Tevun-Krus #88 - Post-CyberPunk

Rehab - A Short Story by @johnnedwill

Rehab

Bryce woke up screaming. She clawed herself from the bedclothes that had knotted around her and fell onto the bedroom floor, hyperventilating. It took a moment before she regained enough of her senses to realise where she was.

"Amanda? Are you alright?"

Bryce looked up at the face of her husband, Connor, his features only just visible in the light from the hallway, and exhaled slowly. "Yes," she said at last. "Yes. I am." She struggled to sit upright, kicking away the bedsheets from around her legs, feeling the carpet scrape against the soles of her feet. "What time is it?"

Connor picked up the clock by the bedside table. "It's three in the morning," he said wearily. He reached down and laid his hand on Bryce's shoulder, the contact firm and reassuring through her tee-shirt. "Was it the dream again?"

Bryce tried to remember what it was that had woken her. She had vague memories of flashes of light, of muffled explosions, of distant screams. Slowly she got to her feet. "I think it was. I'm not sure."

Connor gave her a questioning look, but said nothing. Instead, he just rolled back from the edge of the bed and patted the mattress. "Come back to bed," he said. "You'll feel better." He smiled invitingly.

"No. I need a minute first. Got to get my head together - know what I mean?"

"Alright. I'll be here, waiting for you."

Bryce padded out of the bedroom and into the bathroom just down the hall. She turned on the light above the washbasin mirror and stared at her reflection. Her eyes were sunken, rimmed with the dark circles of sleeplessness. Lines crossed her face: the visible signs of the stress she felt inside. She passed her hands under the tap, activating the flow of water into the bowl. Then she took a double handful of the clear, cold water and threw it onto her face. It stung, like a handful of icicles. "Goddamn," she breathed out, as the fatigue rushed from her, taking with it the final remnants of her nightmare. Now - perhaps - she could go back to the bedroom. But, when she returned, she could see Connor's form lying there, his chest rising and falling in the rhythm of sleep.

She peered into their son's bedroom. The boy was asleep as well, his arms wrapped tight around a stuffed bear. Bryce stared at him, envying the look of repose on his face. She couldn't remember when she last had slept so deeply, so soundly. It would be so good just to climb into bed next to her child, to fall asleep next to him and to share whatever dreams he had. Bryce shuddered. She didn't want her boy to feel the same night terrors that she did, to fight against whatever demons had possessed her.

Bryce left her son's room and made her way to the lounge. It was quiet, almost isolated from the rest of the house. She sat down on the couch, enjoying the feel of the cool vinyl against back and thighs. With her right hand, she reached out for the remote for the television and turned it on. In the darkness of the lounge, the static from the screen shone brightly, casting a pale electric glow across the room. As Bryce held the remote in front of her, it was if her skin was cast in silver rather than pallid flesh.

"C'mon sleepy head! Time to wake up! We got a busy day ahead of us!"

Connor's voice woke Bryce with a start. She felt stiff, unyielding; the result of a night on the couch. "Did I ... ?"

"You sure did, babe." Connor leaned down over the back of the couch and kissed his wife gently on her forehead. "I missed you, but - hey." Connor shrugged. "If it keeps the bad dreams away. But I could always get you a dreamcatcher?"

Bryce shook her head. "It didn't work for Jonny. If it's not going to work for a five-year old, what makes you think it would work for somebody my age?"