** ** ** ** **

As you regain consciousness, out of breath and leaning against a tree in the forest, you have the urgent feeling that you need to run... The signs are there: hidden in the stiffness of your spine, the dryness of your throat, the squareness of your trembling shoulders; and yet, sleep paralysis roots your body to the base of the tree.

“Sh*t, sh*t, sh*t,” you cry under your breath as your eyes flit around the grass before you.

Spotting your camou military pack inches from your foot, you begin to swear again as the tension in your bones deepen. Wild, frantic eyes flicker about the small enclosure as your breath shallows, heart races, and foot struggles for the pack.

“Come on,” you plea, “Come on, you stupid foot! Reach, goddammit!” Instantly, your body freezes as an unsettled gust blows against your skin. You hear the inevitable groan and whisper in the breeze, and the same scenario of the previous night overtakes every thought in that moment. You’re lost for words, the tightness of your throat narrowing, choking you of every word except one.

“Brayden!” Finding your voice, you scream. “Brayden! Brayden! Braydehhh-”

Silence. Nothing but your racing heart ensues, until you are sucked back into life as cold, wet tendrils quickly snake around your throat. Willing your muscles to work, like you have done the past two nights, you thrash your body hither and yonder to lacerate the tendrils from your neck. The temptation of giving in is overwhelming compared to the fire that burns your insides, but your attention remains on retrieving the backpack. Kick, swipe, pull. Kick, swipe, pull. By the fifth attempt, you finally hook your foot around the strap and pull it towards you before you are sucked into the shadows.

Liquid ice. The world around you feels of nothing but liquid ice as you hear your distant body gurgle. And as you hear the cracking of bones, you…

** ** ** ** **

Jolting upright, I throw my head and empty my stomach of last night’s dinner on the cheap rug. Tears and snot and vomit spew from my face in an overwhelming deluge, and I briefly lose balance as I dry heave the last remnants of rabbit stew. One second I’m in bed, the next I’m sobbing and twitching in my own bile as I struggle with another around of night terrors. Ever since that night, ever since my near death experience, I’ve somehow become a former shell of myself that insists that very nightmarish reality.

Seconds later, I smell his cologne upon feeling his hand touch my back, and yet my muscles still spasm at the events of the nightmare. I look up and instantly see the concern in his eyes. I can only imagine how many times he’s seen me looking like this. Actually, let’s… not think about that right now… or ever.