I had nightmares, sometimes.
Not of anything in particular. I didn't have any particular fears during my hours of consciousness, but during the night everything became shapeless and dangerous in my head.
I would scream sometimes and my dad would come in and hug me tight and tell me that it was all just a dream. That didn't really help.
Sometimes my little sister would run in and tell me to be quiet because I was taking away her sleepy time and she needed her sleepy time so she could get up on time for school in the morning. That didn't help, either.
He slept around my house sometimes. We'd lie top to tail in my double bed and talk about anything and everything. Well, he talked, he liked to gossip, I mainly listened and learned.
One night while we were sleeping, the faceless figures tortured my sleep and I awoke screaming. He sat up instantly and all but fell out of the bed. He scrambled back in, this time so we were face to face.
"Why do I have nightmares?" I asked him breathlessly after I stopped yelling, my throat burning.
"I don't know," he said.
He shuffled closer to me and wrapped his arms around my shaking body. I rested my head in the space between his shoulders and his neck and drifted back to sleep in his arms.
I didn't have any more nightmares that night.
***
"Do you still have nightmares?" she asked me.
"More than ever."
