Perception
Part One – Concern
The moonlight streams through the open blinds and falls across the bed in elongated ribbons of sharp clarity.
Her eyes remain closed against the starkness of the night's radiance, and she basks in its eerie glow.
The blanket is a comforting weight around her hips; it keeps her grounded in her morning lethargy, a consoling sheath of warmth from which she dreads to emerge. Winter is right around the corner, and the chill that has settled around the city brings forth the promise of a frigid winter.
Behind her, his breaths are heavy and rhythmic, and she knows from that familiar pattern alone that he is still asleep. His body pushes against hers gently with every inhalation of air. It comforts her. He sleeps heavily, and that is to be expected as it is only four-thirty, and he's been out working a maddening case until dreadfully late into the night, recently.
She closes her eyes and wills her muscles to relax, trying to find sleep once again. She wants to rid herself of the small electric currents surging through her veins, keeping her mind from slipping into unconsciousness. She knows it is entirely too early to be awake, and that she will be feeling the exhaustion come this afternoon if she doesn't sleep now.
She rolls onto her back in frustration at her mind's unwillingness to relax, and turns her head towards him. The covers rustle in the fragile silence, and the mattress gently creaks beneath her shifted weight. The corners of her mouth twitch upward when she sees him. Elliot is dead to the world, his face buried in the side of her pillow, while the rest of him is languorously extended over the remainder of the bed. She is taken aback at how peaceful he looks when in sleep, at how fully he resembles his youthful self when he is completely relaxed. His restful eyes and soft brow do not see the horror of his job, but instead the pleasant images of his dreams. Elliot's jaw is darkened with stubble and his t-shirt is faded, and the sight of him has never ceased to calm her. She sighs and turns her body into him, nestling herself in, seeking his warmth. Instinctually, Elliot drapes an arm across her back, fingers splayed, and pulls her closer. He shifts his body to accommodate hers comfortably, and a soft unconscious murmur leaves his lips.
The silence permeating the room is absolute. Olivia trains an ear, listening intently for any sound coming from the room across the hall, the one belonging to their child, but all that she hears is the steady pattern of Elliot's breathing. She sighs at the relief she feels at the house's peacefulness, and lets her eyes slide shut.
oOoOoOo
An hour later she is ruthlessly wrenched from unconsciousness, pulled up to the cool surface from the depths of a dark pond. In a rush, her head jerks up from her husband's shoulder. She waits in apprehension, dazed, resting on her elbow, her breath held, and confused as to what has woken her. Her heart beats valiantly in her chest, and for one delicate moment, everything is dissonantly silent.
And then she hears the telltale restless rustle of sheets from the room across the hall, and her heart's pounding reverberating in her ears is all she can focus on. She knows what those sounds signify. She has heard her daughter's rapid breathing and witnessed the frightened kicking of sheets too many times recently.
"Shit," she mumbles under her breath, wrestling with the comforter. She has pushed herself out from under Elliot's arm and has her feet on the floor when the first terrified scream reaches her ears.
"MOMMY!" Sophie's shriek is strident and piercing, stung high with her panic.
Olivia snatches her robe from the chair by the door and dons it in an alarmed frenzy. Pausing only to illuminate her path with the hallway light, she runs quickly across the threshold and into her daughter's bedroom, hasty to stop Sophie's frightened crying.
Olivia's seven-year-old daughter is curled up, trembling at the end of her bed, rocking back and forth, fighting with demons invisible to all but her. Tears fall in small ripplets down her irritated cheeks, and the panicked cries escaping her small chest tug at Olivia's heart. As another scream is heard, Olivia notices that the sheets are in a crumpled pile on the floor. She feels the breath get stuck in her throat as she is met with the haunted, ghostly look on Sophie's face.
There is an inharmonious moment of silence, where mother and daughter are frozen, staring. And the tension builds and builds until it breaks under the intensity of the emotion in the room. Another loud, echoing cry resonates within the walls of the room. Olivia jumps and races to soothe her child.
"Shhhh, Sophie, it's okay. You're okay," Olivia coos, quickly gathering her into a secure embrace and pressing Sophie's pale, grief-stricken face into her neck and shoulder to muffle the high-pitched cries. "Mommy's here, Mommy's here," she repeats slowly and soothingly, as she pats Sophie's back with sure, motherly touches. Sophie hiccups and takes in a large, shaky breath.
"Mommy!" She screeches.
"Mommy's right here Sophie, look at me, calm down, calm down, baby," Olivia reassures, voice gradually getting more anxious, pressing her lips into the crown of her daughter's head supportively. "It's over…It's over." As her eyes dart around the room, she notices the large wet area in the centre of Sophie's bed. Bed-wetting often accompanies episodes like this, Olivia has come to expect it, and it makes her heart clench at the terror her daughter suffers at night. She tangles her fingers gently into Sophie's brown hair.
"Mommy, make it go away! Make it go Mommy!" Sophie claws at the air around her in a blind frenzy.
Olivia hears the mattress in her room creak in protest as Elliot wakes and gets to his feet. A moment later, his heavy-eyed face appears in the doorway.
"What is it, Liv?" He asks in concern, rubbing a hand over his face, taking in the sight of them.
"Nightmare," she whispers against Sophie's hair, rubbing her hand softly against the frightened girl's trembling back in a fleeting attempt to soothe. "Again."
"Jesus," he murmurs under his breath, stepping closer to his family. After turning on the bedside lamp, he rests one hand on Olivia's shoulder, squeezing once to reassure his wife, and the other goes to cup Sophie's cheek. "Hey, Soph," he says in a gentle voice, trying to capture her attention. Her frantic blue eyes fly to his face. Her eyes are frighteningly wild. "Hey there," he says, when he thinks she's listening. "It's alright. You're at home with Mom and Dad, Honey."
"No more," Sophie whispers, trembling. "No more, please… Mommy," she wails, and buries her face back into her mother's neck, her lithe frame clinging to Olivia. Olivia deftly moves over on the single bed mattress, avoiding the wet spot, to make room for Elliot to sit as well. She pulls Sophie more securely into her lap, and leans against Elliot's side.
Both parents sit and wait patiently for the distressed child to return to reality. Finally, Sophie lifts her sweaty head from the crook of Olivia's neck and looks around dazedly. Her eyes are red and irritated from the salty downpour of tears. Her hair is matted to her sticky forehead, and wet streaks down her face are evidence of her crying.
"Hey, El?" Olivia asks, in a soft voice, breaking the silence as she wipes Sophie's tears with her thumb. She feels as if her daughter's calmness can shatter just as easily as the previous stillness when she speaks. It is as if Sophie's calmness is suspended in the in-between, and the minutest breeze can fracture the string holding her up.
"Hmm?" Elliot answers, brushes a hand over Sophie's knotted hair.
"You want to get Sophie a glass of water, and help her into the shower while I clean up in here?" Olivia tilts her head in the direction of the soiled sheets and the blankets strewn across the bedroom floor.
"Sure," he says softly, rubbing his hand down his wife's back before sliding both hands under Sophie's armpits. "C'mere, honey."
He groans as he stands up, lifting her still shaking body with him. "You're getting so tall, Soph, Dad's having trouble," Elliot grunts, and chuckles, an attempt to lighten the atmosphere and make Sophie feel more grounded and safe. She doesn't react, though, only holds limply to her father's biceps and rests her head miserably against his neck, eyes void of emotion and expression blank. Elliot carries her effortlessly into the bathroom and Olivia startles slightly when the tub turns on, the rushing of the water loud and sudden.
Olivia is on edge. Sophie's terrors distress her greatly. The same thoughts circle her brain in a hopeless mantra. This can't be normal. This can't be normal. Her daughter has been plagued with the nightmares for several weeks now, and they have progressively gotten more severe in their ruthlessness. Olivia may not be an experienced mother, but she knows that it cannot be of normalcy for her daughter to suffer such. She is unnerved by how helpless she feels, how powerless she is against the demons her daughter is dealing with.
She strips the bed expertly and carries the sheets to the laundry room, dropping the lilac coverings beside the washing machine. They can be dealt with in the morning. She is too tired to focus on anything except the well being of her daughter tonight.
Olivia retrieves fresh bedding from the linen closet, and returns to Sophie's bedroom to make the bed. She can hear Elliot talking to his daughter in soft tones, humming familiar melodies, and telling her funny stories about his day. It isn't long before Olivia can pick up on Sophie's soft voice partaking in the conversation as well, over the rushing of the bathwater.
oOoOoOo
She hears the familiar pad of his bare feet against the floorboards as he approaches her. Sure enough, a moment later the hallway light is extinguished and she can smell his cologne.
"Come to bed, Liv," he murmurs, coming to stand behind her at the threshold of Sophie's room. The child is peacefully sleeping once again, enveloped in the softness of the fresh sheets. Elliot places a warm hand on her shoulder, and the gesture is meant to be compassionate.
Olivia doesn't answer. She is fixated on her daughter's pretty, youthful face, relaxed in sleep. She wants to smile at how cute the image of Sophie's bottom lip jutting out is, but the feelings of anxiety and unease permeating the pit of her stomach at her daughter's behaviour overshadow any other feelings. The feeling of worry is too great.
"C'mon," Elliot repeats in a kind whisper, trying to guide her by the shoulder to their room. "She'll be okay. I promise it's okay, Liv."
"But – what if she – I think I should be with her – El, wait," She says in hushed tones, turning her neck to once again look past the doorway and at her child.
"Olivia," Elliot sighs, when she breaks his gentle hold and turns back to the doorway. "You've watched her for ten minutes. She's fast asleep. C'mon, Honey."
Olivia takes one last look at Sophie, drinking in the sweetness of her image. The unruly brown hair tangled against the pillow, the small curled hands resting on the sheets. Olivia exhales and turns to follow Elliot into their room.
She sighs heavily as she sinks down into the comforting softness of their bed. Although the time reads only half and hour since she last slept, she is exhausted. The whole ordeal, every time it occurs, is mentally draining for her. The sun will rise fully soon, and she will benefit from the rest.
Sophie is in her bed, once again lost to sleep. Sophie is fine, she tells herself.
Elliot lies down in bed beside her, and pulls the navy blue comforter up around them both. His hands search for her under the covers. He pulls her to him by her waist, and she shifts against him until she is comfortable.
She is silent, images of her daughter's panicked face playing like a repetitive movie behind her eyes.
"You okay?" He yawns, sensing her unease.
She closes her eyes and inhales deeply. "It's the third time this week, El."
"I know," he says, seriously, nodding. He rubs his hand up and down the side of her arm in a reassuring gesture.
"God," she exhales, shakily, her breath hitting his neck. "It's not normal. It can't be."
"Mmm," he contemplates. "I remember when the twins were little," he hugs her closer still. "They had bad dreams all the time. Children do, Liv."
"Not like this," she insists wearily. "This is different. Something isn't right." Her voice breaks at the end. Elliot didn't see Sophie earlier, when the nightmare was in full force. He didn't see the haunted look in her eyes, the terror written on her face.
"It's going to pass, honey, I know it. We only need to be there for her. She may just grow out of it."
"Elliot -," she protests, bewildered as to how he can act so sure in this matter.
"Liv," his fingers play with the silky strands of her hair on the pillow. "Baby," he murmurs, gently. "I know it's scary. I know you aren't comfortable with it. But...just…don't worry so much, okay? We've got this. Together, we've got this."
She swallows, tries to push down her anxiousness. "Yeah. Okay."
It takes her a long time to fall asleep.
oOoOoOo
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