Broken String

CLII

Anita takes his hand with her kind, kind smile.
"Come on, Eddy. You can walk. It's alright. Here, hold on to this walking rack."
He eyes the walking rack miserably. Isn't that for old people? He reaches out obediently and puts his right hand on the rack. 
"Ow." 
A dagger shoots through the hand and suddenly he's not feeling so brave anymore. He's supposed to walk? All that way? The walls suddenly vanish and he's outside in an open field. There is nothing but grass as far as the eye can see. The sun beats down on him from far above. It would be pleasant if it weren't so stifling hot. If his hand didn't hurt as much.
Oh, God it's hot. Oh, no, it's so sore.  
"Come on!" Anita yells suddenly and she yanks the chair out from under him, pushing him up on his feet with one swift move.
"No!" he yells at the top of his lungs, because he's not ready and now the sand is moving underneath his feet, the field is gone and there's nothing but arid desert, the wind swirling around him, the sand in waves, undulating as he screams out in pain. "My ankles!"
Knives bury themselves deep in his legs, twisting, turning until he screams again and tears run over his cheeks. "No! No!" he whispers as he falls, the sand swallowing him up, burning him alive, eating him up whole. "No!" 

"Eddy. Jesus. Eddy."
The urgent voice comes through the sand and drags him up. He bolts upright in the bed and breathes in gulp after gulp of cool, fresh air. His throat is on fire and he gags as nausea billows inside him. 
"Shit." Brett cusses as he shoots up. "Bucket?"
"No." Eddy groans and he takes deep breath after deep breath, shaking his head to emphasise the point to himself, breathing in the cool, extinguishing the fire, pushing away the nausea. "Fuck. No. I'm okay."
Brett's arms fold around him, holding him in. 
"Hey. Breathe. You okay?"
"Fuck." he whispers again. "Yeah. Why is it always Anita?"
"Huh? Anita? What about her?"
"I don't know." he says. He knows he's never breathed a word of this to Brett but it's different now. It would be lying by omission if he didn't say it now. "Um. When I used to have nightmares she was always the one pushing me on stage. You know... when you used to come into my room in the middle of the night, way back before we... you know?"
Brett blinks in the growing light. It must be early morning because the first rays of sunlight flow through the balcony doors. 
"Anita? What, like, Ms. Parry, from the con?" 
Eddy nods. 
"I have no idea why. She was always there, leering at me. And now it was her again, pushing me to stand when I... wasn't ready. The poor woman has done nothing wrong in her life, so why am I dreaming this?"
Suddenly Brett's worried face breaks into a shy smile. 
"Maybe because she's so nice? You know, she's safe?"
"Maybe." Eddy shrugs. "I wish it would stop, though." He takes one more deep breath. "Jesus fuck, that was horrible. I should call her, actually. She doesn't know yet and she's probably worried. Anyway. I don't want to sleep anymore. Is that okay? Can we go and get a cinnamon roll for breakfast?" 
"Sure." Brett says. He reaches over and puts his glasses on, then picks up his phone. "It's seven anyway. I think the bakery must just be opening. We'll have plenty of time for once."
"For once I wish I was almost late." Eddy says before he can swallow the words. "Fuck. I'm scared shitless."
"Me too, my love." Brett whispers as he pulls him tight again. "But together we'll get there, you'll see."