Söbriety • Mötley Crüe •

87. Nightmares

"I can see the black comforter, I can see the shadow of the bedroom door, I can see the nipple ring hanging off your chest." She sucks in a shaky breath as I nod my head for her to continue. "I can hear your voice, the hum of the air conditioner, and the honk of a car down the street. I can feel your skin, the sheets, and the fan on my face." Her hand reaches up to wipe her eyes as I place a kiss onto her temple.

"See, you're okay. It was just a nightmare, babe. It's over now."

"Did I hit you this time?" Her voice is soft, her shoulders tensing.

"Nah. You head-butted the fuck out of me, though." I let out a quiet chuckle and she groans in embarrassment. "It's fine, Ry. I know the risks of sleeping with Mike Tyson."

"It's not fine, Nikki." She lets out a breath as she peels herself away from me and throws back the covers. "I don't understand why they won't go away. They're getting worse." She throws her hair over her shoulder as she turns the bathroom light on.

"What do you mean worse?"

"N-nothing. I just mean happening more." Her voice wavers and I quirk an eyebrow, deciding to not push it further.

"You know it's just a part of working through what you're working through. Give it some time, babe." I raise my voice so she can hear me and I can almost hear her eyes roll. "Don't be so hard on yourself."

"It's been a month, Nikki. How much longer?" The sharp sound of the toilet flushing carries through the room as she walks out and tears her sweaty shirt off.

"Have you thought anymore about going to the support group Dr. Carrington told us about?" I sink back into the bed, bracing myself to be yelled at.

"No. I don't want to go sit in a circle and talk about that mother fucker and relive it all over again." She throws her hands in the air as she walks in the closet to find another shirt.

"Kinda seems like you're reliving it in your dreams anyway?"

"Yes, Dr. Sixx, I am aware of that." She scoffs as her voice takes on a heavily sarcastic tone. "Reliving it in my dreams is enough for me. I don't need to rehash it anymore than I already do in therapy and my own fucking bed. Drop it."

"Okay. Just figured I'd try." I throw my hands up in surrender as she walks toward the door. "Where are you going?"

"I can't go back to sleep now. I have to study for my final exams anyway."

She has made it a habit to shut down every time the subject of her past abuse gets brought up.

She claims she goes to individual therapy to work through it just so she doesn't have to talk about it at home, but that point seems irrelevant when she wakes up four out of seven nights kicking and screaming anyway.

It's eating away at her, and I can see it.

But she won't let me help her.

"I wish you'd just talk to me." I mutter as she closes the door behind her, and I throw the covers back over me, sinking down into my pillow.

"Talk to me, Ryan. Please. What's going on?" A shiver runs down my spine as the bath water turns from lukewarm to frigid, my pants firmly stuck to my legs like a second skin. "What did you write about that's fucking you up so bad?"

"I- I can't-"

"Yes you can, baby. Just tell me so I can help. I feel like we can't wait until our appointment if it's got you this upset." Her head leans into my arm and I place a hard kiss to her temple. "I hate seeing you like this. Please let me help."