mirabilelectu

There was never any warning, before the nightmares started. There was never any sign in the long hours of the evening when they were making dinner or cuddling on the couch, no red flag that was flown that would warn Martin that soon the night would be torn apart by frantic screams and thrashing limbs and desperate sobs. It would have been easier, if there was a warning. But of course, life would never exactly be easy for the two of them, would it?

The nightmares always came after a long day at the hospital, when Molly came home exhausted and drained from too many hours of work without any reprieve. But tiredness didn’t necessarily mean bad dreams – some nights she would flop down on the bed with heavy limb and the happy sigh that came from a long day that had been productive and successful and left her feeling accomplished and fulfilled. Those were the good nights, the nights when she would snuggle up to Martin with a sigh of contentment and drift off to sleep in his arms feeling content and safe and loved. Some nights though, there was no satisfaction to be found in the tired circles under her eyes or the sluggish dragging of her feet as she shuffled through the flat. That was the closest that Martin could get to a warning that his sleep would be broken in a few hours by her cries of terror, and there was nothing he could do to help.

Tonight was one of those nights, when she had trudged into the flat wilted and downtrodden from a day more exhausting than she could possibly manage, unable to do anything more than peck him on the cheek and collapse into bed as though she simply could not keep herself upright any longer. A flicker of warning passed through Martin, but what could he do? She was already falling asleep, and as far as he knew there was no way for him to prevent a nightmare before it started – if she was even going to have one tonight. The most he could do was to be here for her, so here he would be, holding her close and praying that it would be enough. Hours passed in blessed silence. Molly slept like the dead sprawled out on top of Martin, face cradled into his shoulder and arms wrapped around him in an embrace so close he could not have left even if he wanted to. But he didn’t want to – how could he? They always slept like this, tangled up in each other and holding each other so close that every inch of their bodies was touching as though to reassure “Yes, I’m here. No, you’re not alone”. After so many years of empty loneliness, cold nights, soul-draining sadness, how could Martin ever go back to being alone? He had a Molly to share his bed with now, and he would never let her go.

But then, not long after Martin had finally dozed off with his face pressed against Molly’s and their breathing had settled into a slow and steady rhythm, it started. It was just a whimper at first, the tiniest thread of sound wrung out of Molly’s throat as she slept. But then there was another whimper, louder than the first, and her tranquil face was creased with an unhappy frown as she tightened her grip on Martin in fear. That was what woke him from his light sleep, and when he looked down to see the lines of terror etched into her face, he knew that a nightmare had begun. He had no idea what it was about, what could possibly be tormenting her so badly as to tear her nights apart, but he knew that he had to do something to help her, no matter how small.

“Shh, love, shh. It’s alright, I’m here.” He pressed a kiss into her hair, breathing in the scent of her to calm himself before he continued in a gentle and steady murmur. “It’ll be ok, it’s just a dream. You can beat this, I know you can. You’re so strong, you’re the strongest person I’ve ever met – what does a dream have against you? Just stay calm, it’ll be fine. I’ll protect you.” He couldn’t tell if his words were having any effect at all, but her whimpers had not progressed into screams yet and if he had the slightest chance of preventing those soul-rending sobs he would stay up the entire night muttering nonsense into her ear and not regret one moment of it.

“Hey, do you remember the first time you made dinner for me? Probably not, it wasn’t an especially grand occasion, not for you at least. But I remember it – I think I’ll always remember it. We’d been dating for four months, and I still couldn’t believe how lucky I was to be with someone like you. Hell, I still can’t believe it. What are you doing with me anyway? You’re so much better than me, so much better than I’ll ever be. But you love me anyway. I’ll never understand that.”

He swallowed heavily, pressing another kiss into her hair before continuing. “Anyway. You wanted to make me dinner, and you wouldn’t let me help at all even though I wanted to. I was just standing there in the kitchen, watching you cook and wanting to help, especially when everything started going wrong. The pot boiled over, the sauce burned, I think you even dropped the spoon on the floor right when you needed it. You got so flustered, but you kept going anyway, and you somehow managed to pull it all off. It was like magic, the way you made it all work even it should have all fallen to pieces.” Her whimpers had begun to die down as he spoke, and her death grip on him was loosened. He smiled, caught up in the memory. “That was the night I fell in love with you. I mean, I’d suspected I might before that, of course I did. But that night, sitting in your flat and seeing how determined you were and how you refused to give up no matter what, I knew. I knew that I loved you.”

With a gentle sigh, the frown smoothed from her face and her limbs relaxed. She snuggled back into his embrace, a smile passing fleetingly over her lips as peaceful sleep reclaimed her. An echoing smile spread over Martin’s face, happiness flooding him to know that tonight at least, Molly would sleep undisturbed and cradled in his arms. “You can sleep now, my love. I’m here.”

(artwork and inspiration by the lovely Joan)