Chapter Text
Norman had always had trouble sleeping. The nightmares weren’t so bad anymore, and he was at least grateful for that. But “better” didn’t mean “gone;” and, nightmares or not, he struggled to fall asleep and stay that way. He was nervous and restless and he just couldn’t quit, not even if given the chance. Like a shark, he always had to move, always had to think. If he stopped, his mind would surely kill him.
Or someone else.
So when Mary suggested he rest for a while— “Why don’t you lie down and take a nap?” she’d said, when he’d yawned earlier that afternoon— he was skeptical. In his half-lidded, drowsy state, he remembered worrying about what had happened the last time he’d let himself doze off. He’d woken up to a murder in his own home; and no matter what Mary told him, he still wrestled with the fear that he’d been responsible for it.
The memory of that hazy, too-warm afternoon in the kitchen only gave him the urge to yawn again. His eyes drooped, then watered. In search of a comfortable position, Norman rolled onto his side.
This was much better. From here, he could curl up defensively: a woodlouse under a rock, a wolf in a den. The room was warm enough that he didn’t need a blanket. Laying atop the quilt more than sufficed. Norman nestled against the nearest pillow and tried to follow Mary’s instructions: close his eyes, breathe deeply, quiet his thoughts until they were a dull hum in the background. The last of these was easier said than done. Even so, he found the sensation of being alone with said thoughts… surprisingly peaceful, after a while. Of course, he couldn’t just think about nothing. He’d never been able to. But perhaps, Norman figured, he was too tired now to dwell on his usual doom and gloom. The longer he lay motionless, the more he adjusted to doing so. It wasn’t long before opening his eyes again was harder than keeping them closed.
He knew there was no going back when
his
thoughts,
once clear as day,
began blurring
together
into nonsense.
The rest that followed was unlike anything Norman had experienced before. When it came to an end, he remembered exactly none of it— ergo, it was perfect. Hardly ever before had he slept so deeply, so thoroughly, so dreamlessly. And never before, he thought, as he scanned the room and found no signs of violence, had he been so certain that he was asleep. He adjusted himself in a vain effort to recapture that bliss—
—and blinked, surprised, at the sight of a familiar wool sweater on the floor beside him.
Mary?
You filthy, rotten boy! You’ve done it again, haven’t you?
What was she doing there? He’d told her he was going to sleep, didn’t he? Or did he not? He couldn’t remember. Oh, God, he couldn’t remember. That was never a good sign. Wide awake now, he tried to do as he’d been told. Deep breaths, he reminded himself. It’s okay. Don’t always assume the worst. Maybe you didn’t—
First you run off with that whore, then you cut her open just like you did all the others, and now— and now!— you have the audacity to sleep beside her corpse! Oh, what am I going to do with you?
The longer he lay there, the more his breathing trembled. Each hopeful thought drowned in a wave of rising panic and nausea, until he was compelled to sit up. If he wanted any hope of keeping his lunch down, he had to. If he wanted to know if she was still alive— if he wanted to know how the hell she got in here—
He looked over, and she was fine.
No blood, no stab wounds; her nose was in a book. Mary lowered it and beamed up at him. Everything was fine. So much so, in fact, that he blinked with surprise.
“Hi!” she chirped, her smile softening. “You sleep okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Look at you! You’ve left your poor mother in shambles! You’re lucky I can’t get my hands on you, otherwise I’d beat you within an inch of your—
Norman tried to shake the excess fear from his mind. A sigh of relief escaped him; he relaxed his muscles to the best of his ability and closed his eyes. Maybe if he lay still, pretended Mary wasn’t there, he could return to that state of near-hibernation he had fallen into so effortlessly before. He had to ignore her. It pained him, but anything else was strange. Why was she here? This kind of behavior wasn’t normal. Friends didn’t share rooms. Friends didn’t sleep side-by-side, not more than once. That was… it was…
Vile! Vile and sinful! Something you’d only do with a slut like her, that’s what!
Saliva rose into his mouth. He swallowed it before something else could come up after it. A dreadful feeling simmered in the pit of his stomach, one he had experienced countless times before but would never quite get used to. He wasn’t being a creep, was he? No, he couldn’t have been— Mary had entered the room of her own accord. Norman allowed himself a single, quiet groan and decided to distract himself by imagining someplace else. Another room, maybe? No, he was getting bored of those. A field? Too wide open. Not enough places to hide.
An aquarium.
Perfect.
Mary rose to her feet; the edge of the bed creaked and sank as she came to perch on it. In his mind, the sound made the fish scatter. “Norman, are you alright?”
He nodded.
“You sure? You’re sweating a little.” When he opened his eyes, her head had tilted to one side; his mannerisms were rubbing off on her. “Bad dream?”
“No, I— I— can you stop hovering over me like that?”
“Sorry.” She straightened. “I came in to check on you. You looked so peaceful. It made me want to stay. I hope you don’t mind.”
Norman didn’t say anything. His heart still fluttered; he had to focus on soothing it.
Mary faltered. “Um… do you mind?”
“Not at—“ his voice cracked “—not at all. Just… ask next time, alright?”
“Okay. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I mean, thanks for not trying to, you know…”
He trailed off. Mary understood. She always did.
“Of course,” she said. One of her hands hovered near his head. “Can I ruffle your hair?”
“Sure.”
The gesture made him grin. Red-faced, his hair disheveled with sleep and affection, he gave a breathy chuckle. Mary leaned back and sprawled across the bed when she’d finished, reveling in the space she had now. Even though the apartment was a fraction of the old house’s size, the bed was twice as large. Probably, Norman thought, because it hadn’t been built for a child.
Even still, he was compelled to make room for her.
In the silence— now that his nerves had subsided— the faint sounds of nature outside enveloped him. Drowsy birdsong, insects he couldn’t name, the distant cry of… was that a coyote?
How long had he slept?
“Hey,” Mary said, after staring at the ceiling pensively. “Has anyone ever told you that you snore?”
“I do?”
“Yeah. You snore like a cat purrs. Almost made me fall asleep. Even when you’re out cold, you’re still polite.”
“Oh.” Norman allowed himself a smile. “That’s good to know. I guess I needed the rest.”
“Probably. It’s been an exhausting week.”
“I—“ He paused. “I wouldn’t say that. Maybe it’s been exhausting for you, because of midterms.”
Mary rolled her eyes. “Way to rub it in. ‘Ooh, you have midterms and I don’t.’ Shut up.”
“But—“ he snorted “—but, me, I’ve had a lot worse.”
“You’ve had a lot better, too.” She sat up and looked at him. “Like last week. And the week before that. You’ve actually been doing really well for a while now. And whether you think you’re ‘used to it’ or not, this kind of stress takes a toll on you.”
“Mary, I’m not stressed.”
“You broke down crying yesterday because I came home late.”
Norman’s temper flickered at the mention of it. “That— I was—“
“Anyway,” Mary interrupted, unwilling to discuss it further, “you rested, and I’m glad. How do you feel now?”
“Fine.” No, that wasn’t quite it. “Great, actually. I’ve half a mind to go back to sleep.”
“Then why don’t you? I’ll be right here if you need me.”
Norman’s chest tightened. “Because— because I— I—“
“Hey,” Mary said, her voice softening. “If you want me to leave, I can. I will. It’s okay.”
“No.” He shook his head. “It isn’t that. I want you to stay, I just… I…”
He swallowed.
“Mary, is this normal?”
“Is what normal?”
“You know—“ Norman gestured vaguely at the bed “—this.”
“What? Hanging out? We do this all the time.”
Irritation crawled up his throat. “No! Not that, I mean… oh, come on, you know…”
“Sharing a room?”
He nodded.
He certainly hadn’t expected Mary to laugh.
“Norman,” she began, “of course! Haven’t you ever heard of a sleepover before?”
“I was never allowed to have sleepovers,” he reminded her, bitterly.
I was doing you a favor, boy. It’s not as if they’d have invited you, anyway.
Mary’s face fell. “Oh. Right. Well, you are now. So think of it like that.”
“But… aren’t— aren’t sleepovers for girls?”
Come to think of it, Norman had never heard of boys doing that sort of thing— let alone anyone past high school.
“Do they have to be?” Mary asked, shrugging.
Norman didn’t know. That uncomfortable feeling, the one that churned and writhed, was settling into his stomach again.
“It’s okay if you don’t want me here. I promise. You can say no to me.”
“You— you can lay on the floor,” he decided. Oh, God. That sounded rude. Hastily, he added, “I’m sorry. I meant—“
“Okay!” Mary flung herself off the bed, approached the closet, and withdrew her sleeping bag. “I don’t mind. I have this, anyhow.”
“You sure?”
“Of course.” She lowered it onto her spot beside him; his eyes followed her. “I’ll just sit here and read. Let me know if you need anything.”
Norman nodded and resumed lying placidly on his back. Before long, his eyelids drooped again; his entire body was weighed down with oncoming sleep, waiting for it to wash over him, crouched beneath it like a rat on a railroad.
“Mary?” he began, steadily less and less awake.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
“No problem.”
“No, I mean—“ he stifled a yawn “—thanks for respecting me. I really appreciate it.”
“Of course.”
Mary reached for his hand and squeezed, her grasp warm in his.
“Sleep well, okay?” she said softly, before returning to her book.
“Mm…”
What little thought he had left, he had dozed off before he could finish it.