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Last night I dreamt of monsters again. Not normal storybook monsters or movie actors plastered in cakey makeup monsters: these were stubby, gray-colored creatures with orange horns protruding from their scalps. They weren’t terrifying exactly, but instilled such a strong sense of unease they have woken me from sleep every night these past few days. In return, my existence has become a slog. I drag my body through each class, each interaction, all to return to my dorm and sleep until woken by those monochrome demons again. If I could stop these apparitions, gain just one night of successful rest, I would. But anything I’ve tried has changed nothing of my nightmares: not melatonin, tea before bed, or even a hot bath (which I only tried once before realizing sitting in a communal tub was not the best idea). The only thing left to do was wait it out.
My bed was warm under my back, no longer comforting. I found myself quickly escaping its cushion embrace each morning as it reminded me of the hours of tossing performed the previous night. And the nights before, likely the ones after as well. I grabbed my toothbrush and toothpaste from my nightstand and made my way to the communal bathroom, slipping on a pair of old slides before leaving my dorm.
Brushing my teeth quickly, as I planned to spend as little time in the restroom as possible, I noticed a kid doing the same at a nearby sink. He was short and dorky looking, sporting a pair of thick square glasses and a messy haircut. I’d noticed him before doing laundry or washing his face at night but never really thought much about him: he never seemed very remarkable. I refocused my vision, realizing I had been staring at him straight on with zero shame whatsoever. He stared at me too, toothbrush paused mid-brush. My lips parted to say some sort of apology, but I just exhaled, avoiding his gaze and finding my own reflection incredibly mesmerizing.
“Do you need something?” He mumbled around the brush, dripping minty foam from the corner of his mouth.
“Um, no. Sorry,” I said, spitting into the sink.
“Oh, ok,” He paused and spit. I stared intensely at my toothbrush, rinsing it quickly under the faucet. “You’re in 413, right? I’m in 406, so not that close but not far either, you know.”
“Uh huh,” I shoved the tube of toothpaste into my sweatpants’ pocket but didn’t make a move to leave. Not yet, at least. Not until he did something a little weirder than remember my room number.
He was silent for a moment before continuing, “I’m John.”
“Dave.”
“Cool, cool,” He exhaled. I dug the toe of my slide into the tile. “What’s your major?”
“Uh, sound design. You?”
“Screenwriting. But sound design sounds cool! What do you do, like, make beats and shit like that?”
“Uh, I mean, yeah, kinda,” I had no idea why I was still here. His responses were so bland, so uncomfortably standard I wanted to rip my hair out. But he was the one to initiate the conversation. And he continued it even after I gave answers dampened by my lack of sleep, so why not entertain this kid a bit? (he does seem like he has absolutely zero friends, so maybe this is the first time he’s spoken to someone since the start of the semester). “A lot of it is, like, using different techniques and programs. My professors don’t usually care about genre, so I just fuck around with whatever I feel like. Usually, like, 8-bit video game music and shit like that.”
“That’s so badass! You gotta show me your stuff sometimes; I’m a bit of a video game junkie.”
I chuckled. “Alright, what’s your number? I’ll send you a sample or something.”
“Really?” I handed him my phone instead of responding and he quickly typed his number and added himself as a contact. I chuckled at his last name, ‘Egbert’, before pocketing my phone.
“Hey, I gotta get ready for class, but text me whenever and I’ll probably answer, alright?”
“Yeah, I’ll do that! Have a good day, Dave!” He waved and I left, tossing a short wave over my shoulder.
That kid was a bit weird. Not the most social of butterflies, but he seemed interested enough in me, which was always a plus. Some people, like my roommate, didn’t really like me based on first impressions. But we became close enough to joke about how much we didn’t like each other initially. Rose thought I was an arrogant douche who thought the world revolved around me. I thought she was a spoiled princess with the stuck-up mentality of a Victorian royal. We may still think some of these things are true, but we definitely don’t hate each other as much as we did initially, which really makes the two of us living together not a total nightmare. However, I am happy when I spot her perfectly made bed: that means she’s already left for class and I can change in the privacy of the room.
There’s no one to impress in my first-year writing class, so I put on a simple white shirt with red sleeves and black pants, alongside a pair of sunglasses I’ve been wearing ever since my nightmares spawned dark circles under my eyes. Plus they make me look cool. And being cool is more important than anything, more important than seeing the whiteboard clearly, even. But I cared enough to bring a notebook and my laptop, though not enough to use them to actually work on my writing assignments. But there are probably over one hundred people in that lecture hall at a time, so my professor couldn’t care less about what one person does in her class.
Making it to class wasn’t a problem either, it only being two blocks south. And I always got to class a bit early to get a seat apart from other students. Not that I didn’t have friends or anything. The semester just started, so of course I didn’t have a lot of them yet. I was just unlucky that none were in this particular class. Or my other classes. Or in the dining hall whenever I grabbed food. That didn’t matter: I preferred just listening to music or composing instead of possibly talking to someone, so being friendless was actually a good thing. Yeah.
So I did just that: sitting in the more-full-than-usual lecture hall with headphones on, blasting random video game soundtracks and screwing around in Garageband. That was until I spotted a vague silhouette approach from my right. He moved down the aisle, exchanging ‘excuse me’s and ‘sorry’s with the students they crossed, closer and closer until he was right next to me. He sat at the seat, tossing his book bag against the floor where it bounced against my leg. I paused, glancing in his general direction to wait for an apology. Or for him to move his bag. He did neither. Douche.
“Shit,” He whispered harshly to himself. I sensed his body shift to the left, looking at me now. “Hey, man, can I borrow a pencil? Forgot mine at home, hehe.” His chuckle was dry, emotionless. More like punctuation than anything else.
I hummed in response, digging into my own bag to grab the shittiest pencil I could find: no eraser and little lead. That’s what you get for making me slightly uncomfortable. Serves him right.
When I looked up at him to hand over the pencil, though, I let in a sharp breath. This kid, with deep eye bags and teeth that poked out from beneath his upper lip, made the color seep from my skin. I felt warm, I felt ghostly white, I felt nervous sweat covering the pencil I planned to hand him at one point. Looking at his face reminded me so immediately of the horrors that had plagued my night relentlessly. It was almost as if those monsters had jumped out of my head, disguising themselves as normal people and integrating into human society.
“Uh,” He blinked, grabbing the pencil from my hand and slowly shifting to face the front of the room. “Thanks… I guess.”
I sat immobile for a moment, blankly staring at the side of his head. He thanked me and finally learned some manners. But why do I care? I shouldn't hang around him if he’s gonna freak me out so bad. Next week I’ll sit somewhere else, or sit in the front so he won’t want to sit there. Or maybe I’m making too big a deal of this. If he wants to sit next to me, on purpose or by chance, I’m a grown man! I can deal with a guy who reminds me of a monster for a couple hours. Only an uncool wuss wouldn’t be able to deal with that. Ha.