scared and frustrated and breathless. And occasionally in tears.
It’s always the same. I’m standing in a barren field, surrounded by nothing but dead grass and an overcast sky. I see a figure in the distance, and I run to try to reach him. I run and I run and I run and I run. Sometimes I fall down and scrape my hands and knees. Sometimes I twist my ankle in random holes in the ground. Sometimes I’m close—almost, almost there. But I never catch whomever I’m chasing.
When I was a girl, the nameless figure I pursued was my father. Tall and upright and always without a face. As I got older, the identity of the figure would sometimes change. Sometimes it was a random, unimportant man in my life. For a while it was Steve. Often it’s nobody at all.
Tonight I have the dream again, and the man I’m chasing is Damian.
The dream is more intense than normal. I can feel my lungs burn as I run. I feel the skin breaking on my bare knees when I fall against the bone-dry ground. I’m sweating and gasping and screaming out, “No! No! Wait!” as I chase the retreating figure in the distance.
I don’t reach him. I never do. I usually wake up babbling and shaken right at the end, when I’m a breath away from being close enough to touch.
Tonight is different however. I hear a voice breaking through the dream. Saying my name.
Melody. Melody. Clarke!
And I feel a strong hand on my shoulder that shouldn’t be there. It startles me. I struggle against the grip.
Stop! It’s just me. Melody, wake up!
This time the voice is familiar, breaking through my frantic consciousness. I open my eyes to see if there’s a face that belongs to the voice.
There is. It’s Damian. I recognize him dimly in my mostly darkened bedroom. I always sleep with my bedroom door open a crack, a remnant from my childhood when I’d be comforted by the light in the hallway. There’s more light than usual now since Damian must have left the door all the way open when he entered.
“Wh-what? Damian? What?” I choke out the words as my mind begins to settle. His hand is still holding one of my shoulders. I’m wet from sweat, and my face is even wetter from the tears that have streamed down my face. My loose hair is sticking to my skin.
“You were having a nightmare or something,” he explains, gently pushing some of the hair back from my eyes. “I heard you calling out and got worried.”
“You heard me all the way from your room?” My mind isn’t fully working yet, or I wouldn’t be hung up on this most insignificant of details. But I hate the idea that I screamed so loud he could hear me from his room on the other side of the condo.
“No. I was walking by on my way to the kitchen. You weren’t that loud, but I heard you. I was worried. I hope it’s all right that I woke you up.”
“Oh. Yeah.” I push myself up into a sitting position since I feel too vulnerable sprawled out while Damian sits on the edge of the bed. “Of course it’s all right. Thanks.”
“It sounded like quite a nightmare.” The comment is mild, but I can tell he wants more information.
Please God, don’t let me have been calling out his name in my sleep.
“It’s just an anxiety dream. I have it all the time. And unfortunately I always end up talking in my sleep.” I give a huff of dry amusement, relaxing and wiping the dampness from my face with both hands. “I had a boyfriend once who always complained that all my babbling was like sleeping with the television on. I had the dream a lot when I was with him.”
“Well, clearly being a relationship with an asshole like that would be enough to give you anxiety.” He sounds faintly disgusted, which is ridiculously comforting. “What’s the dream?”
My eyes have adjusted now, so I can see him better. He’s wearing pajama pants and a white undershirt, which he either sleeps in or puts on before he leaves his room out of respect for me. He needs to shave. His expression is sober.
I shrug and glance down at my messy covers. I’ve pulled the sheet loose in my dream-flailings. “It’s a chase dream.”
“Someone is chasing you?”
“No. I’m chasing someone.”
“Who?”
With another shrug, I check his expression, but there’s nothing there to indicate what he’s