Rating: Mature
Disclaimer: I do not claim these characters, they all belong to their respective owner Hart Hanson
Nightmares
Lance understood, clinically, what was going on inside his head.
He could diagnose a problem right alongside with the best of them. He did have two doctorates, mind you. But that didn't change what he felt.
The list could go on and on, really. Lance lay in his bed on his back, staring blankly up the ceiling entangled in his bedclothes. His tossing and turning during the hours he did sleep had made a right mess of his bed-but he didn't care.
The clammy sweat on his skin made it impossible to cover him; he laid sprawled out nude, letting the cool air of his open window to dry his chilled and sticky skin. He felt dirty, inside and out. These night-terrors were a common occurrence.
Mostly throughout the course of the day Lance would eventually forget just exactly what the nightmares were about, but right after he gasped awake, clawing at the air…and all the hours of the night after…he remembered all of it.
A breeze wafted in, curling over Lance's skin and raising goose-bumps, and his stomach reminded him that he hadn't eaten well at all in the last…hell, how long had it been?
Anyways, doesn't matter. He couldn't eat anyways, not with the way with bowels clenched and his stomach curdled.
He leaned over to his night table and grabbed an unmarked white medicine bottle. He opened the bottle, comforted by the familiar rattle, and slipped a seemingly benign pill onto his tongue.
As the hours passed, exhaustion and the sleeping agent eventually won over him and he drifted off to uneasy, restless sleep. The only blessing was that this time, he didn't dream.