Chapter 5

November 2nd; 3:07 a.m.

I was haunted by my own nightmares, so many nightmares. They'd been plaguing me for months, keeping my pulse on the edge every time I closed my eyes to sleep. They say dreams are about issues you for some reason haven't dealt with during the day. Unresolved issues.

I would be living proof of that.

Even though I had many different nightmares, only a few of them returning a second time, they all ended in the same way.

I had to choose.

It always came down to the same climax; me having to choose between my brothers, decide whether I should let them all die or save only two of them. But just as every dream led up to that harsh ultimatum, I always ended up making the same choice.

I didn't choose.

Instead I just stood there, watching all of my brothers die, right before my very eyes, when I had it in my power to save at least two of them. And every time I did, it broke my heart a little more.

I don't know if you've ever had that kind of nightmare. The kind where you have to witness a loved one; a family member, die right in front of you. I suppose you might've dreamt something like it during your childhood - I know I did. They were often about Master Splinter, my father, the center which my whole world revolved around. He represented everything that was safe and familiar in my life, and so when he died away from me in my dreams, I woke up feeling lost and scared.

Just like this time.

My skin was sweaty, my hands clammy and my pillow soaked. My heartbeats ran rapid and unsteady, the force of my pulse drummed in my head; taking over all my senses. And through all of this, images from my dream flashed in my mind, blocking out everything else around me.

I found myself standing in the darkness of my own mind; reliving the horror I had just woken up from. Blood. Screaming. Tears.

And as I stood paralyzed with all that I had ever feared, I looked down and saw the scene which froze the blood in my veins. I saw three beaten, lifeless bodies lying before my feet. My little brothers - dead.

It was so real, so vivid. Every bruise printed upon them looked genuine, the deep-red pool of blood their fallen bodies laid in felt warm and wet underneath my feet. The chilling look of death plastered on their features brought tears of agony to my eyes. And every dream seemed to come back stronger and more graphic than any of the ones before it. They, images my own mind had created for me, were slowly picking me apart, piece by piece. And there was nothing I could do to stop it. Where could I turn? On who could I rely?

I loved my brothers more than anything, and so because of that love, I kept my inner torture to myself - where it couldn't hurt anyone else.

I had never felt so alone in my entire life. It wasn't that I didn't think any of them cared, because I knew they did. The loneliness was a result of me carrying something they didn't. The secret was eating me alive, killing me in slow motion. And all I could do was watch.

I kicked off my damp covers and rose from the mattress, standing in the darkness of the subcar that was my room. The sense of night surrounded me, making me feel even more alone. I felt like a child again, like the little turtle I once was, waking up from a nightmare and yearning for my father's comfort and support. But there was no such place for me to turn anymore. I wasn't even sure I wanted to turn to him.

Through my life as his student and son, I had kept him on a golden pedestal, where flaws couldn't reach him. To me, he was perfection, the kind that was unattainable to anyone in his presence. He was my role model.

Growing up we all had someone we admired, an idol we secretly wanted to become. Mikey looked up to his comic book heroes, while Raph had posters of bands he listened to plastered all over his walls. Donnie admired famous physicists, inventors with creative minds, or any other person that might've made a breakthrough change in the world. We all had them. Me, I only admired one person. There was only one man I looked up to, strode to become and worked to please - and that person was my father.

That person was my hero.

But now, with his secret weighing me down - mistakes that were my legacy - my painted image of him was suddenly shattered - replaced with a looming shadow if his former self.

It was strange. A part of me still admired him for being able to make the decision I dreaded, yet another part loathed him for telling me when he did, and even choosing in the first place. It seemed like such a cruel decision to make; playing God with innocent lives.

I was suddenly hit with yet another image from my dream. Michelangelo's still, glossy eyes staring at me through death and disappointment. I had failed him, all of them, and me waking up from that horrible place didn't change that. I was still a failure.

Because even though the dream left, the feeling never did.

How could things have come to this? Happiness seemed like a myth I had never experienced. A genuine smile appeared to be years behind me; like a memory you could only grasp if someone reminded you of it. But even as someone did bring the memory forth, my mind pushed it away as soon as it was acknowledged. I didn't think myself worthy of happiness. While I longed for that very feeling every hour of the day, I always pushed it away as soon as it showed.

I was lost within myself; caged by the cold walls of depression. I was trapped and I wouldn't allow myself to escape.

Faint noises from outside my room suddenly caught my attention. There were lights flashing outside of my subcar, colorful lights that switched from green to red, blue to yellow, purple to orange. Someone must have left the TV on.

I carefully walked to the exit of the carriage and opened the door, making more noise that I had intended. I gazed down across the platform, my eyes reaching the couch where a sleeping form laid in fetal position. I stepped out on the platform and walked over towards the couch, where the TV was indeed on, although the sound was very faint, not to wake anyone up.

I stopped about twelve feet away from the couch, where the still form of Mike laid, his hands tucked in under his head. His breathing was slow, relaxed. But I was suddenly startled as he turned to look at me, his eyes wide awake with life and energy.

"Oh, I'm sorry," I blurted out, regretting leaving the solitude of my room. "I thought you were asleep."

He smiled at me, his childlike eyes gleaming in the light of the television. "Nope," he said, his eyes turning back to the TV. "Not yet anyways," he then added.

"Well uh," I nervously scratched myself on my lower arm, feeling incredibly out of place. "Just don't stay up for too long, okay?" I slowly backed away, about to retreat into my room when his cheerful voice stopped me,

"C'mon, Leo," he encouraged, sitting himself up with his shell against the armrest. "Loosen up and have a seat. The best shows always run at night."

I froze at the invitation, as though I was afraid of company. Looking at him only caused the vision of his dead eyes to haunt my mind; paralyzing it. "Mikey, it's three AM. Don't you think it's a little late to be watching TV?"

He chuckled, his eyes darting back to the screen. "Anything for 'Golden girls,' they crack me up."

I unintentionally arched an eye ridge, a small part of me laughing at the thought of my nineteen year-old brother secretly staying up at night to watch 'Golden girls.'

He caught me looking at him, his face curving into a smile as he playfully waved me off with his hand, "Oh c'mon, don't give me that look! We all know Dorothy's your favorite."

"What?" I breathed, a little taken aback by his sudden comment. "What are you talking about? I've never even mentioned the show."

"So you don't like it?" he questioned, that unimpressed look plastered on his face, waiting for my composure to crack.

I stood mute for a few moments, pondering on what to answer, painting myself into a corner. "So what if do like the show? That's still no reason to stay up till three in the morning to watch it."

"Maybe to you it's three in the morning, " Mike pointed out, moving over to make room for me on the couch. "Mikey-time says it's three at night." He looked at me with a huge smile, tapping with his hand on the empty seat next to him.

I sighed in defeat, giving into his goofy attitude. Maybe a few minutes of watching TV would get my mind off that awful nightmare. Shaking my head, I took the few steps that parted us and sat down beside him, keeping my eyes focused on the TV, while I noticed he kept his locked on me.

"There," he said, nudging me with his elbow to loosen me up. "That wasn't so hard, was it? And as you can see, Dorothy's still a pearl." He pointed at the old, giant-like lady on the screen to prove his point.

I turned to meet his mischievous eyes with a disgusted look on my face. "For your information," I began, having decided to let that slightly gross remark slip, "Rose is my favorite," I revealed, turning back to the screen.

"Really?" he questioned, not attempting to mask his shock in any way. "But she's so..." he trailed off, watching her as the lady in question went to open the door when there was the sound of a doorbell on their TV. "Well, I don't wanna say 'dumb' cuz I think she's a lot like me.. well, as charming, at least. But still.. Rose?" A smile pulled on his lips. "You're full of secrets, aren't you?" he asked, tipping his head to the side as he observed me through his wide-blown grin.

I turned around to look at him, the small smile that was about to take form on my lips suddenly gone, as the image of his bruised, pale face laid in the pool of dark blood that my nightmare had created. I frowned, avoiding his eyes as concern formed in them.

"Dude, what's the matter?" he asked, reaching out for me with a careful hand.

I flinched as he touched my shoulder, causing him to draw back his hand in shock,

"Leo?"

"Nothing," I mumbled, trying to focus on the TV, doing my very best to avoid him. "It's nothing."

"You sure?" he asked, obviously not believing me. "Cuz you look a little freaked out."

I felt his eyes searching me, studying me as though he was a living, breathing lie detector. I realized he wasn't backing down without some sort of answer, so I decided to give him one, "I had a dream , that's all. Don't worry about it," I explained, keeping my eyes focused on the screen, unconsciously watching him out of the corner of my right eye.

"Like a nightmare?" he asked, earning no response from me. He turned back to the TV, his happy attitude blown out like a candle. "Don't worry, bro," he said, still watching the TV, "we all have them sometimes."

"I don't wanna talk about it, Mike," I said firmly, holding back the emotions that threatened to surface.

"Leo, it's only normal to miss him," he insisted, turning to look at me with a friendly stare. "I'm no Mind-Doc but I'm pretty sure nightmares are part of the grieving process. I mean, he was our fathe-"

"I said I don't wanna talk about it!" I snapped, turning to look at him with hostility in my eyes.

He swallowed at my sudden outburst, looking at me like I had just ran over his dog, and that look alone made me regret what I said, but for some reason I didn't apologize. I just returned within myself, spending a few seconds staring at the TV before I got up from the couch and returned to my room.

I closed the door behind me, allowing the darkness to surround me in my lonely state of misery. I regretfully dropped down on the mattress, my face turned to the wall as I tried to get comfortable on the side, my right hand tucked in underneath my sweaty pillow.

The scene kept repeating itself in my mind, his attempt to support me, my unjustified outburst in return. I hated myself for what I'd done to him, for being the cause of that childish look of betrayal on his face. I didn't like the person I was becoming, yet I didn't have the strength to change.

Perhaps they're better off if they don't like me, I thought to myself. Maybe then my choice, whatever it'll be, won't be so disappointing for them to accept.

No, I decided. I couldn't possible live with myself after snapping at my little brother like that, much less go back to sleep. So I got up from the mattress and walked up to the doors, quietly sliding them open.

To my great disappointment I found the living room empty. The television had been turned off and Mikey had left the couch. Tense silence hung in the air. He had most likely returned to his room, scared off by my effusion.

With a heavy sigh escaping my lips, I closed the door to my room and went back to bed, closing my eyes to envelop myself in my tormented nightmares.

I sent one last look at the digital clock on the bedside table next to me, reading the green digits in the heavy darkness; 3:28.

It was going to be a long, lonely night.