Night Terror

Two nights later it is Charlie's turn to be embarrassed. Unlike with you it was through no fault of his own.

It was Monday night. The day had gone by as it usually did. This week was a big one for you, the last soccer try out was on Thursday and you were starting to sharpen up for it. You were in good physical condition but being out of competitive soccer for a year had dulled your skills. You were starting to work on them with a few other guys you knew.

That night you get home tired, exhausted from a hard day's training. You shower and you talk with Charlie as you did. You tell him about the training and your classes. He tells you of his day. You were nervous for the try out but talking with your friend made all of that tension just go away. The pair of you do your talk in bed thing then you drift off to sleep.

You are woken by the sound of thrashing and movement on the other side of the room. You hear whimpering and whining and rapid breathing. Something was wrong!

Sitting up you turn on your bedside lamp. Charlie was sat up in his bed. He was shaking all over, his arms trembling out in front of him. His eyes were wide, confused, terrified. They dart around the room but you get the sense they are not seeing what you are seeing. He was up and his eyes were open but you got the sense he was trapped in some horrible dreamscape. He is almost hyperventilating. The light only seemed to intensify his delirium.

He gasps. "What....what's happening? Where...? Where...?"

You sit staring at him. You had no idea what to do. Do you wake him? You'd heard something about that being bad. You'd never had to deal with anything like this before.

"Charlie?" You whisper.

He doesn't hear you.

He turns and starts scrambling through some books beside his bed. He is whimpering. He is so frightened. "I'm...I'm trying...I'm trying...I'll do better...I'll do better..." His motions get even more ****, he claws and tears at the books looking for who knows what. He is talking fast, berating himself viciously. "I'm sorry...I'm sorry Mom...I'm sorry...I'm so stupid...I'm so stupid...everyone knows that...they see it...I know, I can tell...I'm so stupid...I'm so stupid...I hate myself!"

He was so frightened, so very frightened, so hopelessly alone in his plight.

Your heart was breaking watching this. You simply couldn't just sit there and do nothing. You get out of bed and take the step across to his side of the room. Sitting on the edge of his bed you take him by his slender shoulders, turning him carefully away from the books he was clawing at.

You say in a slow gentle voice. "Charlie, Charlie, wake up. Wake up. Everything is okay, you're having a dream. Charlie."

He is trembling, his confused eyes looking at you but not really seeing you. He begs at you. "I'm sorry...I'm sorry...I'll do better!"

You bring him in to a big warm embrace. His small shaking hands are ice cold against your bare chest. He shakes and shivers. You just hold him, saying soothingly over and over. "It's just a dream. Wake up Charlie. It's just a dream."

Slowly...slowly...slowly...his breathing begins to return to normal. After a time you hear him moan woefully. "Ohhhh noooooo."

This time it was really Charlie, he was awake.

"Oh no, I had one of my episodes didn't I? Oh my god." He rests his head on your shoulder. "I am SO sorry Jonathan. I am so so sorry."

"It's okay." You assure him. You pull back, still holding him by the shoulders. "Are you okay Charlie?"

He can't even meet your gaze. He was humiliated. Utterly humiliated at his show of weakness. His head was bowed and his shoulders slumped. He whispers. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I woke you up."

You smile. "Please stop apologizing. It's okay, really."

He is quiet for a time, the pair of you just sitting together in the silence. He finally says. "I...I haven't gotten...a counselor down here yet." He still can't meet your eyes, he was so embarrassed. "I've...I've got...they call it imposter syndrome...I've got that among other things. I'm sorry, I'm so fucked up." That was the first time you'd heard him swear. "I should have warned you. You don't need a fucked up friend like me."

You lean forward and hug him again. "Oh yes I do." You say firmly. "It is okay. We're all fucked up one way or another."

He takes a deep shuddering breath. "I'll go get a therapist tomorrow. You don't need to see this. They can put me on ****...I don't like them but...I can..."

You pull back again. With the tips of your fingers you touch his soft chin and you guide his face to look at yours. He tries to evade but eventually he finally looks into your eyes. You say with the utmost sincerity. "It is okay Charlie. Okay? You don't have to go on **** if you don't want to. I don't mind. Not one bit. Don't feel bad. Okay? If you let me know what I can do I'll help where I can. Okay? I don't mind. Do you believe me Charlie?"

He is looking at you, unsure of what to say.

"Do you believe me Charlie?" You ask again in a gentle tone.

He nods slowly. "I believe you Jonathan."

You smile. "Okay." You hug him once more. He lets out a long sigh as he rests his head on your big chest, you feel the fear and tension slowly release from his body as you hold him in your strong arms. You stroke the soft pajama fabric along his back. You feel like you could hold him like this forever. You just wished you could shield him from the demons he had inside himself.

You sit with him for close to an hour. Just talking. Just being there.

"Do you need me to stay with you tonight?" You ask, not a hint of sexuality in your genuine offer.

He shakes his head. "I'll be okay. Thank you."

Finally, when he is ready, you hug one last time and you return to your bed. You turn off your bedside lamp.

Darkness...silence.

"Charlie."

"Yes Jonathan."

"Breakfast in the morning?"

There is silence. Then through a little sniffle you hear. "Always."

"Good night Charlie."

"Good night Jonathan."