#mxmia

Tossing to lie on his other side, he turned his back to the window and instead stared at the wall, biting down on his lower lip. He forced himself to breathe through his nose, in an effort to keep quiet. The digital clock on his bedside table read [03:54].

>>It’s too early. She’d still be sleeping.

>>>No, she said it was never too early. Never too late. Not for him.

Still, the thought of waking her up with this inconvenience put a lump in his throat. He thought he was past this already. Surely a year after those events he should have beaten those nightmares. But it crept up on him, tendrils snaking around the edges of his dreams, plunging him back in the darkness of his old home. The only light was the flames burning in the street visible through cracked windows, the screams of his neighbours echoing in his ears. And there he was on his stomach, trying to crawl away, heavy footsteps slowly, menacingly creeping up behind him. The steps got louder, and then the smoke came. Try as he might, he could not run, could not breathe, he was choking. He was being choked. A hand came up to the neck of his jumper, twisting him around to face this monster in a mask. Cold grey eyes bored into him, and the expressionless mask was dripping, literally melting away to reveal mottled skin stretched tightly over a skull, rotten teeth bared in a malicious grin. Slowly squeezing the life out him -

He sat bolt upright. No, his mind was being allowed to wander. Throwing back the covers, he ignored the slippers by his bed and padded over the carpeted floor in his socks. The doorknob felt cool under his hand, which was clammy with sweat. Taking a deep breath and holding it, he turned the knob and shuffled backwards to accommodate the inward swing of his bedroom door.

Freyja’s bedroom was directly to the right, one step away from his own door. But already Francis sensed something off as soon as he stepped into the hallway. It was her door, wide open. She normally kept it slightly open, sitting just out of the frame - relying on the squeak of the opening door to alert her to someone’s presence. With it wide open like this, Francis tiptoed over the carpet until he saw that her bed was empty, covers pushed to the side. His throat felt dry, his palms sweatier than ever. He could feel his heartbeat quicken, beating almost painfully in his chest.

He backed out of the room, one foot behind the other until he was back in the hallway.

>> She wouldn't have left without saying good bye, would she? Not after everything -

From the darkness of the hallway, Francis noticed something else. Light coming from under the door of the living room. Doing his best to ignore the relentless pounding of his heart, he crept down the hall towards the living room. As he stood with his ear to the door, he could hear some muffled voices -

"Frankie?"

That was clear enough. Francis gave a little start, before tentatively pushing open the living room door to meet the source of the voice. He shuffled in, realising now that the TV was on - which explained the voices. Freyja was halfway through getting up from the armchair, looking over at him with a frown on her face.

"Sorry, did I wake ye?"

Francis shook his head, looking around the room, studiously avoiding Freyja's gaze. Her face softened, but only slightly. Concern now knitted her brow as she tried to catch Francis' eye.

"... I couldn't sleep." he said finally. He rubbed his upper arm in a self-comforting gesture, as he slowly edged his way closer.

Freyja let out a soft sigh. "You too, aye?"

Francis shrugged, shuffling closer still. He was now about five feet away from where Freyja was half-sitting in the armchair.

"Want to talk about it?" she asked, tilting her head to the side.

When she was met with a shake of the head, she tried a different angle. "Want to sit with me, keep me company?"

A minute later, Francis sat curled up in Freyja's lap, her arms holding him securely in place. The pressure was comforting, grounding. He lay his own arm across her middle, and rest his head on her chest - lulled by the soft rise and fall of her breathing.

He could feel her rest her chin on his head, another comforting weight. In this small space, he felt safe. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "I'm sorry, Freyja."

"What on earth for?"

Francis fiddled with the fabric of Freyja's shirt. "I'm supposed to be better now. With the dreams..."

Freyja re-adjusted her hold on the child, giving him a gentle squeeze. She said nothing for a moment, thinking Francis was going to continue speaking. When nothing followed, she spoke gently. "Frankie, you don't ever have to apologise for that. I'd rather have you wake me up every night, every half hour because of a nightmare than go one minute thinking you have to handle this alone."

Tightening his hold around Freyja's middle, Francis tried to bury himself deeper into her embrace. So deep that nothing out there could touch him. Vaguely, he thought he could feel her hold him just as tightly. A gentle fog soon descended over his mind, leaving only soft and safe thoughts, chasing nightmares out of that house.