Miss Mayhem

Sleep came all too easily, but came and went, as restless as a child on Christmas morning. I tossed and turned, eventually giving up. I rolled over to look at the digital clock on the wall, squinting my eyes as the digits came into view. Three forty a.m. I'm surprised I fought for so long. There was something that tugged at my mind, as if I didn't want to rest for fear of encountering a nightmare. It was an odd feeling, and the fact that I was able to place it so easily was all the stranger. My curiosity got the best of me, and I figured that I had to get to sleep, in order to figure out what my subconscious was running away from.

I sat up in bed, tangled in the sheets and comforter, my tee shirt twisted uncomfortably at the neck. I straightened my composure as I stood, remembering how I had gone to bed without changing out of the clothes worn the day before. Shrugging sleepily, I tip-toed out of my bedroom, down the hallway and staircase, past the living room, and into the kitchen. I flicked on the light and almost screamed when I stopped myself, losing breath instead.

Lauren sat at the table, passed out with the head placed on her folded arms, black locks splayed this way and that. There was a stack of papers beneath her and a mug of coffee at her side. I set a hand over my heart, slowly regaining oxygen. I forced myself to calm down, quietly creeping over to the cabinet where I saw the medicines were kept. I sifted through them, hoping to find some sort of sleep aid, relieved when my fingertips brought out a purple bottle of Melatonin.

"Hey, Charlotte."

I jumped, medicine clutched tightly in both hands, and spun around, blowing loose blonde hair out of my eyes. Lauren woke up, although she was horribly groggy, head tilting from side to side ever-so-slightly and eyes struggling to stay open.

I forced a smile. "Hey, Lauren. Why are you up so late?"

Her dark eyes fixed on me, and then on the Melatonin I held so protectively. Suspicion seemed to dissipate from her expression and she gave a pitying smile. "You can't sleep either, huh?"

I shook my head, and she stood, holding her hand out for the bottle, which I handed to her, hesitantly. Lauren spared it a glance before returning it to its place in the cabinet, and she gestured for me to sit down, which I finally did. I watched her quietly as she wandered about the kitchen, pulling things out here and there.

"Is everything okay?"

I don't remember when it happened, but I must have been terribly deep in thought to not notice the mug of some sort of warm substance placed in front of me. My fingers brush the side of the white ceramic cup, heat tickling my skin. I look up and see Lauren with her own mug, sipping absentmindedly, as if she was stuck in her own little world, too. I shrug, and she nods at my mug, which I finally taste.

Flavor bursts from the small sip, pleasantly sweet with a hint of spice. I pull away from the drink and eye it, only to hear Lauren answer my unvoiced question.

"Milk, honey, and some chamomile."

"That's... interesting?"

Lauren rolled her eyes. "It's supposed to help you sleep," she said, placing her mug down to rub her tanned hands together, clasping them a moment after.

I sipped again, and then again, finding myself in love with the taste of the drink. "Does it help you sleep?"

With a rueful smile, the woman shook her head, and I rose a brow. "After so long, you get used to it, and it doesn't work anymore," she finally answered, and I nodded slowly, feeling bad for her.

"So what are you working on?"

Lauren let out a quiet 'ah,' straightening out the papers which had previously been ignored. Upon better inspection, I realized that they were newspaper clippings. "There's something about your name."

I laughed, interrupting her without wholly intending to. "My name? I didn't realize that Charlotte was so old fashioned."

She shook her head patiently, but didn't lift her gaze this time. "No, I've heard it before. It wasn't anything largely important, else I would have found it already, but... God, Charlotte, there's something about you."

This stopped me from gulping down the milk-honey. "Me? I thought it was my name?"

The ravenette set her face in her hands, sighing tiredly. "You, your name, something. Charlotte, have you ever killed someone?"

"Just who the heck do you think I am?"

A small smile appeared on her half-hidden lips. "Just asking, jeez. That's where I could've heard your name. You could've assassinated the president or the Queen."

I grinned, scoffing a little too loudly, but only to prove a point. "And who says that I didn't take both of 'em out?"