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The Perfectionists

Chapter 13

Savior

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Eve is sick of her dreams. Sick of sleeping. Sick of that stupid ship.

Sick of waiting.

She used to love falling asleep: it was like falling into the arms of a long lost love. Like coming home. It was home.

Dream is her element. Her blessing. Her gift. She's been able to make the dreamworld, and her life within it, whatever she wants it to be. It's responded to the playful touch of her dream self indulgently, without hesitation, readily giving her everything she asks, and asking nothing in return but that she create always from a place of kindness, love, and desire. As long as she genuinely wanted the dream, the dream was always what she got. Because of this, nightmare never stood a chance in her dreamworld, nor in any that she touched. And because of this she knew, in dreams, much better than in waking life, the way to be herself, to find her own center. She had to know, in order to keep her dreamworld safe. And she was able to share this joyful freedom of exploration with those who dreamed nearby, healing their sleep and comforting them when they woke. But now…

It’s like being in a coma, this state of suspended animation. She doesn’t want to allow herself to fall asleep anymore, because she doesn’t want to wake again, night after night, to find that this is her reality. But she can’t stop sleep from coming. She can stall it, but it won't be fended off forever. And each visit to the dreamworld is a frozen nightmare of expectancy. The darkness that she’s felt coming with the ship grows darker each time, and the dread stronger.

In spite of which she stands, rooted to the spot, with Hal at her side, two pairs of eyes fixed on the approaching vessel, unable even to move anymore, except occasionally to look behind her at the cut crystal display case. “Run!” she shouts in her own head. At herself. At Hal. At Hal’s phantom double, who sometimes seems to be lying there, as still as death, inside the glass case, behind them, and sometimes not, flickering into existence and back out again like an image on a broken holoscreen. “Run!” At the girl she thinks she sees, for an instant, across the wide gulf of air, standing on a cloud, far beyond the approaching ship. At anyone, anyone who might be able to hear her, might be able to act. “RUN!” But she cannot heed her own advice. She can’t do anything but stand, and watch, and wait.

And Hal… Every morning, when they wake, he’s quiet, far away, speaking to her in one word sentences. And every morning their dream note comparison, which once upon a time was a cornerstone of their connection, has been shorter than it was the night before, until now it’s down to: “Same dream?” “Yeah, same dream. Only worse.”

And then he smiles bravely, kisses her on the cheek, and goes off to work, looking haggard, the dark circles under his eyes darker than ever. And when he comes home in the evening, later and later each time, all he wants to do is watch whatever is on holoscreen, and eat whatever he can find in the fridge, and go to sleep. He hardly speaks. Hardly touches her.

Until his eyes close and his breathing slows. Then he reaches for her, pulls her close to him, and holds on as if for dear life, restless, muttering things she can’t understand, until at last she stops fighting it and lets herself succumb to the pull of exhaustion too, and joins him in dream.

The same dream. Every time.

She can’t take much more of this.

This morning she watches him, her love for him a dull fluttering ache in her chest, a caged bird. She can’t stop staring at him, wishing she were stronger, that she could take his hand and bring him with her on dream adventures like she used to, to cheer him up. That she could save him. Save them both. She doesn’t understand why the rules have changed, why she no longer has control over her own dream life. It’s like not being able to breathe.

He’s pulling on a t-shirt, grabbing his belt, but he stops, feeling her eyes on him, and looks up. His expression is all business, in a hurry to get on with the day, but when he sees the look on her face his eyes soften. “Baby”, he says gently. “What is it?”

She shakes her head. “It’s the dream", she answers. Then she pauses. “No. It isn't really the dream. The dream is horrible, the paralysis… Oh God. It’s awful. But this is worse: It's you. You hardly talk to me anymore. You never touch me. We haven’t had sex in weeks. But at night, after you fall asleep, you cling to me as if I were a life raft. I can’t figure it out. I don’t know what’s going on inside you. Talk to me. Please”

Tears spring to her eyes, and he comes to her, he can’t get there fast enough, half running around the bed to sit beside her, wrap her in his arms. “Eve”, he whispers into her neck. “Eve. My love.”

And then he’s sobbing. She’s never heard him cry before, not like this. A raw, heartbroken, choking wail. At first she feels alarmed; then relieved: he’s going to talk to her. Maybe tell her what’s really wrong. And maybe whatever he tells her will explain the dream, fill in the missing pieces. Maybe they can face whatever this is together, and change it. Break the spell. Avert the approaching ship. Unfreeze themselves. Leave the nightmare. Climb back out of that high tower room, or dive over the edge, down through the clouds and back to earth. Back to the warmth and sunlight and comforting magic of a world that is uniquely hers.

Or if not, if they must face what comes, maybe if they put their heads together they’ll have the power to deal with whatever this is. Maybe they won’t have to struggle with it, each of them, alone. Side by side but separate. Like they are now.

Hal stops crying and pulls back to look at her. “I’m sorry”, he murmurs, “this is just... a lot. The dream…look, there’s something I’ve never told you. More than one thing, actually. But first, I need to tell you this: before you came into my life, I was depressed. I had frequent thoughts of suicide. The only thing that kept me from doing it was knowing what it would do to my mom. I didn’t have anybody else to hurt, really, no one to leave behind… no siblings, aunts or uncles. And of course my dad died when I was little. But then, of course, there was the entire Bubble. If I killed myself, with the birthrate inside The Bubble declining ever more drastically, it would be perceived as a betrayal. A wasted opportunity. So I didn’t take my own life.

But I wanted to.”

“Why?” Eve asks, touching his cheek. “Why were you so depressed?”

“It was the dreams, Eve. They were horrible… indescribable. Nightmare after nightmare. It made it so that I never wanted to sleep. I took pills and stayed up most of the night working instead. Every night. I probably got three hours of sleep on average.

You know, it was me. I was a prodigy. I didn't mind working. Showing off what I could do. I had the opportunity to work for G.O.D. at a very young age, and I did. I poured myself into my work. Partly because I liked it, because I found it rewarding in so many ways. But mostly, if I'm honest, to distract myself from the nightmares. And it kept me afloat. Just barely. But it didn't change the nightmares. They were as horrible as ever. Worse even. So it was still touch and go, just getting through the day. And the night.... And then you came along.

We’d made multiple attempts before you, but we'd failed every time. None of them survived. But you… Even before you started dreaming, I was comforted somehow by your presence. I didn’t know that you would survive…. but then, I did know. Somehow I knew. And the nightmares receded. The pressure eased. I started sleeping more at night. Still not much, because I was so focused on my work. But enough to recognize what I’d been missing. It was a blessing, this sleep. A dark, almost dreamless oblivion, from which I woke feeling stronger each morning. It wasn't like the dreams were gone, they were still there, and they were still bad. Sometimes I woke in the middle of the night in a puddle of sweat. Sometimes I even woke up screaming. But there were fewer of them. There was enough space for me to get some rest. And I started to feel hope.

And then… then you started dreaming. Before you even came to me in dreams, I could feel you, out there, in sleep. I could feel your dreams, and they were different from mine. Beautiful. Comforting. Then, after a while, when you were big enough, you came to me, in sleep, and brought your dream magic with you.

It changed everything for me, Eve. You changed everything. You saved me. You saved my life. Every bit as much as I saved yours, that night in the Cocoon. Suddenly, I was no longer living because I had to. I was living because I wanted to."

Eve is quiet for a moment. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"It's not like I didn't want to", Hal replies, "But I was afraid it would be too much pressure on you. I didn't want to pile that responsibility on top of everything else you have to deal with. Just because you've saved my life over and over again, every night, for years, doesn't mean you have to keep doing it. I need you to be free to be with me because you want to, not because of my need. But now… this dream is crushing us. Both of us, I can feel it. I don’t know what to do…”

“Hal”, Eve began…

“Wait.” Hal stops her. “I’m not done yet. It isn’t just the dream. It’s more than that… I know... I know who the Hal in the box is.”

Eve’s eyes widen. “You mean, that isn’t you?”

“No”, Hal replies, the sadness in his eyes again. “Not really. Will you skip class this morning and come with me? I have something to show you.”

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©2018 Bennett Italia, all rights reserved.

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It's National Novel Writing Month! Along with sixteen other freewriters from @freewritehouse I've accepted the challenge of writing an entire novel in one month (the others are: @amelin; @botefarm; @felt.buzz; @grow23; @improv; @kaelci; @kaerpediem; @linnyplant; @mariannewest; @ntowl; @stinawog; @carolkean; @byn; @kipswolfe; @aislingcronin; @nonsowrites).

Each of us must write 50,000 words total, which breaks down to 1,667/day, in the month of November.

This is not as easy as it sounds. Many experienced writers take at least a year, sometimes three or four, and sometimes much longer, to write a novel, and here I'm expecting myself, a newbie, to do it in one month. But I'm doing it anyway, because: 1. it's fun; and 2. it's helping me to become a better writer, which is really the point. My intent in doing this is to push my own envelope, and... yeah, let's just say that plan is working. Almost too well.

Word count for this chapter is 1810

Thank you for checking out this ongoing story, I hope you've enjoyed it!

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For a chance to WIN SteemBasicIncome, read and comment on my #freewritemadness posts For more information visit the @freewritehouse

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I'm dispensing with the freewrite prompts from here on out in this NaNo novel, but...

*Come take part in the festivities at @freewritehouse! Lots of contests and other fun stuff for both writers and fans *

Many thanks to the incomparable @mariannewest for hosting these wonderful daily freewrites :) https://steemit.com/freewrite/@mariannewest/day-390-5-minute-freewrite-wednesday-prompt-sweating

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Horizontal rulers courtesy @cryptosharon

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