help. - a Scömìche short story

a long day.

Naturally, I cannot fall asleep even if I want to. While Scott is passed out next to me, I can only stare at him while the lump in my throat threatens to choke me. I want to hold him forever. I let my fingertips trail lightly over his arm, to his shoulder and down to his back. He shifts a bit and I freeze, suddenly worried that I woke him up. He simply rolls over, eyes still shut, and reaches out to grab my hand. He doesn't move after that, simply holds my hand in the space between us and continues to snore softly. I glance over at the clock, its luminescent numbers shining in the darkness and informing me that it is far later than I want it to be. Despite the exhaustion nagging at me, I also feel wide awake, like there is something running through my veins that prompts me to be awake. My attention is called back to Scott when he begins to squirm, and I watch as the neutral expression on his face changes to fear while he rips his hand away from mine to clench it into a fist around the sheets beneath us. I want to comfort him, but am afraid to wake him. Suddenly, he stops moving, only for a split second before he releases a single, piercing shriek and wakes up, eyes wide and searching for something in the blackness. Unsure of what else to do, I tentatively reach out to touch his arm again. Even in the dark, I see his gaze dart toward me, and he visibly relaxes when he sees me.

"Hi." I say quietly, unable to make my voice any louder than a hoarse whisper.

"Hi." he replies, dragging a hand over his face. "Did I wake you up?" I can almost feel the heaviness in his tone.

"No, definitely not. I couldn't sleep."

"Usually it's me." he says with a small chuckle. I move a little closer to lay my head on his chest and listen to the fast-paced thump of his heartbeat.

"Nightmare?"

"Mhm. Of course the only time I can actually sleep I get woken up by that."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not particularly." He wraps one arm tightly around my shoulders and the other around my waist.

"Let me know if you do." He hums his acknowledgement quietly and then we are both silent for a few beats. "Do you think you'll be able to go back to sleep?"

"Maybe. I'm tired."

"Me too."

"Then why aren't you sleeping? That doesn't really make sense." He chuckles, and I look up in time to see his eyes shut.

"Goodnight."

"Good morning." he corrects. "I love you, sweetheart."

"I love you more, sugarplum." Within two minutes he is fast asleep again, this time with me wrapped in his arms. He doesn't wake again until I get up to leave for work.

****

By the time I get to work, I have had three cups of coffee that have not yet kicked in, and I somehow suspect they will not. I fumble to put the key into the lock properly and it takes me nearly a minute to get the doors open. Looking around the darkened room, I realize that I will be there for twelve hours, which is twelve too many hours for me to be away from Scott. I flip on all the lights slowly, jumping when the bell on the door jingles and I hear the familiar voice of my coworker say, "Hey, Mitch. I didn't know you were opening." I turn toward her, not even attempting a smile. "You okay? You don't look so hot."

"Got no sleep." I mumble, watching as she nods and walks over to the cold coffee pot, plugging it in.

"Need some coffee?"

"Already had three cups." I make my way toward my desk slowly, nearly tripping on my feet and my vision doubling with exhaustion every time I take a step. I barely catch myself on a table when I trip. As soon as I get to my desk, I plop down in the chair and lay my pounding head on it. Tiredness and worry are battling in my head, leaving me with a monstrous migraine. The longer I sit there, the more sounds invade the building. What feels like an eternity after I get there, my manager says, "Mitchell. Sleeping, are we?" I snap my head up, startled, and stare at him, fighting to keep my eyes open. "I do not pay you to sleep on your desk, I pay you to work."