Surviving 93

Chapter 8: 43° Fahrenheit

Riven couldn't sleep. He had tried for a while- hours- but nothing happened. He just... Wasn't tired.

He realized he wasn't getting to sleep anytime soon, so he figured he should do something at least semi-productive. He got out of bed and threw on a sweatshirt, grabbed his journal and a pen, and went downstairs as quietly as the wood floors allowed.

He always felt bad for getting food from the Sampsons' fridge without asking, but they've told him a thousand times that he's welcome to any food they have- if it isn't labeled for someone specific, at least. He's offered to pay them back eventually, but Virgil just kept denying it.

Not wanting to bother with the unnecessary guilt, he just decided to get a water bottle and granola bar on the counter. What made those different than getting something from the fridge, he didn't know, but whatever made the random anxiety lessen.

He thought about going into the living room, but if someone woke up, he didn't want them to see he wasn't asleep. Again, unnecessary guilt. He'll have to bring that up with Alva at their next session...

Riven was, however, able to see into the back patio. It was rather clear outside- no rain, no obvious wind- it was pretty dark, but nothing the patio light couldn't fix.

So he decided to stake out on the back patio for a bit. It was rather cold, but not windy. It was the middle of January at 3 AM, but the lack of wind was somewhat surprising.

There were several chairs on the back patio, and Riven couldn't figure out which he wanted to sit in for now. He picked the one that looked comfiest- it was one of those wide wicker chairs with the big cushions that you could spin. There were a couple more like it on the patio, so he assumed they were rather comfy compared to the others.

He assumed correctly. He was able to sit cross-legged on the chair, so his journal could be on his lap rather comfortably. What he was going to write about, he didn't know yet, but he was sure it would come to him eventually.

And it did. He's had this recurring dream over a week or so and wanted to make sure he got all of the details down- another thing to talk to Alva about.

After he wrote for what felt like forever, Riven sat for a moment, staring at his notebook. He closed it in his lap and then gazed up at the stars.

He had the same feeling about this dream that he felt about the dream he had in the hospital- the one about the Twin Towers collapsing. The only difference was that one could be explained.

That doesn't explain one thing, in Riven's eyes. His emotions were affected by the dream about the mother and son, and he felt the same emotions after his dream about the Twin Towers.

Riven put his head in his hands, using the heels of his palms to rub his eyes, trying to make sense of it all. He didn't hear the patio door open and close behind him.

"Hey, is something wrong?"

Riven jumped and accidentally fell off the patio chair he was in. Na'im quickly ran over to him and helped him back up, laughing.