Alexandra hated sleeping, yet her body betrayed her every time; no matter how much she fought against it, exhaustion always won, dragging her down into the very thing she despised.
She could never escape the truth that rest was needed if she wanted to keep moving, but every time she surrendered, every time her eyelids grew heavy and she slipped into the world of dreams, she always woke with a deeper ache than before, a longing so sharp it pierced her chest.
She always woke with desperation burning in her veins, with the unbearable emptiness of craving someone whose existence she could not confirm, someone she feared might never have lived at all.
The doctors had tried to reason with her, to explain the strange patterns of her mind. They told her she experienced frequent lucid dreams because her brain worked at a pace faster than most, far beyond her age or the average person.
They believed her brilliance, the very fire that made her who she was, was also the curse that left her restless in sleep. Without realizing it, Alexandra had trained herself into the habit of the mnemonic induction of lucid dreaming, the MILD technique, repeating to herself again and again before closing her eyes that she would dream and remain aware, whispering the suggestion like a vow, like a secret ritual, until it became second nature.
But Alexandra refused to accept the clinical explanations. She rejected the neat theories and dismissive tones that tried to reduce her experience to a quirk of the mind. She knew with a certainty that what she felt, what she saw in those dreams, was too vivid, too alive, to be brushed aside as a mere trick of the subconscious.
In those dreams was a woman, a face that returned night after night, haunting her, calling to her in ways that no rational explanation could silence. Alexandra craved her with an intensity that frightened her, yet the fear was never enough to stop the longing.
Jane, loyal as always, had tried to manage the fallout. She made sure Alexandra ate when she refused food, kept the house in order when her boss spiraled, and arranged every detail with the amazing timing of someone who knew disaster was always waiting to slip in.
But Jane could never guard Alexandra's mind, and when the storm inside her grew unbearable, even Jane had to step back and let her unravel. Alexandra would collapse into bed or onto the couch, still wearing black silk lingerie, her skin bare to the cold air, her hair spilling wild across the pillows.
Some nights she would lie on the floor, surrounded by her four massive dogs, as if only their steady presence could keep her tethered to this world. She never locked the front door anymore. She told herself that if a stranger came in, if someone with dark intentions wanted to end her life, it might be easier that way—better to be taken than to keep waking up empty.
"Alex, I have to—" Peter's voice broke the silence as the young dog sitter pushed the door open without knocking, his tone hesitant but casual, asking for her permission to run out and buy dog shampoo from her usual pet shop. He stopped mid-sentence when his eyes fell on her.
There she is, Alexandra, sprawled across the floor like a fallen angel, wrapped in silk and shadows, her dogs gathered close around her in a circle of protection. Their massive bodies pressed against hers as if they could feel the storm within her, as if they knew that their mistress did not need guarding from the world outside but from the darkness clawing at her heart. The sight made Peter freeze in place, breath caught in his throat, a quiet awe pulling at the edges of his chest.
For once, she looked peaceful, vulnerable in a way he had never seen. Her lashes trembled against her cheeks, lips parted with the faintest murmur of a dream, her hand curled into the fur of the dog resting closest to her. They looked less like pets and more like guardians of a shrine.
A smile tugged at Peter's mouth, gentle and fleeting. He knew better than to disturb her. Moving as silently as he could, he stepped backward toward the door, easing it shut behind him.
One of the dogs, the sharp-eyed shepherd who never let anyone pass unnoticed, raised its head to watch him. Peter offered a small nod, his voice soft as he whispered, "Go back to sleep." The dog blinked once, then lowered its head again, pressing closer against Alexandra's body, as if sealing the promise.
Peter stepped outside into the quiet of the yard, pulling out his phone as the weight of responsibility settled on his shoulders. He dialed Jane without hesitation, lowering his voice as though afraid his words might drift back into the house and disturb Alexandra's fragile rest.
He explained that funds needed to be transferred immediately; there are essentials to be bought: dog food, shampoo, deworming medication, flea and tick treatments, and, of course, a visit to the butcher shop to replenish the steady supply of fresh meat that Alexandra insisted her dogs should always have.
For as long as he had worked for her, Peter had grown accustomed to the care and devotion Alexandra poured into her four loyal companions. Their diet was never something left to chance or convenience.
The foundation of their meals was Unkibble, a premium dry food unlike any other brand Peter had ever encountered. He often marveled at the fact that Unkibble was made with real, recognizable ingredients: cuts of meat, wholesome starches, ripe fruits, and vegetables that looked as though they belonged in a kitchen rather than a factory. It wasn't just pet food; it was closer to human food, processed through a slow, low-temperature dehydration method that preserved its natural form.
That process, Peter knew from Jane's meticulous instructions, was the reason Alexandra trusted it. Unlike the harsh, high-heat cooking of most commercial kibbles that stripped away nutrients and replaced them with artificial additives, Unkibble retained the richness of natural vitamins, minerals, amino acids, and fatty acids.
Every bite remained intact and nourishing, crunchy yet easy to digest, and free of preservatives. It was as though the food carried a promise, one that Alexandra demanded for the beings she loved most in this world.
Her four dogs each had their own strict food quota, measured and replenished every two weeks without fail. Peter handled the pickups himself, loading bags into his car and making sure the pantry is never empty.
He had long stopped questioning the level of attention and money Alexandra poured into her pets; he simply admired it and even envied the certainty of her devotion. Whether she needed him daily or not, she paid him generously, enough that he could have lived off the income as a full-time dog sitter if he chose.
Yet, Alexandra never leaned on him every day. She only called when her world tilted, when exhaustion consumed her, when she wasn't in the right state to care for her four beloved dogs, just like today.
Today is one of those times. With Alexandra lost to restless dreams, tangled in silk and guarded by the steady warmth of her dogs, Peter knew his role. He would keep the house supplied, keep the animals fed and groomed, and quietly shield them all from the chaos that pulsed from their mistress's heart.
"Is she okay?" Jane asked softly, her voice gentle, almost afraid that even speaking too loud might disturb Alexandra's fragile rest.
"She's sleeping," Peter said.
He looked back at the house, remembering how he had left the door half-closed. "I left her with the dogs. They all curled around her like they knew she needed them. They'll take care of her."
He could still see the picture in his mind, Alexandra lying in the middle of the floor, on the soft fur carpet, her four dogs pressed against her sides, their steady breathing like a shield.
Jane let out a long breath, then gave a small laugh. "Alright. Next week means more work." There was no edge in her voice, only the kind of tired smile that came from years of knowing the pattern of Alexandra's life.
It always happened the same way. After days of restless nights, after falling into that strange place between dreams and waking, Alexandra would come back with more fire than ever.
She would code nonstop, work without breaks, and have ideas spilling out of her as if she had been saving them all up while she was asleep. Jane had seen it many times, whole projects finished in a rush, game plots pouring out like water from a broken dam.
Alexandra's life is a cycle she couldn't escape: nights of struggle, mornings of tears, and then sudden bursts of brilliance that left everyone around her trying to keep up. And through it all, Jane had learned to be ready, because when Alexandra woke, she wouldn't just wake up; she would burn.