Weightless

15) Worsening

25th of March 2017 (1 day later)

Another nightmare; the fourth time this week. It's getting continually worse now.

It's one of those where you can't just wake up and be relieved that it's not real. It's one where you sit for hours after. Where you're afraid to move or to even breathe because the intensity shook you to the very core. Your heart is pumping so viciously that you can hear the blood in your ears and, when you do eventually manage to breathe normally, it's laboured.

In other words, no, it's not fun.

Ethan keeps telling himself that he's being silly. That if he goes to sleep, another nightmare is unlikely to come - and even if it does, then that's okay! It's a figment of his imagination, an image formed by his unconsciousness. Not a prediction of the future. It won't come true, surely, it can't.

A cold sweat covers his forehead. His eyelids feel heavy, wishing for relief but unable to close. It's tiring to be at war with himself all of the time.

Eventually, Ethan braves getting out of bed. The nightmare has left him breathless and parched, and the cure to that is lukewarm water from the tap. After checking that the place is silent, he walks silently across the floor and opens his door. Immediately, he cringes at the loud opening noise.

As expected, nobody is around. He makes his descent to the kitchen as quiet as possible before pouring a glass of water. The silence of the flat in the middle of the night is so odd, as though reality has been altered.

He stands wordlessly. More than a few times, he wishes that he had vodka in his glass instead of water - perhaps that'd block the recurrence of replaying his nightmare over and over in his battered mind.

There's no escape from him.

His arms are crossed. Cal is stood a bedroom that doesn't belong to him. He wears a stern expression paired with a cold glare. Fingernails are digging into his own arms, madness seeping into his eyes and covering his expression.

A shiver runs straight down Ethan's spine. He swallows. Cal hasn't looked this angry, ever. Ethan barely recognizes him.

"What... what're you doing in my room?" Ethan says to his brother, his voice barely reaching above a whisper. "I didn't say you could come in."

Cal just stares. He's missing the warmth in his expression that he usually has, and the creases of happiness by his eyes are gone. Not a single word comes from his mouth.

Ethan doesn't like this. His body and mind feel unattached, but he still can register that he strongly dislikes this situation. "Cal, w-what's wrong?

Cal fixes his cold eyes onto Ethan for an uncomfortable number of seconds, before turning and picking something up off of a cabinet. "Found something," he presses a book into Ethan's numb hands. "Fuck is wrong with you?"

Ethan's stomach drops at the shock of Cal's sudden vulgar language. His eyes drop quickly to the book he'd been given.

It's his notebook - the one which he uses to document calories, his miles ran (on the rare occasion he had the energy to) and some snippets of what's going on in his head.

And Cal has found it.

"I read it from the beginning," Cal says. He takes a step closer to Ethan, towering over him. "You promised me. You said that you'd always be healthy, never be like our parents. Look at that, look at the calorie count, look at everything. You're just like them!"