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I’m screaming and there’s no noise coming out. That’s the first thing I notice. The second thing is that I’m sitting in my old apartment. I can tell by the layout, the familiar configuration of fancy Swedish furniture and dull off-white walls.
As soon as I see smoke, I realize I must be dreaming. I was down on the street when this place set alight, not inside, burning away with it.
Unfortunately, that does nothing to quell the sickening feeling of fear that fills my body. There’s no way out, even as I will myself to escape. I repeat over and over again that it isn’t real, I’m safe, I’m laying in bed and I’m safe… but the feeling of the flames licking up my sides seems pretty damn real, and oh god, I’m going to die here…
All I can hear is someone yelling in the distance, as I sit down on the sofa to accept my fate
I focus on the sound of yelling because there's nothing else to do. As it gets closer I realize they are shouting "Jack", over and over again.
I stand up with a start. I'm Jack.
The flames are still growing, and now they are approaching the oven. I brace myself, lamely using my forearm to block my face from the impending explosion.
As soon as a fireball envelops my apartment, I open my eyes to see the dark and wet ceiling of the Paper Street House.
I’m breathing hard, nearly hyperventilating as I try and process what just happened. Nightmares are normal, I used to have them all the time, so why did this one have me shaking? When my eyes refocus, my view of the ceiling is obscured by Tyler standing over me, his tattered robe brushing my side.
“Hey, woah, you’re alright, it’s okay…”
I sit up dazedly. Tyler’s still trying to calm me down, but I can see the concern written across his face. I shake my head. “It– it’s fine, it was just a stupid nightmare,” I say, hating how my voice wobbles when I try to speak.
He sits down almost on top of me, grabbing my shoulders and holding them securely. "It's obviously not fine if it's got you shaken up this bad," he says. It comes out like a command. "Wanna tell me what it was about?"
I stare past him for a long few moments, trying to put enough words together in my head to explain the dream.
"It's okay if you don't," he offers.
I immediately shake my head. "It was my apartment. It was on fire, and I was inside. Trapped, I just, I, I couldn't do anything about it, I was, I was just watching it all go, and..."
I trail off. I press my tongue into the roof of my mouth as hard as I can: a familiar gesture I learned a long time ago to stifle tears. I've already fallen apart over this enough in front of Tyler, I'm not about to start crying too.
"Take a deep breath, man," Tyler instructs, reassurance clear in his voice.
We sit in silence for a beat while I attempt to collect myself.
Finally Tyler speaks again. “Are you going to try to go back to sleep?”
I shrug. “I want to, but odds of that actually working are pretty low.”
He shifts his weight off of me and for a moment I am disappointed but instead of leaving he climbs next to me, tugging at the old ratty blanket that has lived on my mattress for probably longer than I’ve been alive.
I almost shiver at the feeling of him being so close. I can feel his warmth radiating off of him through his bathrobe. I try not to think about how many times I have imagined this happening.
“Come here,” he murmurs.
Grateful for the opportunity at actual contact with another human outside of Fight Club, I quickly oblige. I shift over towards him until I am on my side, curled into him with my head resting on his chest.
He doesn’t say anything else, but he does drape one arm over me. His breathing evens out and I can tell he’s fallen asleep.
And for once, I do too.