All Because Of Him

ninety one.

  It's been six days.

Five nights have been spent in Mason's room, and in those five nights he has had two nightmares. I was aware that Mason didn't sleep with anyone because of his nightmares, but I never knew the importance of how much falling asleep beside another person means to him.

When the first one occurred, he woke up from screaming in his sleep.

Unlike the first time it happened with me, he knew who I was. He still had a hard time breathing, it sounded as though the walls around his lungs were closing in on him. He was shaking, sweating, he didn't want to be touched or have the lights on.

He seemed ashamed.

Of himself, of the reasoning why it was happening, because I was in the room witnessing him at such a vulnerable state. He didn't want me to see him clearly without the safety darkness brings, he was able to hide behind the veil in the shadows, giving it the permission to swallow him whole. But I didn't let his own fears drown mine, because when those moments occurred I knew that no matter how many times he'd rather shield himself in the dark, I'd help him fight his demons.

The second time it happened there was no screaming. He let me turn on the lights, he let me touch him and be closer to him all while he knelt in front of the toilet in his bathroom and hurled out the contents in his stomach.

He was shaking just as vigorously, his body was coated with sweat, and the only words that came out of his mouth were apologies- for waking me up, for putting me in this position, for 'scaring' me. While he sat on the floor, back leaning against the bathtub I gently wiped his face down with a damp washcloth, whispering sweet nothings in his ears before holding him tight against me.

But even then, those whispered words and gentle affections towards him were blocked from warming the cold and withdrawn state he was in from the steel guard he constantly had placed up during those times. Although both nights had their own differences, they ended the same. His eyes would look everywhere but me, his shoulders slackened, the steps he took looked heavier than they did before, and he was quiet.

Very quiet.

Then right before he would crawl back into bed with me, I noticed him walk over to his bedroom door and lock it. The images of what crept into my mind behind the reasoning for him locking his door sickened me- pained me.

His hurt made me hurt.

Mason slept through the entire night within the rest of those five days, but when he struggled he would use the help of intoxicates. One night I could see it in his eyes that he seemed fearful to close his, to give in to sleep and put himself in that vulnerable position again, and when I thought he would succumb to the inevitable, he sat up and snorted the remnants of cocaine he still had in his bedside drawer.

The nights were difficult for him, but they weren't all bad. I didn't know if I was helping or worsening the situation by being in the room with him, but whenever I asked him if I should go he would only hold me tighter and whisper to me asking if I could fall asleep first.

Every night I would try to fall asleep first. Sometimes he would wait for it, and everytime he did my heart would crack a little more.

But it wasn't always like that. During those five days with him we would spend our free time at Freddie's bar, or with the boys which unfortunately (for him) Jaime was always there, establishing himself into the group. Mason was out every morning training at the warehouse for a couple hours, and everytime he was gone I would remain in his room, watching whatever show I could indulge myself in until he returned.