The Dirt Whispered, Ch. 18
The next time I went to see Kevin, the mask was hanging on his wall, right over his nightstand. I stopped in the doorway, staring at it, concerned as to what it meant that he hung it up. I looked over at him, where he was standing by the far wall, meticulously taping pictures up. I walked up beside him after a moment, stood next to him. He threw a glance at me, and I knew immediately he was having a quiet day. I’d never seen them myself, but Susie had told me last time I visited that he went through these moods that all had their own distinguishing characteristics. When he was “quiet,” he didn’t speak at all, refused to greet anyone who came into his room. Quiet days apparently came after he had nightmares. I was upset to learn that he had them a lot.
I didn’t know if I should try to speak, to ask if he was okay or anything, to attempt to get him to talk. I offered a “Hi…” into the silence. He didn’t return it, just continued putting up his pictures. I sighed, peering up at the photos with a thoughtful frown. They were mostly pictures taken of our family over the years. A lot of them I knew he’d taken straight from the bulletin board he kept over his bed in our bedroom. There were a few I was surprised to see, like a photo of Nick at the first show that he played on his solo tour, or the release party for his album. I wonder if Mom and Dad sent those to him. “I like this picture.” I pointed at one of the two of us, side-by-side onstage. We were both laughing - that elated kind of laughter that is so impossible to keep in. It was taken at our first show on the Burning Up Tour.
He nodded, didn’t say anything. I didn’t expect anything. It was weird to talk to someone who was being so intentionally mute. I sighed. He held out a picture for me, along with the roll of tape. I put it on the wall, straight-edged against the photo below it, just the way I knew he’d want it. He gave me a grateful look. I wanted to beg him to smile. Part of me wondered if this was how it would be. If I would spend my days coming here, dealing with his emotional whims, not able to fix things or help him, for the rest of my life.
I’m still wondering that now, because I just woke up, and Kevin isn’t talking to me. I mean, probably not just to me, but in general, he isn’t talking today. I ask him to open up to me, beg him to, remind him that his doctor said he needs to talk about the nightmares in order to get past them, but I don’t get any response. He just curls up in the corner of the sofa and stares at the TV. I sigh, rolling my eyes in frustration and trudge into the kitchen to make us both breakfast. I set a bowl of Cap’n Crunch down on the table in front of him, along with a cup of coffee. “If you’re not going to talk to me, at least eat, okay? Just for my peace of mind.”
He doesn’t move for a long time. I figure it’s because he’s being stubborn and deliberately not doing what I asked. But, he finally leans forward and takes the bowl. He holds it against his curled leg, chewing the cereal slowly, his eyes never leaving the screen. I sigh, turning my attention to my own breakfast. The silence is like nothing I’ve ever experienced, especially not with Kevin. It’s the kind of silence that, even though there’s sound from the TV, it feels like a heavy blanket is draped over my head. I hate every second of it.
When he finishes eating, he nurses his coffee, sipping at it almost absently. I can feel his eyes settling on me every couple minutes. I ignore him. We’ve both always been very good at the silent treatment. It’s part of the reason we always tried not to fight too much. We could freeze each other out for weeks if we wanted it. I’m surprised when he presses up beside me. His arm curls around me, and he presses a kiss to my cheek. “I’m sorry.” He murmurs, and I’m so relieved to hear his voice that I turn to kiss him.
“It’s okay, baby.” I say softly, my tone completely changed from how it was only a few moments ago. He’s always been my weakness. At least I’m aware of it. “But, you need to talk to me. You know that; the doctor told us when we moved you out. You can’t shut me out when something goes wrong.”
He nods, looks ashamed, butts his forehead against my temple, his eyes closed. “I’m sorry.” He whispers again. “It was… really bad. It was worse than most. I mean, I have them all the time, but… I can’t even tell you how awful…” He chokes on his words.
I take his mug and set it on the table beside our bowls, drawing him into my arms. He pressed his eyes against my shoulder, shielding his face from the apartment, like it’s all prying eyes and eavesdropping ears. I kiss his hair, stroking his curls back. “I’m sorry, baby.” I keep my voice gentle. I know it helps because he’s already less tense. “Nightmares are always awful, I know…”
“The worst ones… you’re always in those.” He admits, his voice muffled into my shirt. I don’t mind that I have to try a little harder to hear him; at least he’s talking to me. “Usually… someone’s hurting you. In… in the really, really bad ones, I’m the one hurting you…”
I find that hard to believe. Maybe it’s because I can’t imagine him hurting me. Then I think about where we were a year ago and change my mind on that. “Is that what it was like last night?”
He nods, squeezing his eyes closed and pulling away from me, and I realize that he wants to be looking at me while he says this, and the fact that he’s so strong makes my heart ache. I lace my fingers with his. His hold tightens immediately. “It’s not like… I’m holding a gun to your head, or anything.” He says slowly, and it’s apparent to me that he’s never really tried to talk about his dreams. “I mean, if it was like that, I think it would be easier to deal with, because I would be controlling it. But… the one I had last night is one I have a lot, and it gets worse each time - almost like a sequential dream, except that it starts in the same place each time, you know? It’s like time speeds up to make up for what didn’t happen in the last dream.
“It always starts in this room - sort of like police questioning rooms look like, and there’s always one light, just a bare bulb hanging over this table I’m sitting at, and… there’s a puzzle on the table. I’m sitting there trying to solve it, and I don’t have a picture to go by or anything. I’m just… working from nothing. It depends on the night, but sometimes, I’ll get a lot of it, and it’s usually a picture of me and you, and… it’s always you that I really put together. I can never get to me. On the bad nights, like last night, it’s just me, and… I can’t solve any of it.” His voice is trembling now; he takes a deep breath, scratching his fingers through his curls.
“Just when I’m getting frustrated, wanting to give up, I see you, at the end of the room, and you’re so far away… I know I can’t reach you, no matter how much I want to, and then there are these… hands, coming out of the darkness, and somehow, I know they’re mine, even though they’re not, you know, and they close around your throat. I yell for them to stop, to leave you alone, but you just sit there, looking at me, and… slowly, the hands start squeezing, and I can hear you gasping, and…” He shakes his head, reaching over for his cup and taking a slow sip of his coffee. He’s been talking so quickly, like he wants to get it out without giving himself a chance to relive it. I’ve been trying to put myself in his place, to understand what he feels in the dreams. I squeeze his hand again, to urge him to continue.
He does after a long moment of silence. “It always takes me a couple of seconds of screaming at them, even though I know what to do, to help you. I have to solve the puzzle to save you. Every second that I don’t get it, the hands come a little closer to strangling you...” He moves closer to me, wraps me up in his arms. I melt against him, let him hold me close, because it’s where I want to be, and where he needs me. I listen to his heart beating as he speaks. “So I work really hard on it. Try so hard to finish the puzzle, to complete it, so that you’ll be okay. On the less bad nights, I wake up right before I finish it. On the nights like last night, the hands break your neck right before I put that last piece in.”
The television seems loud when he falls quiet. I’m not sure what to say. I’ve never had nightmares like that, that can throw off my entire day if I let them. I stir first, leaning up to press a kiss to his jaw. “Thank you for telling me” is the sentence I settle on. “I’ll try to be more considerate next time you have a bad day, but… Kev, if you have a nightmare, I’m right there beside you. You can wake me up if you need me.”
He nods, burying his face into my hair, holding me close again. I let him. There’s absolutely no reason why I would stop him. “I know.” He murmurs. “I’ve never told anyone that before. I’ve talked to my doctor about my other dreams, but… not this one. This one was always too hard.”
“You should tell him about it now.” I decide right away, pulling away from him again so I can look up at him. I rest my hand against his chest. “I mean, you’ve told me now, so the obstacle of figuring out how to say it is gone, you know? Now you just need to… tell him. He can help you with it, take it apart and help you figure it out. I can’t do that for you.”
He nods. We fall silent again. After a while, he stands up, bending down to press a kiss to my hair. “Now that we’ve gotten that taken care of, why don’t I make us some real breakfast?”
I smile at him. “That sounds great.”