Subterfuge

Night Terrors

I couldn’t move.

Arms pinned, breath shallow. A knee pressed into the mattress beside my hip.

Heat against my neck.

A laugh, low and private, too close, as if it wanted to crawl inside me. Hot breath poured into my ear.

Warm oil.

I struggled, realizing I was asleep. I tried to roll away, to cry out, but my mouth would not open. My arms and legs were sealed in concrete.

A deep chuckle. Cruel intentions.

“I am dreaming. This is a dream.”

I attempted to call out. My mouth was full of peanut butter, or cotton.

“I am dreaming. This is a dream.”

It felt as if I could not find my body, but I continued to fight.

Then, I gasped awake, heart thrashing. The room snapped back into shape.

He was beside me, propped on one elbow, watching.

“You were having one of those nightmares,” He said, voice soft, careful.

My throat felt dry, I couldn’t find my words. Still, he gave me that look of concern, devotion, patience.

“I’m right here,” he said, squeezing my shoulder. “It was just a dream.”

His hand felt heavy as my slumber-filled head. I was relieved when he rolled onto his back, and, within minutes, settled into sleep again. I stared at the ceiling. One hand on my neck, where my skin still felt too warm.

---

To be Continued.