Addiction| 18+

22| nightmare

Hayley

I'm back in that house. I can feel it before my eyes even open.

The hallway stretches forever, walls leaning in, suffocating. Every step I take is wrong. The floor is slick, cold, like it wants me to slip, and my bare feet betray me with each step. My chest feels tight, like it's being crushed, and my stomach twists so violently I can barely breathe.

It's quiet. Too quiet. The kind of silence that waits for you to make a mistake.

Then I hear him.

His voice is soft. Normal. Familiar. Not yelling. Not angry. That's what makes it worse.

I freeze.

My body doesn't move. My legs feel heavy. My arms feel like they belong to someone else. I try to turn. I can't.

I can feel him behind me. Always there in these dreams. Always closer than I want. His presence presses into me like air too thick to breathe. My chest tightens again. My lungs scream for air. My throat locks.

I want to run. I try to scream. I can't.

The hallway shifts. The walls bend, corners that shouldn't exist opening around me, and every time I think I can escape, I see him closer. Always closer.

The smell. I hate it. The sharp, metallic scent of fear, like blood, like panic. I gag but nothing comes up. My hands are trembling so violently I can barely keep them at my sides.

Then I hear him whisper my name.

Not in anger. Just... calm. Certain. Dominant. The way he used to fill the house, the air changing when he walked into a room.

My stomach drops. My legs fail me completely. I collapse to the floor, slick and cold beneath me, and try to curl into myself, hoping he won't see. Hoping he won't know. Hoping I could disappear.

I can feel him leaning over me, and I can't move my head. My vision is narrow. Dark. Tight. My ears ring with my own heartbeat. I can't breathe. I can't scream. I can't even cry.

Every time I think I've found a way out, the walls close in. The hallway stretches again, twisting into impossible angles. The ceiling lowers. The floor tilts. I stumble and fall, my hands scraping the cold surface, and I hear his footsteps behind me. Slow. Certain. Inescapable.

I try to call for help, but my mouth won't work. My throat seizes up. I claw at the walls, the floor, anything that might make me move, and my nails dig into the skin of my palms. I taste copper in my mouth. The cold floor sticks to my knees. My body burns and freezes at the same time.

Then—

"Hayley."

The voice doesn't belong. It slices through the dream like a knife.

"Wake up."

I shake violently. Tears are streaming down my face, soaking my hair, my pillow, my neck. The hallway grows darker. The walls lean further. He's closer. The air itself seems alive and angry, pressing down on me.

"Breathe."

I cling to that word. Breathe. My chest moves, my lungs fight to cooperate. I gulp air like it's poison and salvation at the same time.

The hallway blurs. The walls retreat slightly. The pressure eases, just a little.

My body jerks.

I wake with a harsh gasp, air tearing into my lungs like I've been drowning. My heart pounds violently, threatening to shatter my ribs. My hands are clutched in the sheets, knuckles white. My legs tremble, spasms running through my body like electricity.

Sweat soaks my hair and back. My entire body feels foreign and out of control.

For a moment, I don't know where I am. The room is unfamiliar. The shadows on the wall stretch into shapes that make me want to curl in on myself. My chest burns. My hands are trembling so badly they barely move.

Then I feel the bed move.

Grey.

He's right there, just a few inches from me. Sitting up slightly, on one elbow, watching. His face is tight, controlled, alert. His hand rests near mine on the mattress. Not touching me. Just there.

"Hey," he says quietly. "You're awake."

I nod, throat tight, voice gone. My body shakes.

"You had a nightmare," he says. Calm. Controlled. Steady. "You're okay."

Okay. I don't know if I am, but I try to focus on his voice. I cling to it.

My breathing is still uneven, coming in shallow, jagged pulls. My chest hurts from the panic. My hands are still trembling.

"Breathe with me," he says softly.

Not a command. Just a presence.

I mimic him, messy at first, then a little steadier. In. Out. My grip on the sheets loosens. I hadn't realized I'd been holding them so tightly.

"There you go," he murmurs. "You're doing fine."

I stare at the ceiling, trying to focus on details—the fan, the shadows, the locked door, the blanket tucked over the mattress. I am not in that hallway. Not in that house. Not there.

"I'm sorry," I whisper.

"You don't need to be," he says softly.

He shifts slightly, turning just enough to give me space, not cold, just careful.

"I'm right here," he adds. "Try to sleep when you're ready."

He doesn't ask questions. He doesn't push. He doesn't touch me. He's just... steady. Solid. Present.

I lie there, long after my heart slows. My body is still buzzing, trembling from the aftermath. The dream has faded. The hallway has vanished. The weight is gone.

But the memory lingers. The fear lingers. The feeling of being small and trapped lingers.

And the worst part is—he has no idea what just followed me out of my sleep.

***

End of chapter 22!