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Wendy awoke to the sensation of falling. This happened pretty often, but most of the time, she wasn't actually falling. It was simply a jarring illusion her body created during the transition from dreaming to waking up. Upsetting, but normal.
This time, though, it was real.
After the wind had been knocked out of her, she quickly realized she'd rolled out of bed. She was laying on the carpet in an uncomfortable position, her left arm pinned under her. Her chest heaved with heavy breaths as her brain processed what happened.
She was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, most likely caused by the nightmare she'd been having. That wasn't anything unusual, either. Even when it was chilly and she fell asleep without any blankets, her dreams always made her unconscious body go into survival mode.
As she tried to collect her thoughts, she made the motion to sit up, and her skull nearly bumped her nightstand on accident. Wendy reflexively pushed herself in the opposite direction and stared at the piece of furniture.
That fall was close. Almost too close. If she hadn't been so lucky, she might have hit her head on her descent.
It wouldn't have killed her on impact. She and Kevin had reinforced all the edges in their apartment, both sharp and blunt, with foam and duct tape. If she did hit her head, it probably would have just left a bruise, and she would have forgotten about it in a week.
But what if it had given her a concussion? Or a hemorrhage? And what if that led to her demise somewhere down the line?
She continued to scramble backwards on the floor until her back was pressed against the wall, inching closer and closer to hyperventilating. Her lungs and ribs hurt, both from hitting the floor and from her encroaching panic attack.
Images from the nightmare resurfaced, blood and gore and too much adrenaline. Pounding in her ears. She couldn't hear her own thoughts.
Her fingernails scraped down her forearms as her limbs crossed across her chest; not hard enough to break skin, but hard enough to leave a white trail behind. Had to distract herself. Had to get to–
Just as she was about to sprint out of her room and into Kevin's, he appeared in her doorframe.
He hadn't even bothered to put on a shirt – decorum was always abandoned whenever one of them thought the other might be in trouble. They both made sure to at least wear shorts to bed for this reason.
(They even showered in shifts, leaving the door open so they could listen out for each other. Thankfully, the bathroom mirror faced away from the living room, so their modesty was preserved, even if the room temperature air was cold on their skin once they were done bathing. And they hadn't had any scares in that room yet . But ‘better safe than sorry’ had become their motto.)
His face was twisted in urgent concern. “Wendy!”
She found herself nearly speechless, paralyzed by some invisible force. Instead of telling him that she was okay, she whimpered, “Kevin,”
Immediately, he took three large strides forward, and crouched in front of her. “Hey, hey, Wendy. Are you hurt?”
“I…”
His hands gently cupped her face, giving her room to move away if she wanted. But he knew that physical touch grounded her better than anything. “Can you nod your head yes or no?”
She shook her head and shuddered. “I… I'm fine.”
“Okay.” His expression became a bit less frantic and bit more focused. “Can you tell me what happened yet?”
“No.”
“Do you want me to hug you?”
Wendy quickly nodded her head. He always asked. She didn't know why he bothered asking at this point. He knew the drill: hug first, ask questions later, once she was able to speak coherently.
She knew the drill for his panic attacks, too. They'd become pretty familiar with each other over the past several months out of necessity. Julie wasn't always able to stay with them, since she still had to go to school, so it usually fell to the two of them to manage things.
Kevin took her into his arms, and she squeezed him tightly. Not too tightly. She was afraid of hurting him, somehow, despite how sturdy he felt. Didn't want to break any more of his ribs like that horse had at the Tricentennial.
“Breathe, Wen. You've gotta breathe.”
She hadn't noticed that she was still hyperventilating. But she was so short of breath, she couldn't make herself stop, which only made it worse.
“I don't wanna die,” she choked out.
“You’re gonna be fine. I've got you. Do it with me, okay?”
His chest rose as he took a deep breath in, and fell as he released it. She tried her best to mimic him, frantic gasps falling from her lips, but it took a few minutes to match his pattern.
As her lungs began to stop aching, she felt the vice grip on her nerves loosen. A dark, heavy cloud took its place – no more pleasant, but much more manageable. Less likely to give her a heart attack, at least.
For the next few minutes, the two of them sat in silence as Wendy collected herself and calmed down. She wasn't going to open her mouth until she was capable of talking without bursting into tears. If she started crying, she would spiral, and they'd be there all night.
She tried to focus on the tactile feel of things around her. The carpet was cheap and felt uncomfortable on her legs. It was cold in her room, because it was winter. And some of the soft velcro fibers on Kevin's back brace were catching on a hangnail she had. He was a little sweaty, too, just like her. He must have been having a similar dream.
The only dreams they seemed to have anymore were nightmares, gory amalgamations of their memories and new scenarios their subconscious minds created.
This time, hers had been about Lewis. She'd relived his death around five or six times over the course of the night. Felt his blood, still warm, splatter across her face. Sometimes, he even got up and walked around afterwards, the shattered mass of bones, brain, and viscera where his head used to be trying to speak to her in garbled tones. Her own head had been crushed once or twice, and she could feel it. She could feel every bit of it.
She looked at the clock beside her bed. It was fifteen past three in the morning. They had class the next day. They would both be exhausted. Again.
So much for winning Valedictorian a second time.
Finally, Wendy sighed, her voice coming out hoarse. “I fell out of bed.”
It took Kevin a few moments to reply. “I heard a thump. I figured that's what happened.”
Of course he'd heard her. They both slept with their bedroom doors open. If he hadn't heard the thump, he would have heard her voice. She could have done nothing more than sigh in her sleep, and he would have come to check on her (and vice versa).
According to him, he'd been a heavy sleeper once. Not anymore. But she'd always been an insomniac.
“What was your nightmare about?” she asked.
“I don't remember a whole lot. But there were vultures, and we talked about Prometheus in literature yesterday, so it probably wasn't great.”
She sniffed. “Prometheus had eagles. Not vultures.”
“It’s so sad that you know that.” His face wasn't visible, but she could imagine him smirking. This was how they coped. Hugs and humor.
“Mine was about Lewis.”
He said nothing in response. They'd both talked about the deaths they'd witnessed ad nauseum, and how they would be haunted by them for the rest of their lives, however short their lives may be. Nothing more could be said about watching the fan drill itself deeper into Frankie's skull, or the way the life slowly drained from Erin's eyes, or how messily Ian's body had been bisected.
So, instead of talking about watching their peers die over and over again, Kevin asked, “Want to watch TV?”
Wendy released him and leaned back, her hands resting on his shoulders. “I have a test tomorrow.”
“I'll make you some coffee later and help you cram.”
Coffee and Red Bull had become lifesavers for the two of them. They probably relied on it a lot more than what was healthy. Sure, most college students relied on energy beverages to some degree, but their all-nighters were spent studying, not dry heaving on the living room floor because they saw a ten second ad for a fast food restaurant.
Still, she shook her head in dismissal. “I’m not in the mood for TV or flash cards. I wish I could just fall back asleep.” Her voice lowered to a mumble. “Turn my brain off or something.”
Kevin gave her a slow nod as he furrowed his brow and averted his eyes to the carpet. “Would it help if I… if I stayed?”
She bit her lip and shrugged.
If she didn't feel so haggard, Wendy might have blushed at his offer. Sleeping in each other's beds was unfamiliar territory for them, even in the context of comforting one another. She'd never even slept in the same bed as Jason. They'd never had the chance.
But was it really any more – or less – intimate than what just happened? She and Kevin were friends, and she trusted him more than anyone else she knew. And Julie shared her bed when she visited on the weekends. It would probably be like that. Besides, if he was asking at all, he could probably also use the company. She wasn't the only one with PTSD.
Too tired to say anything clever, she wearily nodded. “Yeah. Maybe.”
“Okay.” He nodded back. “Okay,” he repeated like an assurance.
He took her hands in his and began to stand, helping her up along the way. Her knees felt a bit wobbly once she tried to support her own weight, so she quickly sat on the edge of the bed to save herself further indignity.
Kevin made his way around to the other side of the queen-sized mattress as Wendy laid down and kicked the covers away. She sighed as her head hit the pillow, and the springs under her moved as her friend climbed on.
Now that he was in the direct glow of her room’s nightlight, the burn scars that covered half of his face were visible. Sometimes, she forgot that they hadn't always been there.
That was a sobering thought. More time had passed now since Devil's Flight than the total amount of time she'd known Kevin before then. And, if she lived long enough, she would eventually have to deal with the same realization about Jason. And Carrie. And everyone else she'd known in high school.
But unlike the others, Kevin was still alive, and he wasn't the same Kevin that Carrie introduced to her at Wendy's a year ago. He'd made a joke about her name matching the restaurant’s, and gave her a free Frosty to celebrate, since he had a part-time job there at the time. (He would be fired a week before Grad Night for distributing too much free food to his friends.)
Would she have even realized how big his heart was if it hadn't been for… everything? When Carrie confided in Wendy, revealing her plans to break up with him, she'd been fully prepared to never speak to him again after that night. Prepared to file the poor sap away under the ‘friend's exes’ folder in her brain.
Now, she couldn't imagine life without him. They'd decided to rent an apartment after realizing there were no co-ed dorms on campus. They read the same books, and discussed them afterwards. She tagged along to all of his physical therapy appointments after his injuries at the Tricentennial, offering support and unspoken protection.
They studied together. They ate together. They even cut each other's hair (using shears they kept in a mini safe with their other sharp objects, like nail clippers and kitchen knives).
She watched his back, and he watched hers. That was how they lived. How they were still able to live.
Wendy wasn't much of an optimist, but it felt nice to hope that she and Kevin still would have become good friends if things happened differently. Even if it was unlikely. The mere notion of the two of them not getting along was enough to make her stomach ache.
She tried to push the thought out of her head as she turned on her side, facing Kevin. His head rolled in her direction, and he gave her a curious look.
“Everything alright?” he asked, laying on his back with his hands clasped over his chest. “Besides the obvious.”
“Yeah, I'm fine.” She tucked her arm under her head as a thought occurred to her. “You ever wonder what J and Carrie would think if they saw us now?”
He paused. “Like, right this second?”
“In general,” she replied with a chiding, gentle kick to his shin. “Sleeping with the door open. Never using the stove. Owning safety scissors. That kind of thing.”
He sighed, deep and slow, and pursed his lips. “...I don't know. We've both changed a lot.”
She picked at the pilling on her cotton sheets. “He was always trying to get me to relax. Loosen up a bit, yeah? Live a little.” She scoffed. “And now I wouldn't even know how to relax in a padded room.”
“I know. I thought I'd be in a frat by the time I was a sophomore.”
Wendy frowned. “Well, there's always next year, right?”
Kevin shook his head dismissively. “Eh, I'm not sure that's really what I want now. Greek life is pretty intense, and I don't want to commit to that kind of intensity.”
“Plus, we wouldn't be roommates anymore,” she said, her voice quieter and less sarcastic than she meant for it to be.
“Exactly.” He rolled on his side to mirror her and propped his head up on his hand. “Unless they let you come along. Or I snuck you in.”
A small smile crept its way out of her. “I don't think they'd take kindly to stowaways.”
“Then fuck ‘em.” He smiled back. “They can't split up Batman and Robin.”
“Just so we're clear, I'm Batman in this scenario, right?”
“Yeah, I’d say you've earned it.”
“Good, cause you're definitely my sidekick. Not the other way around.”
They shared a laugh together. It was quiet, and it didn't last very long, but any moment of levity was always treasured. She couldn't believe there was ever a time when she didn't enjoy this dope’s company.
Kevin looked at her with eyes full of understanding. “You know what I think J and Carrie would say if they saw us now?”
Her ears perked up slightly. She hadn't been expecting him to actually answer her rhetorical question. “What?”
“I think they'd tell us they're glad that we've got each other.” His expression turned bittersweet and thoughtful. “I think they'd be happy that we're not alone, even if we're still messed up.”
She considered his reply, rolling his words around in her mind. “That’s a good answer.”
He shrugged. “It's true. Wouldn't you feel the same in their position?”
Wendy had imagined herself in Jason's place plenty of times. How could she not? The crushing guilt of wishing she died instead of him would haunt her for the rest of her life. But this was a new angle for her.
She tried to picture how she would feel if he and Carrie became as close as she and Kevin were. Would she get jealous? Would she care?
…No, not really. She'd mostly just feel relief that he wasn't suffering alone. She'd be dead in this scenario, after all, and his happiness and safety would be her main concern (if she was somehow able to see him from the abyss).
She refused to follow that line of thought any further, having done more than enough thinking for the night. That was the sort of topic she could (and would) linger on, and she really did want to get a couple more hours of sleep before her alarm went off.
In response to his rhetorical question, she gave him a nod. Her words came out in a yawn. “Yeah. You're right.”
“Try and get some sleep now, okay?” He extended his hand and gave her arm a comforting squeeze. “Don't want you to fail that big test.”
“It'll be more of a quiz, honestly. Barely a dent in my overall grade.”
“Still.”
Wendy used her free hand to reach out and brush a strand of hair out of Kevin's face, her fingers lingering on pink scar tissue in the process. His hair was getting kind of long. She'd need to give him a trim soon.
He watched her with a soft smile, pulling the comforter up to his chin once she pulled away. “Night, Wen.”
“Night, Kev.”
She shut her eyes, and an unusual sense of peace washed over her. It wasn’t all-encompassing, because she was always a little on edge these days, but it was a bit of comfort she didn’t have before.
Once Wendy drifted off, she dreamt of absolutely nothing at all.