As Evil As Murder

16 | Comparing Miseries

"Jesus fucking Christ, Lucas!" I yelled, throwing the pillow towards the looming figure.

He walked two steps closer to the bed and the moonlight from outside the window fell on his face which made me see him better. He looked hesitant and uncomfortable like he didn't want to be here.

"What the hell are you doing in my room in the middle of the night?" I asked in alarm while he stood there observing me like I was a wounded animal.

"I heard some kind of small screams," he replied with worry in his eyes. "Are you okay?"

With him scaring me like that, I had completely forgotten about the nightmare which wasn't that surprising when you think about it. Every time we have a dream, doesn't it slip away from our minds as soon as we wake up? Even the ones which make us scream in terror melt away like fog in the morning and you can't hold on to them no matter how much you want to. If it's gone, it's gone.

"I had a nightmare, nothing to be worried about. Go back to sleep." I said, sighing. I leaned back against the wall and waited for his response.

"Do you want some water?" He asked, not giving up that easily. "Maybe I should wake up Gloria?"

"No, she has to work in the morning, let her sleep," I replied sharply. He still seemed uncertain so I added, "I have nightmares every night. It's no big deal."

"But..." I didn't interrupt nor did he continue that sentence. He simply stood there with that anxious expression over his face.

"Can you get me that bottle?" I asked, trying to lessen the awkwardness in the air. I pointed towards the bottle which earlier fell to the floor when I was startled by him. He made an apologetic sound and picked it up, quickly handing it over to me.

I murmured a thanks and opened the bottle. He sat down at the end of my bed like I was a dying patient. I drank some water which didn't magically improve my mood but I pretended as it did.

"Aren't you going to ask me what I was dreaming about?" I asked, closing the bottle. He shook his head.

"You saw something in your sleep and screamed. I don't think I ever want to know what it is." He said and I couldn't understand if he was being sarcastic but I shrugged.

We didn't say anything for a while as we had nothing to say. I sat there thinking about Poppy, and he kept observing me like I was a painting. Have you ever wondered why some people just stand in front of a painting for a long time? They aren't just admiring it, they are curious about what's the story behind every object in that painting. Why was the man in Screaming Man actually screaming? Why did Da Vinci paint Mona Lisa with that knowing smile when people of that time hardly looked approachable in any of their portraits? Who was that woman in Joshua Chaplin's paintings? There would be many questions running through that person's mind. Lucas was observing me the same way, cautious yet determined to find out my story without asking.

I coughed pointedly and he stood up.

"If you are sure you will be okay, I'll leave you to sleep."

"I got a question," I said suddenly.

"Oh?" He was going to take a step, but stopped and looked back at me curiously.

"Which year was better? 1761 or 2017?" The question just popped into my head partly because I wanted to mess with him until he confesses that he wasn't from 1761 but mostly because I didn't want to be left alone with my thoughts.

"That's a complicated question with a long complicated answer," he stated, "You should really try to rest."

"I can't. If I do, I'll have more nightmares." I said stubbornly. He turned that over in his head before letting out a sigh of defeat and sitting down on the edge of the bed again.