Nightmares
For as long as he could remember, Tim's life had always been a wreck. He'd always been paranoid that something was following him; until recently, he thought it was all in his head.
Turns out you can have nightmares even when you’re awake.
Tim found himself in a dark forest, nary a light to be found. The only sounds he could make out were his blood pounding in his ears and his heart hammering in his chest; it felt as though he was inches away from a heart attack.
A sudden crack of a stick sent his head reeling back over his shoulder. He spied a familiar and terrifying shape looming from behind a tree; it was statuesque until it shifted it's limbs like tendrils. All of Tim’s limbs were suddenly in motion, and he found himself darting deeper in the woods. His panicked eyes flickered for a weapon -- anything to protect himself. The scenery looped like an old cartoon chase, neverending. The pounding in his ears was replaced by a deafening static that made his tongue buzz and his teeth chatter. The sound only grew stronger the longer he ran, and an illness fell over Tim, making him sick to his stomach. He fell forwards onto the forest floor, the brambles underneath him cutting into his palms and jeans. He tried to pull away, but found his wrists tied and held to the ground; no amount of struggling could set him free.
Panicking, he threw his head back over his shoulders and his eyes widened. The Operator was standing only a few yards away, long legs carrying a too long body. As it made its way towards Tim, it’s long tendrils seemed to barely reach out to touch him. "No no no no--" He chanted this mantra until his throat was hoarse and The Operator was standing right behind him.
Awakening with a start, Tim felt the sofa he was asleep on dip as a mysterious being joined him. He fumbled for a weapon, something to protect himself lest it was him.
“Stop Tim! You’re dreaming,” a woman’s voice said, her warm hand grabbing his arm firmly. Tim relaxed under the comforting touch, recognizing the voice. When had Casey gotten here? When had he gotten here? None of this felt real, and that’s what worried him. What if he was still dreaming?
Tim wrenched his arm free of Casey’s as if he’d been burnt, digging his nails into his arm. He winced at the red, stinging pain, finally letting out a shaky breath he’d been holding. So this wasn’t a dream, he wasn’t hallucinating and The Operator hadn’t actually grabbed him. “Hey kiddo,” he grumbled, still groggy from the -- was it a nightmare, or did he black out again? Tim couldn’t even remember falling asleep on the sofa in the first place. His tired eyes glanced around the room, recognizing it as the AirBnB they’d rented for the time being. The clock sitting on the mantle read ‘1:28 A.M.’ in bold, glowing red letters. “What the hell are you doing up so late?”
“No reason,” she said. But the way she pulled her legs up closer to her as if in an attempt to ground herself had her mentor thinking otherwise. It pained Tim’s heart seeing her like this, remembering how he was at her age; alone, with hallucinations plaguing him, doctors poking and asking prodding questions, the fear.
“Is it about him?” Maybe their dreams were linked, maybe she could tell he was having another nightmare about the faceless man who plagued their lives. He watched as she tensed, then relaxed.
“It wasn’t him this time,” she mumbled to herself. The look in her eyes was that of panic, as if she was in a marathon, running away from an invisible enemy. Tim remembered the doctor's words too well; she suffered from schizoaffective disorder. The medicine was supposed to help, but even Tim knew that sometimes fiction would bleed through, even on the heaviest of dosages.
“Something else, huh?” When she nodded, Tim felt pain. This was something he couldn’t take away from her, no matter how much he begged or wanted to. His parents begged and pleaded with every God-like thing in existence, and he was still plagued by dark thoughts. He wondered how to tread the situation; it’s different telling yourself everything is okay versus telling someone else. When you tell someone else, you have to make sure it doesn’t feel like you’re regurgitating every piece of shit lie fed to you. Sometimes, it doesn’t get better; sometimes, it gets even worse.
"Ya’know, when I was a kid I was diagnosed with schizophrenia." It took a lot of guts to admit that even though he accepted it long ago. He still didn’t know if it all was really true, or if The Operator only made it seem that way. Sometimes, he still questioned it to this day. Waiting with bated breath, the silence made him dread ever opening his mouth. Just as he tried to back-track and apologize, Casey spoke.
"Were they right?"
Tim laughed. He didn’t mean to, but the question itself seemed humorous; it was something he still doubted to this day. "What? You really think I can tell the difference anymore?" Tim asked, a dark eyebrow quirked quizzically. The sound of Casey's feeble laugh softened his heart; he wished he could take all of her pain away. But the world didn't work that way.
The duo sat in silence, the younger of the two still too nervous to say anything else. She played with the ends of her shirt awkwardly, unable to quit from fidgeting. It was Tim that broke the silence. “Look, as cliché as it fucking sounds… you're not alone, kid." Lifting his large hand, he gave a ruffle to her hair. "You got me to talk to -- you got your friends. We got your back.”
"But what if you're not around?" Her voice was quiet, the exuberance and friendliness it normally held long lost. Tim saw her for what she truly was; a terrified kid plagued by nightmares, lost in this world. He still was like that too, even as an adult with experience.
"I'm always gonna be around, don't forget that." He shifted on the couch until he was on his side, face to face with her. "Try getting some sleep up here, yeah?" He didn't want to mention it, but even he needed a presence after that horrifying experience. Nightmares like that always plagued heavily on his mind and made him rethink all the progress over the years; blame, regret, anger. He felt it all afterwards.
Casey silently laid down on the floor next to the sofa, using one of the couch cushions as a pillow. Her body couldn’t sit still though, and Tim heard her anxiously playing with the seams of her jacket, plucking them. After what felt like ages, she stilled.
"Night, Tim.”
"Night, kid."