Chapter 33: 33. WAKING NIGHTMARE

Their clothes are dripping by the time they reach Noah’s apartment complex. Their boots squeak in the tiles as they dance towards the elevator without breaking the kiss. Noah shoves Rune inside the cubicle, his hand firmly pressed in his chest. Water droplets hit the rubbery floor in an erratic rhythm. Noah takes a fistful of dual-colored hair, tugging at it, forcing Rune’s head down to his own level. Rune punches the button, not even bothering to look. They’ll get there. Eventually.

The key clinks when Noah’s drunken hands try to open the door. With Rune’s arms embracing him from behind, and his warm breath caressing his nape, he feels his hair standing on end and a goosebump traveling down his back. He closes one eye, focusing his blurry vision on the lock. Huffing out of frustration, he ends up touching the keyhole with a hand to guide the movement of the other. 

“Don’t make any noise,” he says as he stiffs a laugh. “Shh,” he mocks, putting a finger in his own lips.

Noah bumps into the shoe rack, “Shh,” he responds to the unmoving object. Rose stirs in the sofa, where she’s snoring with a crochet blanket over her curled up body. “Let’s not wake her up. She’ll have a lot of questions.” His voice sounds distant through the ringing of his ears. The loud music and booze have put him in some kind of spinning bubble.

Noah takes Rune’s wrist, leading him to his room. “I’ll lend you some dry clothes.” He presses the heel of his palm in the eye socket, wincing at the growing ache. “Take everything off,” and he, somehow, finds this very funny. 

Noah reaches the closet while leaning on the wall with one hand, careful to slowly pull the door open. He throws a pajama at his back, not bothering to look back. Then, a towel. Noah takes the bundled up clothes on the bed and quickly makes his way into the bathroom. His hangovers don’t usually appear so early on. He’s still drunk. Besides, he’s only drunk three quarters of the bottle. 

When he turns the light on, his vision return two twin blinding lights, and Noah’s heart skips at the sight. He jumps when his back bumps the wall. Suddenly, he feels the pressure in his throat, and the fear curling up in his stomach. Before he can comprehend the crushing terror deep within, he realizes he’s tearing up. He’s conscious of the humidity in his cheeks, but he’s unable to do anything about it. He slowly slides to the floor, afraid any sudden movement will trigger him. So he stays still as he feels the pressure from his neck increase, and he tries to keep his sobs as quiet as possible as to not upset him. 

“I am someone’s child,” he pleads, his words broken and barely a whisper.

The stranger responds, “You’re not there. It’s not real.” No. That’s not what he said. “Tell me what you can see.”

And Noah realizes he can’t, because he’s keeping his eyes tightly shut. “I’m afraid to look.”

“Then, don’t open them until you’re ready. I’ll describe it to you.” A pause, and Noah’s sure he’s imagined the voice. “There’s a white sink,” the stranger continues. “Above it, there’s a mirror. To your left, you have a shower plate. It’s separated from the rest of the bathroom by a pink curtain.” The soft voice gets more clear as Noah focuses on it, fighting through the crushing weight in his chest and the rush in his ears.

“Tell me more,” Noah’s own trembling voice is far. 

“On the wall, there’s a rack. You keep the shower gel and shampoo there. To the right of the sink, there’s a towel rail, and a baby blue towel. The tiles are salmon-colored. They shine.” A rustling sound, and then a sound of something plopping in the ground, next to him but not close enough to touch him. “Below the sink, you can find two drawers. You keep the first aid kit in the first one.”

“I keep the first aid in the first drawer,” Noah repeats. 

“You do,” So soft and quiet Noah almost doesn’t catch it. A pause. “What can you hear?”

“Your voice.” As much as he focuses, he can’t pinpoint anything. “Your voice,” he repeats, and his voice is louder and raspier, like he’s been shouting for hours. 

And he can’t be bothered to hear anything else, because that voice is soothing. So he says instead, “Talk to me.”

“I will,” The voice responds, “but you’ll catch a cold in these clothes. They’re soaking wet.”

Noah fights to feel the humidity sticking to his skin, but the discomfort is far away. He realizes he’s trembling from the cold. “Yes,” he answers.

“I’ll bring you a dry pajama,” and Noah finds himself clutching a bundle of clothes he recognizes as his. 

“My pajamas are wet,” Noah answers, upset by that fact. “I’m sorry.”

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“It’s not your fault. I’ll go get a new one.”

A surge of fear curses through him. “Don’t leave me.” He wants to open his eyes. He doesn’t want to be alone in the darkness.

“I won’t. It’ll be a second. You won’t even notice, okay?”

He nods. A rustling follows, and silence falls, and when Noah thinks darkness will swallow him again, he hears quick steps approaching. For a fraction of a second, he feels the stranger tightening his hold on his neck, and a plead wakes up in his lips. But then, “I’ll be just outside the door while you change.”

The door creaks.

He pries open one eye. It’s swollen and raw. He’s met with a white smooth surface. And, as he takes in the bathroom, he realizes the place is bright. As long as he keeps his eyes open, he can be in the light. So he slowly gets up. He’s cold, he realizes. He looks down at the T-shirt, and the red pants, and these are not his clothes. He takes them off, sliding into the soft fabric of the flannel pants, and the shirt. 

He discards his clothes on the floor, leaving them behind in a pool of water. When he gets out of the bathroom, he bumps into a chest. Training his gaze up, he’s confronted by Rune’s face. Shame prickles in his skin, and he looks down. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. He doesn’t muster enough courage to look up again, fearful of seeing judgement in the boy’s eyes. He can’t deal with that now, when he can’t even look at himself in the mirror. 

“You say sorry too much.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Go to bed.” Rune crosses the corridor, opening his room.

Noah shakes his head. As tired as he is, with dizziness threatening to overtake him and the pressure behind his eyes, he knows he won’t be able to sleep. He hates the possibility of being left alone with his treacherous thoughts more than he hates being seen in this messed up state. As vulnerable and naked he feels knowing Rune is witnessing his mind shattering, he can’t bring himself to let him go. 

“Stay,” Noah whispers as he quickly strides to his room. He sits on the bed, waiting for Rune. As he counts the seconds, Noah’s shame sticks to his skin. Who would like to witness a wreckage from up close? No. People like to see from a distance.

However, quiet footsteps approach. And bare feet appear later, walking to the beat-up desk chair, and the springs whine as a body sits in it. Noah keeps his gaze on the floor, “Let’s talk.”

And so they talk. Hours and hours. About inconsequential things, like the season weather, or favorite colors. However, it’s mostly Rune who intervenes. Noah listens as he speaks about literature theory, he dares to question him about this or that concept. Rune patiently explains, repeating his words as many times as Noah asks him to. Sometimes, Noah asks him to repeat because certain words tingle his brain in good ways. Like a verse of a song which hits differently. Rune doesn’t complain.

Noah can’t exactly pinpoint when he falls asleep. He’s only aware of a cello playing far away each time he’s ripped away from his dreams. When he finally opens his eyes, he sees Rune sleeping in the chair, in borrowed clothes, with a phone slipping from his fingers. He covers his body with a blanket, gently taking the phone. The screen is playing a silent video of a cellist. Noah locks the phone, placing it in the cluttered desk.

He takes a shower. Someone put away his damp clothes. The scalding water burns his skin, and noah receives this pain with delight. The terror has been replaced by a void. Not much better, but at least he can deal with that. His head hurts, so he takes double the recommended amount of painkillers. His sore hand is still a reminder of his fragility. 

Noah hasn’t heard Rune get up from his improvised bed, but he’s already in the kitchen when Noah steps in. He’s cooking breakfast while Noah watches his every move. 

After they eat in silence, Rune quietly says, “I’ll take you to a place.”

Rune ignores Noah’s questions, but he patiently waits by the door for Noah. 

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