Seeking Sophrosyne

Solicitous

Solicitous

I hear myself gasp, as I sit bolt upright, right hand flying to my mouth to stifle the cry that is pushing out of my lips. It is trembling; I myself am trembling, I come to realize, in the few seconds it takes me to realize that it is over. The dream is gone and I am okay. Glancing over at my clock, I punch down on the switch that lights up the clock face, reading three ‘o clock. The soft glow of light fades, and I feel my chest heaving, lungs eagerly pumping in the cool air that this room had circulated since my arrival three months ago. More slowly, I realize that I’m drenched in sweat, a few wisps of long brown hair plastered to my cheeks. This fact makes the room seem a lot colder than it usually is, and I involuntarily begin to shiver, thoughts returning to the dream still so vivid in my head.

A sudden panic plunges itself like a freezing knife, straight into my heart, and, eyes wide as they adjust to the darkness, I swing my legs silently out from underneath my tousled sheets, and press the soles of my bare feet to the carpet, not a thought in my mind that there might still be loose needles laying around from my sewing extravaganza at eleven ‘o clock last night. All my panic stricken mind, my adrenaline filled body is focused on right now, is whether he’s really okay.

Please, please… I beg some power above me that it really was just a dream, as I silently yet swiftly cross to my door and ease it open, continuing right, down the hallway to the room next to mine. I stand outside of the white door, quivering hand resting on the doorknob, a part of me, the sane part of me, realizing that he’s undoubtedly tucked under the covers, cozy and safe. My irrational fear wins over though, and I twist the handle, terrified of discovering the worst.

It wasn’t to be.

I walk to the edge of his bed, and watch him sleeping, a perfectly angelic expression on his soft face, and a whimper of relief slips out. He doesn’t even stir. I can feel the adrenaline leaving as quickly as it had come, and it leaves me even shakier than before. My knees turn to jelly underneath me, and I allow myself to sit beside him, fighting to regain my composure.

I take deep breaths, and close my eyes, letting his warm presence comfort me- but I’m still shaking hard. This fact rather irritates me, but I’m not concerned with myself right now. Opening my eyes again, I twist my torso around to look at him, a soft smile touching my lips. I let out a tiny sigh, and re-adjust the bed sheets over his shoulder, half just for something to do to ease my nerves. I feel like his room is even colder than mine if possible. Abruptly I’m aware that my hair is in a most unflattering condition, and I run my fingers through it, smoothing it out as best I can, trying to rid myself of the images in my head, burned into my skull from the dream. Throwing my locks back over my shoulder, I stand up to go back to bed; but hand outstretched towards the door, my feet stop moving.

I can’t.

Can’t leave when I’m this high-strung, this on edge. This petrified. Another whimper slips past my lips, as I retrace my steps to his bed-side, and perch lightly again, still trembling, my head bowed low as a few tears make tracks over my cheeks, and fall from my chin, to flow over my clenched hands. The reality that I’m actually crying is something in itself to be scared of.

A hand touches my arm.

Naturally, my first reaction is to scream, but I can’t do that when another hand is placed, quite gently, over my mouth.

“Sorry.” A murmur. “Don’t want to wake Mr.Sleepy.” I relax, almost instantly, and smile, as I identify the slightly spicy scent, even before the humored voice, that teased my other sleeping flatmate even now. I find it wondrous that he knows me well enough in such a short time, to remember that I'm quite a jumpy person. He knew I might scream.

The soft warm fingers covering my lips must have felt me smile, because the hand is removed from my mouth, to hold my chin and guide my face to look over at him. I’m startled at the concern in his gaze as he studies my face. “You were crying?” A whisper.

I take a shaky breath, forcing the tiny smile to stay. “It’s nothing.” I tell him, voice cracking, left hand shoving lightly at his chest, so he’ll go back to sleep, but of course he’s not the type to give in that easily. I mean, he caught me crying on his bed while he slept… It’s almost comical, but I can’t bring myself to make light of it.

He shakes his head sleepily, a frown gracing his lovely lips. “What’s wrong?”

I reply to this by reaching up to casually smooth the cowlick in his hair that sleeping granted him, and letting the smile leave my face. “Just a bad dream is all.” I tell him, feeling somewhat foolish. The quivering voice doesn’t help, so I decide it’s time I leave, and begin to stand up. Only, somehow he’s faster, and I’m pulled back down by the wrist.

“Tell me.” I love how considerate he can be, even if it’s in a sort of pushy way. Pushy as in right now he’s pulled me into a half hug. In normal circumstances I would shoot him a death glare for it, and wrestle away; but, he's warm, comforting, and his scent sends my head reeling.

I shake my head again, but begin speaking anyway. “It was awful…” I re-live the moments of the ghastly dream, shuddering at the vivid images of macabre behind my eyes, determined never to tell him any of it. “I just had to stand there… while you died… And I couldn’t do anything.” Just like the first time… I sigh, letting him calm me down, finally becoming relaxed enough to feel my eyes drooping. “Thank you…” I hear myself tell him softly, as I drift, and feel the fuzzy blankets rest over me.