Turpentine & Vetiver

31. Sleep Paralysis

- I think Hell is something you carry around with you. Not somewhere you go. —Neil Gaiman

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Thorn was tired- it had begun to feel as though he hadn't slept for days; maybe even weeks. Inside the Red Void, he found no use for sleep; in the void it was not physically required. However exhausted he felt- mentally or otherwise- it seemed he could not sleep since the day he'd entered the Red Void. Inky had made him some lavender herbal tea and given him several sleeping pills- an old prescription she rarely used, or merely forgotten she'd had. She put on a record- the dark ambient classical music Thorn liked- it sounded like a film's soundtrack. The red lightbulbs glowed in several small lamps- their peculiar light unlike the harsh, cold red of the void.
He didn't remember going to sleep- although he must have; the room he was now in was most definitely NOT Inky's apartment, and there was an odd, gauzy film to the atmosphere overall. Somehow, he could still hear the record playing- it sounded very far away; tinny and mechanical in tone. Thorn could also hear water running- perhaps a faucet was on- and he looked around the room, which was still somehow unfamiliar. Where am I? He peered around the corner, the stale white room abruptly replaced by a more familiar yet loathsome scenery. Thorn knew he didn't want to be here, facing the imminent horrors this place had to offer him. It was the only place he knew that he hated more than the Red Void- it was the house he'd grown up in.
Instantly, he could taste the murky dark lakewater, felt heavy as though submerged in the freezing water. That godforsaken body of water was always an icy temperature; even in the dead, stifling heat of summer. He shook his head- this wasn't real, none of it was real, and he'd burned that place to the ground almost ten years ago. Although it had happened in the past, Thorn's past was hell- and every day he wished there was some way to forget. He knew he would never be normal, either way- but to rid himself of these unwanted memories- perhaps he might actually be able to sleep, be able to exist without the overwhelming darkness in his mind.
I didn't do anything to deserve my trauma. I don't want to dwell on the past- more than anything I want to be able to move on, or at least not be plagued by the memory. I want to- be somebody who Inky can trust, someone she actually wants to be with. There was a moment of almost-panic before Thorn realized this wasn't real; couldn't possibly be reality. The real panic came when he found himself falling through a vast, dark corridor- unable to control his surroundings. Thorn heard the evil, disembodied laughter of the abomination; and in the very background, almost inaudible- Inky's voice, trying to communicate.
"Thorn? Are you all right?" She sounded concerned, an edge of rising panic in her tone. Inky- I don't know what to do- I feel trapped in my own mind- I fell asleep but now I don't know if I can wake up. This feeling was no stranger to him- Thorn had experienced episodes of sleep paralysis his entire life- however, this was unlike any other he'd had. Perhaps this was more intense since he'd been so sleep-deprived; even going back to work at the museum following his return from the void.
Darkness, all-encompassing, surrounded him. Thorn was completely alone again, in a horribly familiar confined space. The air was stuffy; bearing the odor of wet wool and mothballs. He could feel the sleeves of jackets brushing against his hand when he reached up, and knew he must be in the closet for some offensive behavior or another. I killed my so-called family, so who the hell locked me in here? In response to his unspoken query, Thorn heard the abomination laughing again. He stared through the dark- but unlike any of the other lightless spaces he'd encountered- this time, Thorn could not see anything in the dark.
In the background, he distinctly heard Inky's voice; quiet yet nearly petrified with fear. "What's wrong?" Thorn wanted to tell her, let her know he was still here- just trapped in a comatose state. In this nightmarish moment, Thorn hoped he wouldn't become violent while trapped in the confines of his own subconscious fears. "Thorn- wake up. You're not in the Red Void anymore. I'm here, you're safe now." He felt Inky's hand holding his, but she seemed so very far away... Wake up. Wake up now, he told himself, repeating the command like a frantic mantra; to no avail.
The nothingness surrounding him now had changed to a static white, replacing the darkness with its somehow more ominous presence. Thorn could sense Inky trying cautiously to wake him up, and felt his own hand close around her wrist; despite his best efforts to wake himself up. Inky- I don't know what to do. I know you're there- trying to help me, and I don't want to hurt you on accident. Thorn felt like he was trapped beneath a layer of fog; a cold, colorless barrier to the outside world. He sensed her trying to pull her wrist away, unable to break through his paralyzed state. Now he could see Inky staring down at him- although it was as if she were behind a layer of translucent film; or standing behind a panel of frosted glass.
Panic was setting in- he didn't remember the last time this had happened- and it was somehow infinitely worse than what his memory recalled. The empty white slowly shifted again, this time Thorn found himself standing on a beach at night; black sand and deep red skies adding to the looming threat. He looked behind him, noticing the malicious form of the abomination. "The abomination is always watching you," he heard his own quiet voice; disembodied and distant. Endless depravities played out before him, repetitive and merciless. There's so much blood... Remember- there's no such thing as free blood- everything has to make a sacrifice. EVEN INKY. No- you can't make her do that to herself ever again. He cursed the words of the abomination inside his mind, refusing to allow any harm to befall Inky as long as he was around. Leave us the hell alone- I escaped the Red Void- I'm never going back there.
The next day, Thorn woke up without much memory of his sleep paralysis incident. Amnesia was common after these episodes- as if his mind had erased it all; offering a blank slate. Tabula rasa... Inky was standing in the studio drinking coffee, inspecting the artwork she'd lined up against one wall. He reached out to touch her shoulder, startling her and almost spilling the contents of the coffee mug onto the floor. "What happened last night?" he was nervous, his recollection of the events fragmented and blurry. Inky averted her eyes, seeming strangely ashamed. "It was- I think you had sleep paralysis. I'd just never seen it before. You seemed to be trapped, and I couldn't wake you up. I was scared that you were- somehow stuck in the void again, Thorn. I didn't know how to help you."
Inky still looked frightened; pale and more on-edge than usual. "I- didn't hurt you, did I? Honestly I don't know what happens. I should be responsible for it, but I'm not exactly- in control of my own mind." Thorn felt guilty at this admission- if it were anybody else besides Inky- it wouldn't have mattered - however he refused to harm the one person who mattered to him- regardless of the circumstances being out of his control. Inky held up her wrist, revealing a dark bruise circling her skin like a bracelet. Fuck. I did that, didn't I? I'm so sorry, Inky. Generally, seeing bruises like this on Inky suggested a different kind of nocturnal activity- although in this context, it was indescribably disturbing to him. Thinking about this, along with what dark musings he'd confessed to her in the sub-basement room- it was a wonder she was still here, instead of running away from him once more.
"Not really. I mean- this is all I have to show for it, and you seemed to be- in a state of mental pain. Fear. Whatever you call it," Inky explained. "Are you okay? I don't remember- I could hear you calling me, like when I was in the void, but I couldn't reach you. It's like being trapped behind a concrete wall, a dark curtain. I could have really hurt you, Inky. Fuck, I hate myself for that- what I'm capable of without even realizing it." Thorn poured some coffee, then realized it had gotten a bit cold, and set it down on a nearby table. Inky hid the bruised wrist behind her back; as Thorn had once done to conceal the blood of his self-injury from her.
"I'm fine. I was more worried about you," she answered quickly. "I could have broken your wrist- or worse," Thorn replied, coldly staring across the room at the shrouded sculpture. Inky sighed, as if impatient to change the subject. Thorn could tell the whole experience made her terribly uncomfortable, and he decided to remain quiet on the matter; if Inky didn't want to discuss it anymore, all further introspection would be kept to himself. "I finished my last painting for the series, if you'd like to see it," Inky's voice- quiet and reserved once again.
"Of course I would. I know that you've been working on your art for the exhibition. I told the director that you'd have everything ready in a few days- they're all really excited to see your work." He stared at her intently, watching as she stood there looking vaguely self-conscious again- eyes on the floor; face red. Thorn took another drink of the coffee- it wasn't any less cold this time around, and now it tasted flat and lacking flavor. "Don't be embarrassed, Inky. I wouldn't be so self-conscious if I were you. The ones who didn't appreciate your art are- mostly gone now, anyway. Trust me- they said the same thing about my paintings- my work being 'too dark'. At least your art- makes me actually feel something. When we first met, that's how I knew, that I wasn't alone in the void."
Thorn held her hand again, inspecting the bruise with concern. "I'm going outside to smoke. It's all there along the wall if you want to look." Inky held his hand for a moment, then silently exited the apartment. Once the metal door slid shut behind her, Thorn glanced over at her assembly of art- paintings and sculptures she'd made for the art exhibit; and for her own sanity. He stared at her artwork for what seemed like an eternity; before Inky reappeared from behind the door.
   He turned to face her, feeling a peculiar déjà vu. Her last painting was of a vortex- abstract, and yet similar to one of his own pieces. "What do you think about it?" he heard her ask, and he smiled slightly- this was the same thing he'd asked her; the first night Inky came to confront him. You remember everything, don't you? That was the night everything changed- the catalyst for this strange fate. Thorn wanted Inky to know exactly what he was thinking- how important she was to him; how her creations almost seemed to mirror his- parallels, as they were. He inspected the painting again; its calming vortex signifying the pathway out of the void- away from insanity.
   "It's amazing. All the detail- it's unlike anything that I've ever seen, and yet it's a mirror of my own creation. The one that made you nervous at first. All of your artwork- the world needs to see it. Don't make art that makes others feel more comfortable. Camus always said -create dangerously- which I've taken literally, more times than I should probably admit. Your art is real, Inky. The world needs that reality, that particular darkness. Don't ever hide it, don't ever be a watered-down version of yourself. I saw your potential, and that's why it started out as some sick obsession of sorts. Now- I know that what I feel is just as real as the blood I've spilled. You've forced me to feel something, Inky- and I love you for it."
   Thorn stared at her unblinkingly, almost shocked at the complete honesty of his own confession. Her grey eyes stared back at him, and Thorn could see understanding and acceptance in her expression. "I've found out a way to keep the abomination away from us, without having to hurt anyone- I'll tell you after the art show," she said quietly. "I'm still a little nervous for the exhibit." Thorn could sense thinly-veiled anxiety in her voice, observing that once again, she stared down in embarrassment. "Don't be- the museum people are much better than those pretentious bastards at the Gallery. You'll do just fine. Hell, we'll go out for a drink or something first , and it's not for a few days anyway," he told her; trying to be reassuring. "Let's go for a walk or something- I want to go down to the beach," Inky replied.
   Soon they arrived at the area outside the shipyard, the nearby rocks crusted with dried barnacles. A lone seagull soared overhead; calling out a lamenting cry. They walked together across the shoreline, the sun reflecting off the dark water like a mirror. Unlike the strange feeling Thorn got when he was around lakes- extremely nervous; uncharacteristically fearful- the sea never bothered him; perhaps the saltwater was purifying somehow. It was as if he were undergoing a strange new baptism- instead of the murky depths of the lakes he now feared and despised; the blood he'd always had to sacrifice- this was different, transcendent. Saltwater and Ink. She held his hand as they stared out across the water  -"this is one of my favorite places to go"- her voice quiet and thoughtful.
   "It's a lot different than it is at night," Thorn answered, observing a pair of boats sailing in the distance. Inky nodded, seeming a bit distracted. She was staring in the direction of the driftwood fort- the same one she'd hidden in when he had chased her down the beach. He felt somewhat unnerved, even almost embarrassed. I can't believe I did that, he reminded himself. "I'm sorry that I ran away from you at first," Inky said softly; appearing to be feeling the same familiar awkwardness. Thorn stared at her, trying not to make her feel nervous or self-conscious.
   "I'm sorry that I chased you. I didn't ever mean to make you feel uncomfortable." He looked down at the sand; hands in his pockets. "I'm glad that you did," Inky replied honestly; both of them in silent contemplation about that night. It doesn't feel so much like the world is going to end, he thought, wondering what would happen after Inky's art show. I still need to finish setting everything up. I have something to ask her, and something I forgot about- part of my idea to stop the abomination. Thorn wondered if Inky would think his first idea was absurd- since she'd mentioned her apartment lease ending soon- perhaps she wouldn't be opposed to living in the strange dark building with him.
   I mean, she wouldn't have to pay rent, and we could save money to travel. We could go to see other art galleries and museums- I could try to promote her art... He figured that it wouldn't hurt to ask- even though she might still decline his offer. He'd lived alone now for so long, it might even seem strange at first; the company of another person- something else living besides his damned orchids. That building has so many strange rooms- half of them I rarely or never use. The building reminds me of a warehouse; a modern minimalistic, nihilistic vision. Architectural nightmare.
   He looked over at Inky again, watching her as she stared out across the dark waters. The air around them smelled like sea salt, and a faint hint of white beach flowers carried by the breeze. Inky turned to him, a small smile on her face. In her eyes were a million unspoken conversations; as if he knew what was on her mind. Waves crashed; interrupting the silence.