Astraphobia {Dreamnotfound AU}

2. Nightmare

George's POV

"I have nightmares.. a lot," I state, avoiding eye contact with Eric as I fiddle with the folded edge of the paper cup on the desk.

"What are they about?" he asks, playing with his pen.

"Usually, I'm outside the wall," I start telling him. "There's a thunderstorm about to begin, which I know because I can hear their laughter in the distance." I leave the cup be and move on to the string of my hoodie. "When the first lightning strikes, I start running to the bunker, but someone catches me and doesn't let me go."

"Who catches you?" Eric asks, noting something down.

"It's Clay, but it's not really him. I told you about the nicknames, and his mask, right?" Eric nods and hums. "He has a mask, but it's black with orange triangles for eyes, like a carved pumpkin face," I continue. "He's called 'Nightmare'."

"Does he tell you that name?"

"No, I just know it somehow."

"What happens next?" he asks me. I bite my lip slightly before continuing.

"He kills me," I say, looking down at the floor. "And every time he kills me, I just want to warn the real Clay that Nightmare is coming for him too."

"So he wants to kill the both of you?" I look up and nod.

"Yes. He doesn't say it, but I know."

"Do you consider Nightmare to be your greatest fear outside the wall? In the dream, then," he asks me, laying down his pen and reclining in his chair.

"I guess. He always succeeds," I answer.

He hums, folding his hands on his stomach as he looks at me.

"Have you ever tried warning Clay before you actually fall asleep?" he asks me, and I tilt my head slightly sideways in confusion.

"No, why?" I ask him back.

"See, your dreams are your way of processing things that have happened to you. They visualize your feelings for you," Eric says as he sits up again. "If I may take a guess, you seem to feel like you need to protect him." I nod, thinking back on how I've felt the past couple of months. There's always a sense of threat looming over me. I want to keep him safe. "Even when there isn't really anything to protect him from, correct?"

"I guess."

"So warn him for the thing that threatens you in your dream, instead. You make him aware of the danger that your brain wants you to believe there is, and you might feel like you've succeeded," he says. That.. maybe makes a little sense. I don't like the guy, but he's made a point just now. "Consider opening up to him about your other feelings a little more as well, maybe the ones you don't want to tell me?" Alright, he's pushing it. 

"I'll think about it," I lie to him. 

"Did you write anything down on the notepad I gave you last time?"

"Isn't it time?"

When I finish my session, Clay is waiting outside for me, leaning against his car with his phone in his hand. He smiles when he sees me. I force a smile back before getting in the passenger side. The ride is silent, just how I like it after therapy. I don't want to keep saying that it was fine, or stating that I don't like Eric after every single session. He pushes me a lot, which is probably because it's his job, but I don't like him for it. I think I wouldn't like any therapist, if it's any consolation to him.

"I have a weird question," I say, breaking the comfortable silence we were in.

"Shoot," Clay answers, eyes fixated on the road.