Cold Fury [DISCONTINUED]

15. Nightmares

Next day

Yesterday was weird, but not necessarily bad. Oli was really tired, so after lunch he passed out cold, and woke up today at 9:00 am. Even I woke up earlier today, because the voices in my head are growing stronger each day. They're fuelling my anger and making me feel bad at the same time. They were always there, since childhood, but those were just annoying little squeaks and it was easy to ignore them. But the day Oli arrived, they just started with no explanation. There seemed to be a good voice and a bad voice, but it's usually the bad voice.

Because I'm stronger.

See? There's that voice. It sounds so...evil. I should probably stop thinking about it.

But I will never stop.

I hit myself in the head, trying to keep it quiet. I was sitting on the dining table--since the couch was taken up by Oli--looking through my phone. Oli's soft snores were the only sound filling the air. I had tweeted something on Twitter some time ago, so I was replying to the comments.

You guys are really creative when it comes to commenting on our tweets. It's really entertaining. And also cringey sometimes. But it's fun.

Suddenly, there was a gasp, and Oli sat up fast, breathing heavily with his eyes wide.
"Dude, what happened? Are you okay?" I asked, concerned.
"No, I'm not," he said, looking at me, "I had a nightmare."
"Oh. Do you wanna talk about?"
"No, it's okay. I don't wanna re-live any of it."
"Okay then. Are you gonna go back to sleep?"
"Probably not," he replied. He swung his legs down, sitting normally, with his head in his hands. He seemed really shaken up.
"Do you need anything?" I asked.
"I...uhh...nothing, never mind."
"It's okay, you can ask me for anything that you need."
"Okay umm...can you...sit here? Next to...me? I really need someone right now."
The butterflies in my stomach started fluttering.
"Umm...yeah, sure, I'll come," I said, getting up and sitting on the couch, next to Oli. Our hands brushed against eachother. The butterflies in my stomach turned to rats. I started blushing, so I turned the other way to hide my face.

Suddenly, there were arms around me. I looked back at Oli. He was hugging me, and his head was buried on my shoulder. The rats turned to dogs. His whole body was shivering, and it wasn't even cold. I was really surprised, and it felt awkward, cos I hardly know this guy. I didn't know what to do.

"I'm really scared," Oli whispered into my t-shirt.
I wrapped one arm around him, rubbing his back and comforting him.
"It's okay, Oli. I'm here. You're not alone," I said, in a soothing voice. "Are you sure you don't want to talk about it? Talking really helps," I suggested.
He looked up at me with puffy brown eyes, nodded his head, then looked away.
"I see a lot of nightmares," Oli started, "and they're all the same thing. I always find myself lost in a maze, and then, after a while, I find a clearing, and I can see all the people I care for trapped in a big cage. There's a huge rock hanging over them, tied to a rope which connects to a hook on the ground. Beside the rope, one of my childhood bullies, the one I hate the most, stands with a knife. Every time, he says, "sing, or else I cut the rope. And sing good." And every time, I sing. I sing as good as I can. But I'm never good enough. So, in each nightmare, I have to see my loved ones be crushed to death." Oli closes his eyes at the thought of that, and buries his head on my shoulders again.
"There's so much blood," he whispers.
I felt sorry for this guy, I really did. He was so calm and composed around everyone, but who knew that he was a broken soul who's tortured every night by his own head?
I hugged him with both my arms, one hand on his back and the other on his head, ruffling through his hair. I was impressed that he wasn't crying. We stayed like that for a while, until I realised that he fell asleep. I carefully put him back down on the sofa, covered him in his blanket, and got up to go to my room.
"Wait," Oli said, whispering, "will you sit close to me? I'm really scared."
I smiled, pulled a chair from the dining table, and sat beside him. He closed his eyes, and soon, he was snoring.

We're all broken people.