starter dated november 12th, 1989 for @hemingwayed​ / another night terror, and then another. and another after that. there’d been more frequent as of late. too frequent. to the point where a small girl wasn’t the only one affected by tumultuous nights, and guilt was beginning to eat her alive for it. “ maybe . . . ” it’s ten thirty am, much later than she’d normally awake during the weekends. but sleepless nights ‘cause for mornings in and it’s another thing added to her list of drawbacks. legs brought to her chest, back against a headboard, and chin propped up on bare knees, she begins a conversation it’s far too early for. “ maybe i should go back to sleeping at home. for a bit. ” she doesn’t like the sound of that, not one bit. but it’s an offer that has to be made : for the sake of offering the other some sleep, for the sake of having worries be hers exclusively. “ i don’t know why they’re back, i – ” paranoia seeps through her pores whenever they are, turning a girl antsier than normal; a fumbling, mumbling wreck of anxiety & melancholy. it was as strenuous as it was embarrassing. “ they’ve got no reason to be ! i’m . . . i’m happy, but whenever it happens i start worrying and they got worse and suddenly it’s like the whole world’s imploding because of ONE BAD DREAM. ” pause. “ i’m sorry. ” thick brows knitted together, and eyes wandering.