Post by Zen on Apr 17, 2021 14:15:32 GMT -5
He hadn’t had anything to drink before bed… shells but that had been stupid. He rarely went to sleep without at least a few calming swigs of something. Some nights felt like he needed more than others, but some nights, like tonight, he thought he’d be alright without it. He tried… he tried to be alright without it. Every so often his dependence on the drink to get through the night frustrated him to no end. He didn’t want to be dependent on it, like a crutch, because he was too weak to stand on his own. He hated feeling so weak. But it never failed. When he went without, nightmares plagued him and his sleep was fitful at best. In his dreams he felt so sharding helpless, with all his fears and regrets amplified. But the drink kept them at bay. If he dreamed after dosing himself with a bit of alcohol, he never remembered when he woke. Just a little was enough most nights. A shot of whiskey, a glass of wine, a mug of ale. It was hardly anything at all, and maybe it was only something mental, like a child’s security blanket, but it never failed to give him a good night’s rest.
Not tonight.
Treyjen shifted in his sleep, mumbling mostly incoherently as the dream trapped him in the recurring nightmare of being at his father’s mercy. The belt was like lightning, white and hot and unbearable with every strike, cracking like thunder against him, and the pain of it seemed to sear through his entire being. It was so much worse in his dreams than he ever remembered it being in real life. He’d never begged like he begged in his dreams, begged for it to stop, begged to know why his father hated him so much. He was always a child again, his father such a large presence, something he could never hope to defeat. It was just the two of them in a lonely dark room, no door, no windows, no escape, just him and his father, fear and pain.
There were hands on him, touching him, and that was new. Briefly he fought against them, but the hands didn’t hurt. Was that his name? His father never said his name in his nightmares. And that didn’t sound like his father besides. He reached for those hands, that voice, his salvation, with all that he was, and suddenly his eyes were blinking open in the dark and he was grasping blindly for whoever had saved him.
“Treyjen… Treyjen, wake up… it’s alright… Treyjen…?”
Yelanna. It took him a long moment but he recognized Yelanna’s voice. And he wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her chest as he shook, still not fully awake, still a helpless boy, still afraid his father would pull him back into that room at any moment, that his seemingly endless beating would resume and there would be nothing he could do to stop it. “Don’t… don’t let him take me…,” he whimpered, clinging to her for dear life.
She stroked her fingers through his hair, trying to keep the tremble out of her voice as she did every time she woke him from one of his nightmares, few and far between as they were, “You’re safe, Treyjen… you’re safe… it’s alright. It’s alright. He can’t hurt you. It’s not real.” Shells, but it had been a while since his last. He didn’t always talk to her about them. Sometimes he just shut down and the best thing she could do for him was fetch him something to drink so he could try to get back to sleep. But she knew how to recognize this one. This one happened a lot. It was the only one he’d ever told her about. The way he would sometimes plead so sharding pitifully to his father in his sleep broke her heart. She’d been so scared for him the first time. She’d never imagined Treyjen could have nightmares that affected him so deeply, not when he always seemed so stupidly fearless and arrogant. She had known even then, of course, that he did have some insecurities that he was just very good at hiding, but fears that could haunt his sleep? It had sure made him seem a lot more human.
She felt his trembling begin to subside, though he still clung to her tightly, and she kept talking, repeating the same things, mostly, but she had noticed that her voice seemed to help ground him. Her fingers stroked gently through his hair as he slowly started to calm down.
His grip on her tightened a bit suddenly and he growled, “I hate it… I hate how he can still torment me like this!” His voice was muffled, his face still buried against her as he felt the hot tears of fury and resentment and pain burn in his eyes. Why couldn’t he escape him even now? How could he still let the bastard get to him like this? And how… how could a father come to hate his son so sharding much? He knew he hadn’t been the best son, but surely he hadn’t deserved such treatment? Had he? Surely that wasn’t normal? Shells but he was afraid he would never escape this, that the mental, emotional wounds his father had inflicted on him would never heal and he would need to drink as a crutch just to get a decent night’s sleep for the rest of his life. “Why am I so sharding weak?” came the angry, anguished question he hadn’t quite meant to ask aloud.
Yelanna wrapped her arms around him, her breath hitching as she tried to keep herself together for him, “You’re not… you’re not weak, Treyjen. This isn’t weakness-”
“What the shell is it, then!?” he snarled, because anger was the easiest emotion that he was feeling right now to deal with. What else could it be, but weakness? He was a grown man, and yet here he was, having nightmares about his father that drove him to tears. If that wasn’t weakness, he sure as shells didn’t know what else to call it.
She didn’t answer, because she knew he wouldn’t accept anything she said anyway. Likely she’d only work him up more, or drive him to shut down on her. As much as she wanted to reassure him, she knew he wouldn’t listen. Trauma wasn’t weakness, but he wouldn’t see it that way. After a drawn out silence, she sighed, “I’ll get you something to drink-”
“No,” he cut her off, tightening his hold on her, not ready for her to leave him and hating it. Hating how helpless he still felt even now that he was awake, as if letting her go would have him falling back to sleep and into that room, and without her there would be no escape, no hands to grab him and pull him free. His voice was hoarse with emotion, “I don’t want to sleep… just… talk to me. Talk about something… anything.”
So she stayed, continued to hold him, and started talking about her day in a soft tone. It was nothing particularly exciting, but slowly, his hold on her loosened as he began to relax, to realize he was safe in her arms. He focused on her voice, soft and soothing, as he drew in deep breaths working to calm his ragged, panicked breathing.
He was still so angry… angry that his father could still affect him like this, like when he was a child and helpless to fight back. Why couldn’t he ever throw a damn punch in his dreams? In reality, all it had taken was one for his father to back off. He still got the occasional backhand, but it was nothing compared to the beatings he’d endured before he’d finally stood up for himself. His father was a coward, he’d realized after that. He couldn’t even handle a single punch, after all the pain he’d put him through? But in his dreams none of that mattered. He wasn’t afraid of his father, not anymore, not in the waking world… but all that went away in his nightmares. He was just a boy that could do nothing but suffer at his father’s hands. In his sleep, his father still had power over him, and it was infuriating. The only way to keep him at bay was to drink, and that meant… that meant his father still had power over him while he was awake as well. He hated these dreams all the more for reminding him of that fact. He’d started drinking because of his father, and he kept drinking because of him as well. To stop meant to suffer these nightmares, and he just couldn’t… he couldn’t do it.
Weak.
Yelanna was the only reason he even tried. While he hated his dependency, if he didn’t have her to pull him out of his nightmares he would never even take the chance. Because he was too sharding weak to deal with them on his own and she was the only one he had ever felt comfortable being vulnerable with. She was the only one he’d ever allowed to see his weakness and she supported him through it every time, no matter what might be the cause.
He pushed himself up and pulled her in, placing a crushing kiss on her lips in the middle of her ramblings about her day, causing a soft, surprised sound from her. His mouth was hungry on hers as he sought to distract himself from the memories of his nightmare and she gave herself willingly over to it. One of her hands slid to his back but he tensed and she quickly pulled it away, recalling how he sometimes had those odd phantom pains after his nightmares, grasping at his shoulders instead as he leaned over her and his lips carried him lower. She didn’t think his avoidance was healthy, but it wasn’t like she could force him to deal with these issues, nor did she even know how to begin dealing with them even if he was willing. So she did the only thing she could do and let him use her as a distraction instead.
Resting in his arms after, she nuzzled into his chest and withheld all the things she so wished to say. He was calm, relaxed, and she couldn’t bear the thought of bringing it up and making him think about it again. She wanted to reassure him, to tell him he was loved, that he hadn’t deserved it, that he had deserved so much better in a father. But avoidance was all he had to cope, so she kept it all to herself and pushed gently away from him. He let her go, watching her fetch him a drink and bring it back, which he gladly took from her and downed quickly before laying back, closing his eyes. She crawled back in beside him, stroking her fingers through his hair again and watching him until he fell back asleep, and for a while after as well, until she was certain this time it was dreamless.
