How it Happened is Irrelevant (Mabbell)

23

A/n: When you write in a near death experience but the character doesn't die, that's called plot armor. Now I understand why it's so hard to not write without it. 

TJ's POV:

"Welcome back," Craig's telling me, holding out his hand. "How did it go?" He cocks his head in that irresistible way that makes my heart melt. 

"It's going well," I say. This is odd for me. Usually, these dreams are lucid. Now I fell like I'm not really in control, just playing out a script pre-determined by my own imagination. "I'm in love with you," I whisper. 

Suddenly, he's at my lips. As he speaks, his lips hit my own, but he's not kissing me. "I know, my darling. I know." A feeling of lust swells up from my stomach. I don't just want him; I need him so desperately it hurts. He closes the little space between us and kisses me, and I kiss back. We're so wrapped up in each other that I lose track of who is who. He kisses me until I can't breathe. He breaks the kiss and is about to go for my neck, but I stop him by pulling at the bottom of his shirt. 

"I want this off first," I plead. He's about to let me pull it off too, but then-

Then I wake up, finding that I'd fallen onto the floor of the bus. I hadn't had one of those dreams for a hot minute. I was finally happy to be rid of them, feeling that it indicated satisfaction. Clearly, I was mistaken. "What fell?!" Craig asked, immediately rushing back to the bunk area. 

"Just me," I whispered. I don't know why I did this. Everyone else was probably awake because of me falling. "Why are you still up? It's probably three in the morning." I'd gone to bed pretty late myself. When's the last time Craig's slept? 

"I couldn't sleep." I stood up and raised an accusing eyebrow at him. "I'll sleep tomorrow," He insisted. 

"I thought that you said that the last time this happened." 

He sighed. "Who keeps track of sleep anyways? Not me." The subject was clearly uncomfortable for him, but I couldn't leave it be. 

"You don't need to keep track of it; you just need to get it."

"Keep it down out there!" Robert shouted from his bunk. 

"Thank you for showing so much concern for me literally falling out of my fucking bunk!" I retorted.

"You good?" He asked.

"Yeah, I'm good."

"Great. Craig, you need to sleep, and will you two both talk somewhere else?" 

"Welp, we've been caught," Craig whispered. 

"Sleep," I told him. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," He sighed. When he found that I wasn't going back to bed until he got into his bunk, he frustratedly did so. How had I never noticed that he was such an insomniac before? 

The following morning, I found that he hadn't stayed for much longer than after I'd fallen back asleep. I found that he was still playing Mario Kart against that shitty AI. I shook my head at him disapprovingly. "Why couldn't you just sleep?"

"I'm not tired," He insisted, finishing the race and then looking at me. "Really, I just don't need as much sleep as a normal human."

"You do so. Look at those dark circles. You're exhausted!" I sat next to him and put my hand over his knee. "Why can't you sleep?"

"I don't know. I'm just an insomniac. Some people just have a disorder."

"But you haven't always had it. I know you haven't. Insomnia is linked to PTSD."

"I'm weird," He looked away. 

"I told you why I was afraid of coming out. Why can't you tell me this?"

"Because it's not the same."

"At least tell me when it started."

"Five years ago," He answered. "Are you happy?"

"No. I want to know why it started." 

"Something happened a long time ago. It's.....not something that most people enjoy hearing about."

"Just tell me," I was growing tired of this back and forth. 

"When I was five years old, someone broke into our house." Craig cringed. "I didn't know it though. I was always a heavy sleeper. So when I finally found out, my ankles were pinned down. I tried to scream, but a wet cloth was held over my nose and mouth. You know, a kid is no match for a grown man, no matter how hard they swing their arms. I tried to wake someone up, but no one came. I passed out." He blinked, not telling more. "And when I came to, I was in a hospital bed. I wasn't able to sleep for a year. After a while, I got over it. I could sleep again. I was fine my first year of touring, even. It was in a van, so if anything happened to me people would know immediately. But then I was touring on a bus. There was so much seclusion and privacy. If anything happened to me, no one would know. I haven't been able to sleep since."

"Oh...." I didn't know how to respond. His story didn't feel real. "But that still doesn't explain one thing."

"What?"

"How come you still couldn't sleep at a hotel?"

"Oh, I've never slept at hotels. I don't know what it is, I just can't sleep at them. That's not a trauma thing, that's just personal preference."

"I understand. So why don't you sleep out here instead of the bunk if that's the problem."

"You're still all blocked from me by your curtains."

"Who said you'd be alone?"

"I can't ask that of you. Besides, I should feel safe with all of the security measures. I'm just being a child about it, really."

"What's so childish about being afraid?"

"Because I'm afraid of something that's not real."

"Visibility doesn't declare reality."

"That's a little poetic for you." Craig grinned, happy to have the subject changed.

"I'm working on it. Nine years of listening to you and Chris taught me some things about poetry."

"Who's better?"

I kissed the tip of his nose. "You really have to ask that question?"

"I just wanted to hear you say it."

"I'm biased. You can't ask me."

"Have you ever met someone who's not biased about everything?"

"Touché." I took one of his hands into mine and played with his fingers. "I guess that you're the better poet then." I winked. "Chris's songs were never romantic enough."