"A Sanctuary Safe and Strong"(Marianas Trench)

Chapter 46

Somewhere around midnight, halfway through the third movie Josh had coerced Matt into starting to watch a little too late for the brunet's liking, the yawning started. At first, Matt covered his mouth each time the urge hit him, and then settled back into the leather, leaning his head to the side. After the first few times, he stopped being so polite about it and outwardly yawned loudly. That lasted for about fifteen minutes until he suddenly jerked himself awake for the second time.  

"Sorry, man, I hafta get to bed. I can't stay awake any longer," Matt said, blinking sleepily.  

Josh felt his heart tighten a little in his chest at the thought of another night like the one before, but the brunet's eyes were horribly red and bloodshot for the second night in a row, and they were starting to slip closed again even as he was speaking. Finally, Josh raised the television remote and paused the movie with the full intent of watching the rest on his own. "Yeah, you look like you'll be lucky if you make it up the goddamn stairs," he joked, nodding and forcing a soft laugh. 

"At least," Matt mumbled, shoving himself to his feet and shuffling across the floor. "G'night." Then, in one last unintentional plunge-the-knife-twist-it-tight turn of ironic phrasing, Matt uttered the words, "Sleep well, man."  

"Yeah," Josh said quietly, watching the younger man climb the first few steps until he was out of sight, "'night." Sleep well. Sleep well. Sleep fucking well.  

The same goddamn clock on the wall that had wormed its way into Josh's terrified thoughts twice before ticked steadily away on the wall, counting out minute after minute, hour after hour while the blond continued to watch actors he couldn't name flicker across the television screen, the volume muted so that nothing but the mind-numbingly obnoxious sound of the timepiece could be heard, and he could swear it was getting louder with every pass of the second hand. At three twenty-seven in the morning, finally unable to take the rhythmic noise anymore, the singer stood and climbed up onto the chair, reaching well overhead to yank the goddamn thing off the wall and tear out its batteries. As he roughly placed it back in its spot, it screeched along the paint creating another noise that Josh didn't care if he ever heard again. 

Stepping back down to the floor, the blond deposited the batteries in a drawer and dropped back down onto the couch, pulling both legs up onto the cushion and shifting them off to the side. He tugged the woven blanket from the back and wrapped it around himself, up over his head and shoulders, pulling it together in the center of his chest. Once again, a fleeting thought of his missed childhood stuffed animal flashed through his thoughts as the credits of yet another movie scrolled across the screen, ending the sixth film in a row.  

By now, he was getting drowsy, and if he was asked, there was no possible way he could have told you what the plot line of the last film was. There was a girl, or maybe it was a guy. And something about...a parrot? An island? Fuck, he had no idea, and it was entirely possible that he was mixing that up with the liner notes of a Beach Boys CD he'd recently run across for the first time in ages. But what did it matter anyway? At the very least, it had been holding his attention long enough to keep him awake.  

Despite desperately wishing he could sink into some version of sleep where his dreams were pleasant with a "happily ever after" ending, everything in him told him not to even bother trying. But, fuck, Josh would be willing to accept anything, absolutely anything that wouldn't leave him clawing at his hair and hiding under the blankets while his eyes darted across the room, searching for things that might be slightly out of the norm. Josh was sick of the nightmares, sick of waking up in a cold sweat, sick of waiting until his pounding heart slowed enough that he could make sense of where he was, sick of having to throw himself out of bed in a groggy, pointless attempt to get away from characters that wielded any number of weapons in his direction. Sighing quietly, the singer moved onto his side and slid down on the couch to get a little more comfortable, keeping his legs tucked up against his body as he rested his head on a pillow propped up against the arm of the couch.