broken thieves

seven

Blake was at my house when I finally came home. It was late and we were exhausted, so we climbed into my bed and fell straight asleep.

He is one of those twitchy sleepers who sometimes accidentally wakes me up by kicking my leg or elbowing me out of nowhere. He can also be cuddly, so when his front is against my back with an arm slung across my waist, I can feel his movements so much more.

And I know exactly when he's having a nightmare.

His movements are harsh, his feet kicking at the duvet, and his whimpers shortly turn into yells as his nightmares attack him almost as brutally as the events that caused the nightmares in the first place.

I always struggle to know what to do in this situation. He's always told me to wake him up, but with him thrashing all over the place and making horrible noises, I never know how I could.

"Blake!" I shout, moving over to him. I try to hold his wrist in my hand but he shakes it off, rolling onto his side as he lets out a sob. I shuffle closer again and place a hand on his bare shoulder. "Blake, wake up!"

He shoots up instantly, sitting up with his breath ragged and all over the place.

"Hey," I say softly. "It's okay."

He doesn't say anything for a moment. With one hand still on his shoulder, I place the other over his chest, his strong heart pounding wildly against it. He places his own over mine, still trying to catch his breath, and I allow him as much time as he needs.

I hear as he swallows. "I'm so sorry Aurora," he says breathlessly. His head turns slightly to face me. "I don't... I don't know..."

"It's okay," I repeat. I hate seeing him like this. I really do. "I understand."

"That was..." he sighs, dragging two hands through his bedraggled hair. "That was horrible."

I nod once. "Can I ask what it was about?"

His dark eyes meet mine. "The fire," he says simply. "The fucking fire. Again. I keep thinking it's gone, that I won't dream of it again, but it always comes back."

The time that he was set on fire by the Drakan thieves has been the main story in most of his nightmares. It's understandable-- that's a time of someone's life that I don't think they could ever recover from-- but it doesn't make it any less painful, even for me.

"Blake," I say, running my fingers gently over his tattooed and scarred arm. "You're safe now."

He sighs again, his breathing slowly returning to normal. "I'm sorry if I freaked you out," he says. "They're just... so vivid. Like I'm there all over again and it's happening right now and I don't have any way to escape."

"You don't need to apologise," I tell him. "I know how bad they get for you."

"They get bad for everyone here. Including you," he says. "We all act like we're used to them and like we're all strong but when they're happening it's like... well we just feel so weak. You know?"

"I know," I say truthfully. "But you're not weak. Not at all. This is just what happens when we go through trauma, it's not like we can help it. It's okay to feel scared and have nightmares."

Blake nods. "You're right."

"Come on," I say, gently pushing him back into bed. "Lets get some sleep."

He rests his head on my chest as soon as we're back under the covers.

I end up having my own nightmare, the fear jolting me wide awake in the early hours of the morning. Thankfully it doesn't wake Blake up, and I'm about to try and fall asleep again when I notice the time. Ten past six in the morning.