Nathan
Sometime later, I wake up to Ryder's arms tightening around me. His breath quickens and I can feel his heartbeat racing. He lets out a pained moan, then the warmth around my waist disappears as he turns to face the other side. Minutes later, he turns around again. I fumble around for my glasses and hurriedly put them on. His eyebrows are furrowed, eyes screwed shut, and he mutters the same few words over and over again:
"No, no, please, I'm sorry."
Then he turns again, lying face-up with the blanket taken off. He grips the sheets tightly and grits his teeth.
"I-I'm sorry."
Tears start to roll down his face, and his breath becomes jagged. He gasps for air, but the tears just start coming faster. I sit up in alarm and put a hand on his arm.
“Ryder?” I ask, but he just grimaces at my touch.
Then I try to shake him awake, to snap him out of whatever horrors are flooding his mind. I want him to be okay, to be safe.
“Ryder!”
Ryder
The thing about memories is that your brain alters them every time you try to remember them. Sometimes, you’ll think that you’re wearing a different shirt than what you remember the last time, or maybe something completely changes the first time you think about it. And then you begin to question your memories, and maybe open a can of worms by doing so. It’s like you can’t even trust your brain sometimes.
Anyway, my memories came back to me through a dream. Or, more appropriately, a nightmare.
Everything’s the same as before - stale booze in the air, the cold wind rushing through my open window, my mattress creaky and uncomfortable in my empty room. But it’s like seeing this whole scene from a spectator’s point of view; I watch my then-five-year-old self tossing and turning on the lumpy mattress, hurting everywhere because of the bruises. I knew I had to keep my pained groans to a minimum, or else he’ll hear them. But just by looking at myself, I feel cold and aching all over.
Then the scene shifts, and I’m no longer a spectator, but my five-year-old self. Moonlight filters through the spaces in between leaves and branches. It’s still cold, but it feels eerie, like I’m in a horror movie. I hear movement somewhere, like someone trudging through thick, cloying dirt in the forest.
I remember this place. When I was five, I ran away from home - it was the first and last time I ran away. I stupidly thought he wouldn’t find me in the depths of the woods a few blocks from the house.
Spinning around, I sense eyes on me like sniper lasers on a target. My legs were weak from running, and my lungs felt like they were exploding. A word repeats itself in my head - “Run” - but I can’t find the strength to continue running.
“You better pray that I don’t find you, you useless piece of shit,” a voice booms around me. “Or I will fucking kill you.”
Twigs snap and branches scratch my face and roots threaten to trip me and his voice echoes through the trees, promising death. It’s so dark, save for the occasional sliver of moonlight, that I can’t see a few inches in front of me. Footsteps pound around me, and I’ve tried to run faster and harder. I thought I was safe. I thought I was free. . . . No, no such thing.
But a pair of clawed hands suddenly pull me from behind, sharp nails digging painfully into my skin. A scream catches in my throat, and I am forced to look into the cold eyes of my dad, his devilish smile sending a new wave of shivers down my spine. Everything is wrong; his face, his voice, his bodily proportions. It’s like he’s turned into an actual monster.
“You think you can run away from me?” he says, seething with maniacal rage.
I swallow down another scream as he clamps a hand around my neck. Panic engulfs me, and my throat closes up. “Please,” I croak, my vision getting blurry. “I-I’m sorry.”
“‘Sorry’ won’t do shit.”
“N-no, please, I- I won’t run- I won’t run again . . . ”
I black out for a few seconds, and when I come to, my dad’s standing in front of me, my bedroom backlighting him. I’m inside my closet. “Look what happens to little boys who run,” his distorted voice says.
“Please!” I cry, rushing forward just as he closes the closet door. My heart rate accelerates as darkness enfolds me. “D-don’t- I won’t, I’m sorry, I- ”
I push at the door, trying to get it to open, but all there is is just a smooth wall. My stomach contracts into a tight ball as I pound my small fists against the wall, wailing and apologising all over again. Laughter thunders around me, inducing a throbbing headache that beats together with my heartbeat.
It’s so dark that when I close my eyes, it’s just the same as when I open them. Air thins in this space and I’m finding it very hard to breathe. I’m no longer in my stuffy closet, but in a completely dark and empty room. Panic swells in me as I stumble around in the pitch black, hoping to find a sliver of light somewhere.
I trip over things I’m not sure should be there, the smell of rotting flesh stinging my nose and bringing tears to my eyes. A wave of nausea wells up in my stomach. Whimpering, my head sweeps left and right. I hold onto the walls for support but I can’t find them. Instead, my hand grazes a hunk of squelching . . . something that resembles meat. Gagging, I feel my knees give out. I sink down to the floor and allow myself to openly cry for the first time.
I feel the walls start to close in on me. My chest rapidly rises and falls with each breath intake, hysteria rising. I can’t breathe. It’s so dark. I tuck my head in my arms, feeling small and helpless. I can’t breathe. I don’t even know anymore. My heart might explode anytime soon. I count softly under my breath, and it reaches a crescendo in a matter of minutes. Numbers bounce off the closing walls. Flies buzz nearby. The stench of decay. The walls. The pitch-black. It’s. So. Dark . . .
“Ryder!”
I feel myself shaking - but I can’t tell who is shaking me. The coppery scent of old blood disappears, and the absolute blackness fades away. The smell of death passes, and a faint whiff of warm coffee washes over me. I sit up, sweaty and panting, and Nathan’s worried face comes into view.
“Ryder?”
I grope around in the hazy remnants of my nightmare and find Nathan’s arm. Then his waist. I pull him in, immediately consoled by my anchor. By the time I pull away, tears are streaming down my face and clinging to my jaw.
“Ryder . . .” Nathan says, holding my face and wiping my tears away. “Are you okay?”
Lips quivering, I shake my head. I’m scared that if I talk, I’ll start crying. But I still do anyway.
“Oh god,” I whisper, looking down. “Oh, fuck.” Tears drop from my eyes and land on the sheets. “I . . . I was so scared. And- and . . . I- I felt so alone.” I bury my head in my hands.
He pulls me into a hug, all warmth and safety. “It’s okay, I’m here,” he says softly, stroking my matted hair. “You’re not alone anymore. You’re safe now, bub.”
My emotional dam breaks and I openly sob. I bring a heavy arm around his shoulders and the other around his back. I cry into his shoulder, sweat and tears mixing together.
“It’s okay, it’s just a bad dream,” he whispers in my ear, rubbing circles on my back. “None of it was real.”
I don’t want this anymore. I want it to stop. Just stop and leave me alone.
“I’m sorry, Nathan.” The words are out of my mouth before I know it. “I’m so sorry.”
Nathan pulls away and cups my face, stroking my cheek lightly with his thumb. “Why are you apologising?”
That this is all my fault, I almost say. “That . . . that . . .” I begin, but I don’t know why I’m apologising. Because I had a nightmare? Because I scared him? Because he saw me like this? I shake my head and try to pull his hands away from my face.
All of a sudden, I don’t want to be touched right now.
“Just . . . I’m sorry,” I say again as he lets go of my face, and he rubs his wrists lightly. Shame stabs at my core. I hiccup and try to breathe normally. “I- I just . . . I need to- uh, think. And- and space.” Burying my head in my hands, I mumble, “Yeah . . . space.”
“Oh, okay.” I hear him shifting and feel the mattress sink a few feet from me.
Shit. Okay, okay. . . . I squeeze my eyes shut. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Fuck. I swallow the lump in my throat and count in my head. My whole back feels cold from the amount of sweat that’s evaporating. God. Okay.
It’s just a nightmare, it’s just a nightmare. I’m already aware of that, but it still felt so real. Okay. Okay. . . . Oh god.
Anger comes suddenly like a sandstorm, and I hurl my pillow at the wall. “Fuck!” I scream, then I bring my knees to my chest and squeeze my eyes shut. The mattress sinks and rises, Nathan moves - to pick up my pillow, I think - and it sinks again. For a few minutes, there’s silence, except for my sniffles.
I cry until I feel raw inside. I cry until I have nothing left in me.
I don’t even know what actually happened that night, what happened after I ran. Maybe I did go into that closet, like how some of my punishments always played out. Maybe my dad took his belt. Maybe . . . I don’t even want to think about it. It’s better if I forget it at all.
Once I’ve emptied myself out, I take an extra-deep breath and wipe my eyes. When I look up, Nathan’s looking at me with a concerned look on his face. His eyes are dark - I can’t see the colour with this little light in the room. Then it hits me. My throat closes up again as I hurriedly turn on my moon lamp, and when the soft light floods the room, my heart rate normalises.
I reach forward and take Nathan’s hand in my sweaty one, entwining our fingers together. His shoulder is still wet from my tears. He squeezes my hand reassuringly, and I suddenly feel like shit for whatever reason. I don’t know - I feel guilty out of nowhere.
“Alright?” he asks.
I give a half-hearted shrug.
I don’t want to talk right now, I can’t find the energy. I feel burned from the inside, scorched clean and left to rot.
Nathan gently pushes me down, and I let him. My throat feels sore and my head is spinning. “Let’s get you to bed, okay?” He kisses my temple, pulls the blanket over me and tenderly brushes my hair out of my face.
My eyelids get heavy at his soft touch. The counting subsides. I feel Nathan take his place beside me. I slide an arm under his neck and secure it around his back. He throws an arm over me and nestles his head on my shoulder.
I’m safe. I’m safe now.
I’m here, not back there. Nathan’s with me. And that’s all that matters.
*
I awake to the incessant sound of birds chirping outside and the glare of the morning sun. Annoyed, I grumble, “Shut the fuck up,” and the chirping recedes.
“Magandang umaga to you, too,” Nathan mumbles sleepily.
“Oh, good morning, love.” I roll onto my side, facing him. Then I do a double-take. “Hey, you remembered!”
He opens one eye, smiles, then opens the other. “Your Tagalog lessons paid off,” he says before closing both his eyes.
I carefully push his hair away from his face to plant a soft kiss on his forehead. His eyes flutter open and his eyelashes tickle my cheeks.
"Hi," he says.
"Hey."
"Did you sleep well?"
I smile. "Yeah. Thanks."
I didn’t dream anymore after last night, which is better. Just a black dreamless nothingness and I’ve never felt so comforted from a nightmare before. Years ago, after nightmares came and went, I just . . . cried myself to sleep. If I ever did sleep afterwards - I remember staring at the ceiling and my sodden pillow and the morning light coming too soon. Those were the worst.
Nathan blushes and nods.
“And, uh, I’m sorry for pushing you away.” I rub the back of my neck, face heating in embarrassment.
He says softly, “You have to stop apologising. It’s okay, I understand. You needed space.”
I nod, smile, and reach out and drag a finger softly from his cheek, along the bridge of his nose, and to the other cheek, connecting his freckles into constellations. Nathan's eyelids flutter down, a small smile on his lips.
“The dolphin,” I say, looking at him fondly. My finger creates another constellation on his face. “And the elephant.”
He slowly opens both his eyes, the orange hue gradating towards a warm purple. “We made them.”
“Hmm?”
“We made our own constellations.”
I chuckle. “Better get NASA here to add them to the list.”
“IAU, you mean,” he reminds me, laughing softly.
I roll my eyes. “Aren’t they the same thing?”
“Not really. IAU names celestial bodies and their surface features while NASA is responsible for science and tech- mmm . . .”
My lips find his in a matter of nanoseconds, silencing him. I smile into the kiss as I hold his face.
“Not fair,” he mumbles against my mouth, but I feel the corners of his mouth turning upwards nonetheless. “You didn’t let me finish.”
I pull away and touch my forehead to his. “Enlighten me, then, Monsieur Adler.”
“Alright. NASA is responsible for science and technology related to air and space.”
“That’s it?”
Nathan scrunches his nose. “Um, yeah?”
“Well,” I say, booping his nose, “you know what they say about smart guys with dark orange hair and freckles.”
“What’s that?” His fingers softly draw flowers on my arm absentmindedly.
I shrug. “Dunno. I lost my torrent of thoughts.”
Nathan frowns, disappointed in my lacking knowledge of pick-up lines. “That’s sad.”
I chuckle and boop his nose again, and his features soften. “Don’t be all frowny - it’s not a good look on you.”
*
We spend the next hour talking about random things - going off tangent like we always do. It’s refreshing to be doing nothing but just talk about whatever comes to mind. Nathan tells me something about the invention of the blender, and I laugh, telling him about the time I tried to blend potatoes to make mashed potatoes and ended up with disgusting ‘potato puree’. He laughs with me at that one.
I think it’s noon already; the sun is overhead and my room grows slightly dimmer. Nathan’s head is nestled in the crook of my neck, his hair caressing the side of my face. Our conversation comes to a halt, and we just listen to one another breathing.
“You know, we’re so different,” I say, looking at the ceiling. “But we go so well together.”
“Yeah?”
I ponder for a moment. “Like . . . like . . .” I close my eyes and frown. The gears in my head start moving, looking for the right word when it flashes like a neon sign behind my eyelids. Then my eyes fly open and I give a triumphant gasp.
“Like . . . ?”
I bend forward to kiss his nose. “You, sweet like honey.” I grin.
“And you,” - he traces my jawline, smiling - “warm and soothing, like spice.”
Pushing his fringe away, I plant a soft kiss on his forehead. “Yeah.” A wave of affection rushes over me and I smile. “Like honey and spice.”