Disclaimer: see chapter 1.
Thanks to pari106, Diena, dolphinology, dreamofshadows, Yury, sara and Saturniia for their kind reviews.
Diena: Anytime, darlin'! smooches
dolphinology: Yeah, I heard about Royce. It's pretty sad.
sara: Sorry, m'dear. Um, you might find this one kinda depressing too. prepares band-aids and antiseptic
Saturniia: Who'd have known I'd get so much love for writing about loveable old Crocker? I'll have to try that trick out more often ;). And yeah, Crocker is a total dude imho, and sadly neglected...
No new chapter of Cabin Fever tomorrow, I'm afraid -- sickness and exams are not conducive to writing. But I'll do my best to put you all out of your misery by next Thursday ;).-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Narcolepsy
I should warn you, I go to sleep.
I know you don't know what I mean
Yet;
I get upset or happy,
I go to sleep.
Nothing hurts when
I go to sleep.
But I'm not tired,
I'm not tired.
Krieg drifted awake and lay for a moment, eyes still closed, enjoying the softness and warmth of the bed. It wasn't often he escaped from his navy-issue narrow bunk with its navy-issue pocket-handkerchief-sized blanket and its navy-issue wooden mattress. For that matter, it wasn't often that he got to sleep with a definitely not navy-issue beautiful woman, either. He smiled at the thought, and rolled over, stretching his arm out to the other side of the bed. It was cold.
He sat up. "Katie?" he called through to the next room. There was no answer. "Huh," Krieg said, and clambered out of bed, grimacing as his bare feet hit the cold floor. He made his way into the front room and looked around, sniffing the air hopefully for the smell of coffee. Nothing. Something was nagging at the corner of his brain, but it was too early in the morning for him to concentrate on it. Instead, he made his way through to the kitchen and put the coffee on, wondering if Katie had had to get up early for work or something. He didn't remember her saying anything about it; but then, she was always complaining that he didn't listen.
The nagging feeling was growing stronger, and he stopped as the coffee began to percolate, trying to remember what it was. It couldn't be that important, or he would have remembered it by now. Suddenly aware of the fact that his feet were turning into blocks of ice, he headed back through to the bedroom to get some socks.
It was when he opened the closet door that it suddenly hit him what it was. He stood there, staring at the half-empty hanging space where Katie's clothes had been just the day before, and heard her voice in his head: Ben, we have to talk.
Blinking, he opened the drawer where she kept her underwear. It was empty. Can't it wait till morning?
He made his way back to the living room in a daze, desperately trying to think of an explanation. On the coffee table was a white envelope with his name written on it in Katie's flowing script. He had no idea how he'd managed to walk past it the first time, sitting there, so innocent and obvious in the centre of the empty wooden table-top. Just looking at it made a sick feeling start to grow in his stomach. No. We need to talk now.
He picked it up, tearing it with clumsy fingers, and pulled out the small square of paper. Afraid to unfold it, for a moment he simply looked at it, wondering where she had found unlined notepaper. OK, so talk.
Dear Ben,
You fell asleep again last night while I was trying to talk to you. I guess I've been trying to talk for a long time, but something always gets in the way. I'm sorry it had to be this way. I wish I could explain my reasons, but I have a feeling that something would distract you. I'll see you around.
Katie
Krieg sank down into an overstuffed chair, the note still held in his hand. He stared at it for a long time, then carefully folded it up again and returned it to the envelope, placing it back on the coffee table. There it lay, just a scrap of white paper: a folded square that contained the sum of his failure. He blinked slowly, wondering how he was supposed to feel; sad, or angry perhaps. But all he felt was a wave of numbness as he sat, blankly contemplating the end of his marriage.
He didn't know how long he sat there for, but when he finally looked up the sun was shining through the window, and somehow the sight of the square of light falling brightly on the faded carpet made him feel as though he had been punched repeatedly in the stomach. Shivering, he stumbled to his feet and back into the bedroom. He crawled back under the covers that had long since grown cold, pulling them over his head, and closed his eyes, willing sleep to come and carry him away.
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I should warn you, I go to sleep.
I know you don't know what I mean
Yet;
I get upset or happy,
I go to sleep.
Nothing hurts when
I go to sleep.
But I'm not tired,
I'm not tired.
I know it seems that I don't care,
But something in me does I swear.
I don't remember all last year,
I left you awake to cry the tears
While I was dreaming in the streams that flow
Between the shores of joy and sadness,
I'm drowning, save me, wake me up.
I should warn you, I go to sleep
You won't know when I go to sleep
Cos I'm not tired
I'm not tired
I just sleep.