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I wake up with a sudden feeling of dread. I assume it was from the dream I had just had- the dreams of my homeland, and when I had to flee it. I was so young then, and yet I remember it so clearly I can almost taste the gas that took my voice. I take a moment to calm myself, breathing deeply- appreciating I am no longer that little girl coughing out her lungs. That I had made it out of that situation alive. Traumatized, and definitely saddened, but alive. I breathe in and out, in and out, over and over again, to no avail. The looming feeling of being trapped- of sadness, grief, dread- it haunts me, making my stomach churn. It’s a feeling I can’t escape, and it’s a feeling I slowly begin to realize isn’t entirely my own. I can recognize the feeling, so I know certainly I’ve felt it, but it just isn’t me feeling these things.
It’s Red feeling them.
The emotions are clear. He must be either awake, or having the nightmare of his life. I can feel his heartbeat- it’s steady but irregular. It’s far too quick. He’s undoubtedly miserable, with whatever is happening in his mind. I can’t feel exactly what he’s thinking, though, so that tells me he’s still living nightmares so traumatic I can feel them like my own. His heartbeat electrifies my thoughts- All I feel on my own is pity for him. I think of all of the ways I possibly can to help. If I can calm my own thoughts, why can’t I calm his? I asked myself. I concentrated for a moment- thinking every peaceful thought I could ever think. Peaceful thoughts I could muster from childhood, from sightseeing with Corian— I try not to let the still very open wound of his death affect the tranquility of my previous thoughts. If not for myself, for Red. To drag him out of his misery. I sit there with the thoughts for the longest minute of my life. The feeling still does not go away. It doesn’t even lessen. All of that and he’s still in his hellish dreams.
I think for another moment. My only other option is to wake him up, but would he appreciate that? Sure it’d be dragging him out of his torment, but maybe he’s one of those people who doesn’t like to be woken up. I consider letting him endure it on his own. I know he’s strong enough to, he most likely had to live it on his own as well. That’s truly no excuse though. I suppose I’m left with absolutely no choice.
I find myself afraid to make noise. My footsteps are always quiet, yet I find myself flinching with every footfall. As if making a noise across the apartment would immediately disturb him. Halfway there I stop myself yet again. I look back to my perfectly open bedchamber and my perfectly warm and comfortable bed I could settle back into and pretend I had never gotten up in the first place. I turn to face it, preparing myself to walk back. Of course, my decision is for naught, and the feeling churning my stomach stops churning and instead starts pulling- dragging me towards Red’s bedchamber.
At this point he can’t possibly can’t be angry at me. I’m being pulled into his gravity. This isn’t my own mission.
I make it to his door and I consider turning away for the final time. I could just ease myself back into unconsciousness and pretend I never sat outside his door like a lunatic and I instead did the normal thing to do. Whatever that may be.
I turn the knob gently. It makes no noise, and the door quietly creaks open behind me. I think to myself, What the hell am I doing? But I know full well that now that I’ve closed the door, I’m stuck in this room.
I finally look up at Red. He’s sound asleep, thank God. He’s pained by whatever he’s dreaming of- his brows are knitted together and the corners of his mouth are plastered into a frown. I hate to see him like this, and yet I consider turning around again. I force myself forward, knowing I have to drag him out of whatever fresh hell he’s experiencing.
Standing over him was even worse. I thought I had felt creepy just sitting at his door, but now that I’m just watching his facial expressions— that are still twisted into masks of pain, and grief— I feel much more like a stalker and less like a friend trying to help. What normal friend would even consider standing over their companion like this?
I touch his shoulder. His skin is still warm. Not like the feverish temperature he sometimes gets- but warm. He doesn’t stir, his expression doesn’t change. So, I touch him again. No response, exactly like the first time. I put more force into the next tap- enough to jerk his shoulder to the side. He only stirs.
I touch him again, and the fourth time does the trick. His eyelids flutter halfway open- giving way to his dark eyes, darting around the room frantically before settling on me. If I didn’t know better, I would assume his eyes were glossy with tears, and I’d ask about it. But based on his expression, I know he definitely does not want to be asked about it.
Are you okay? I ask him.
He doesn’t answer. He simply deflects. Thank you.
Are you okay? I ask again. He still gives me no answer, so I turn away to go back to my bedchamber.
Wait. He says, quickly, almost like he didn’t mean to think it.
I look back at him inquisitively, and the new feeling of embarrassment radiating off of him floods back onto me.
Stay. He tells me, almost in the same tone he used after that battle at the warfront. Please.
I refrain from asking him what he means, even though I have no idea how he wants me to ‘stay.’ I step back to his bedside, crouching down so I’m not looming over him like before.
No. he says. Your legs will get tired. He pats the side of his bed next to him, gesturing for me to get in the bed with him.
What? I blurt, accidentally sending him my thoughts before I can think them through myself.
He just looks at me, expectant.
So, swallowing my confusion, and other certain emotions, I climbed over him and laid where his arm once was- merely a few inches away from him.
I don’t know when I fell asleep. I don’t know when I got so close to Red. I wake up entangled in his arms, holding him with one arm while my other is folded to his chest, allowing him to be as close as possible. I try my best to remember how we had gotten stuck like this, but everytime I draw blanks.
I look up at him. He still has his usual scowl, but it’s far more subdued than what it had been. He seemed more at peace, and his thoughts- I could see them clearly now, were calm and the thoughts of someone slated deep into sleep. Still studying his face, I decide it’s best for me to not begin my meticulously stressed thoughts so early. The sunrise had barely begun. It’s at least a 30 minute stretch until Red or any of the others wake up. So, I spare myself the pain of alertness and instead cuddle closer into Red and close my eyes again.