolled up ball of trash at my face. "Enjoy your day, loser."

"Good luck with your muscle model interview. I hope your muscles cooperate today," I tell him.

He grabs his coat from the couch and opens the front door. "By the way, you're late." The door slams and I look at the time on the microwave. Crap!

I take my coat and coffee while running out the door. The moment I drop down into the seat of my car, I feel the need to slam my head into the steering wheel a few times, but I refrain and instead head into the traffic storm, which I find less painful than normal.

I beat my normal time and step inside of the office five minutes before nine. It's a miracle.

"Well, look at you," Mary says with a smirk. "Five minutes early and everything. I bet it's because Mr. Hotty is coming in today, huh?"

I almost forgot about him, kind of. He crossed my mind a few dozen times while I was laying lying awake all night, but this morning, I had my mind set on arriving here on time and that was about it. "Not even in the slightest," I tell her.

"Sure, Haley," she says with a wink.

"Mary, cut me a break. I'm not going out to lunch with him."

"I just—I feel like he may change your pretty little mind," she says, taking a seat behind the front desk. "I mean, that man can bat his eyelashes and pretty much hypnotize anyone he wants with just a blink." I ignore the excessive babble about Mr. Carter and look through my patients for the day. Most of them are regulars and nothing more than routine visits. Seems boring enough.

Five patients come and go, bringing me to eleven o'clock. Temporarily forgetting about Mr. Carter again, I bring my last patient's files out to the front desk, finding the beautiful man in pain standing in front of Mary. Forced to look at him face to...well chest. Today, I have to greet him even if I feel like running back into the staff room. He's much taller than I realized. "Good morning," he says to me. Would it be rude to tell him he doesn't look like a typical mental health professional? After all, I should know.

"Oh, hello, Mr. Carter. How are you feeling today?" Keeping it professional.

"Still in quite a bit of pain," he says, grabbing at his jaw.

"Well, we'll get that fixed up for you today and you'll be good as new." I continue walking to the back wall with the files.

"Haley takes lunch at noon," Mary says, pointedly.

"Thank you, Mary," Mr. Carter says before clearing his throat.

"Yes, thank you, Mary," I say, without trying hard to hide my sarcasm.

"I'd like to take you to lunch if you're free," Mr. Carter says, loud enough that I couldn’t even pretend I didn’t hear it if I were on the other side of the office.

"Me?" I ask, stalling. "Why?" Seriously...why? I cleaned your teeth, it's hardly a reason to ask me out to lunch.

"Honestly?" he asks, shifting his weight to one side as he rests his arms on the front counter. "I spend most of my days dealing with lifeless professors and patients who don't want to be helped, then I go to the library or home to work and research. When I go to bed, I basically hit the repeat button, and it's not very often I see a beautiful woman without a wedding band. So, with the slight possibility that you will actually say yes, I might be able to convince myself that taking risks doesn't always end poorly."

Is this how it is at this point in my life? The opportunities to meet someone are so slim, we have to be forward and ask complete strangers out based purely on their looks, which, then, of course, leads to the next gamble of a personality match—I can tolerate for more than a date. "He's smart, too," Mary adds in.

"Mary!" I snap.

"She's right, I am," he grins while grabbing his jaw again. Poor guy. "Look, I'm about to get a tooth drilled for the first time in my life. I've already made myself look like a man-baby, so I might as well go out on a limb and plead a bit...using this situation as the perfect guilt. Will you give me something to look forward to?" For some reason, I like this reason better than the last.

I wrap my cold hand around the side of my neck as every muscle in my face tightens. Say, no. This isn't appropriate. "You might not be in the mood to eat after having novocaine,” I warn him, but if you want to go, I’ll go," I concede in defeat. I can pretend this is defeat, but in truth, I feel the heat rushing through my face so I turn around quickly, finally placing my last patent's file away.

"Mr. Carter, I'm going to take you back now," Dr. Alice says, appearing from around the corner as she glances down at his file. "Follow me."

"Thank you. Just don’t judge me if I’m drooling," Mr. Carter says to me with a wink. Dale.