RESEARCH ( barry berkman.. ) ✔

o9. the dream..

"You killed someone, Barry." "You don't have to do this." "You killed someone and you got away with it." "You don't have to do this." "We are not the same..." "You are cruel-" "You don't have to do this." "It was a sniper on the roof, Barry! You took out the wrong man-" "You don't have to..." "You're crazy, man."

All these flashes of life electrocuted Barry Berkman out of the little nap he has fallen into, still fully clothed, in a seated position against the two pillows on his bed. Flinching awake, out of breath, his eyes found their focus into the dark reality of his room, in the dead silence of the whole apartment. There was one small bedside lamp dimly supposed to keep some sort of light on the pages scattered over his lap and bed.

Amongst those pages were two readings he was doing mindlessly out of pleasure, avoiding sleep which took him out anyway. His eyes were too heavy to concentrate on reading neither the new script he had to practice or the exclusive material Adelaide borrowed him with, the pages unedited with the notes of her superiors.

Frankly, Barry wished he could just go back to sleep, were it not for the images and memories to resume with every blink elongated by nature. He knew it was wrong to wish so, but just then, he would have given anything to rid himself of remembering so much: every kill, every bullet. The longer he pondered his action, the more they haunted him.

Instinct found him with one hand on the phone he found on his nightstand. He opened his messages and texted the only person who knew about him perhaps more than he knew himself; there were few things he could think of that Adelaide wouldn't know about already. Dumb as it was, considering their contract's instances, it was nice not feeling judged or falsely praised for once

So with a slow, right hand handling, he texted: 'Are you awake?'

Pressing 'send' has made him aware immediately that the clock showed close to the hour between early and late, about four in the morning. "Shit...," Barry cursed under his breath. He rubbed all tiredness out of his eyes with his right hand, harshly snapping sense back into him and returning the attention to the screen to figure out how to delete the message. It was quite weird to get such messages, so late at night, Barry did not want to come off differently in Adelaide's eyes.

He was met with the three dots letting him know Adelaide was actually texting. His heart skipped a beat since he remained stone-like in reactions, which deep down were happiness made whole. 

'Couldn't sleep. Why are you awake?'

Barry allowed himself a little tug of a smile to his lips. The longer he stared at the little screen he held in both his hands, the further away were those nightmares tossed. He answered after quite the delay of pondering what would be more appropriate to address: 'Are you okay?' Obviously, he decided against immediately complaining.

Adelaide answered with promptness and her voice almost rang in his ears: 'I am, but you didn't answer my question. Did something happen?' After a while, a second text was sent from her side: 'I can come over. With the pepper spray this time.'

For a second time, his heart acted up, struggling to express what his features were trained to be numb against. This time, a hinging emptiness was slowly dissipating with the words he decided to trust himself with writing. Honesty came a bit easier when it was directed towards this particular listener, whose jokes shed lights over the darkness of his night terrors. 'I'm okay. It was just a nightmare.'

The message was received and read, according to his own screen at which Barry stared down anxiously. There were no three bullets though and Adelaide rarely took this long to answer. You're bothering her, Barry, he immediately though. "Fuck," he cursed out loud, seeing an entire minute pass. It's not her business to care about my nightmares, why did I say that?