Musings

"Tell me something happy."
I knew the venue all too well. The past four weeks had given it uncommon and unwelcome familiarity. I'd cut caffeine entirely for the first fortnight, gone out for walks, read until nearly dawn, but twice a week it happened regardless. There are times these days when I'm afraid to go to sleep.
"Just tell me something happy! I need to hear something happy!"
The specifics of conversation are different this time but the fear smells the same. There are no words for that depth of desperation. The world flickered and left me sitting at my machine, reading the words as an email header, but I didn't know what to type. Another flicker and I was back in the room again, looking at her, lost for words. Every time I found myself lost for words. That round wooden table, the single light above us, bleak lightless emptiness all around, the same every damned time. The fear, the pleading that I listen- of course I listened, how could I not? It's just that I don't know what to say. Twice a week, every week, and I'm still lost for words.
"Tell me something happy! Please!"
I will, I promise I will. As soon as I can think of something here in this terrible place, as soon as I can tear my eyes away from the pain in yours. I'll think of something, I swear. I won't fail you.
I'm awake in a sudden panicked rush, gasping for breath, scrabbling at the sheet for purchase. I feel as though I've been dropped from the ceiling. 'No more caffeine today, ' I think absently- the daytime jitters from what's leaking through are bad enough without any help, and from prior experience it would be half the day on average before I calmed down enough to approach something resembling relaxed. It takes so long because the dreams don't fade. They're there in my head, all six of them, clear and cold as crystal. The feelings don't fade, either, but I know that I'm not the only one who's feeling all this, which, coming as it did after a phone call on the heels of the first dream, was both a comfort and a revelation, and continues to be a grounding point in a malestrom. I'm not the only one, not even remotely. I'm not the only one with the daytime jitters, the moments of seemingly unfounded panic, the lethargy and worry, the bad divinations, the disturbing metaphysical images when I check on everyone (for me it's skeletons piled in the conduit, but others' of course vary) but I am the only with the dreams. So far. So far.

"This is intolerable, " I said. First words of the morning. He nodded and pulled me to him by way of a reply, and I snuggled close and waited for the shaking to stop.