Where Nightmares Become Us

Prologue

         Damon shot up in bed in a cold sweat, eyes wide and anxious. He stared blankly at the ceiling, silently refusing to look at the darkened room surrounding him; afraid of the things he might face if he did.
         It was just a dream.
         It was just a dream, Damon...
         It was only ever a dream, he thought, scolding his incessant paranoia. Of course, it was always a dream. Monsters didn't exist. They weren't real.
         But with every nightmare, the bone-chilling creatures of his thoughts felt closer to reality. With each passing night, it became harder to believe that these monsters weren't living, breathing, and hunting him down.
          A chill crept up his spine, his body racked with panic at the mere thought of such abominations truly existing. Bleak, ghastly eyes, oozing and inky claws, whetted teeth, and all. Even if he knew it wasn't true.
          But what if...?
          What a baby he had always been, nightmares were childish things. Things that you feared as a mere child, not as a 20-year-old college student. So why did they get to him so easily? He scoffed, shaking his head vigorously as he threw his covers off, and turned the lamp on next to him.
            The room, now illuminated in soft goldenrod, was particularly empty for a fraternity boy. Truthfully, he couldn't stand clutter; it drove him insane. More so than he already feels he is.
           Damon yawned, limbs spreading subconsciously with the action. He stood, staggering for a moment, still drowsy. He blinked solemnly, a vain attempt to rid his vision of the spots swimming in his eyes. Exhaustion was apparent on his face, upon looking in the mirror. Dark circles continued to become prominent beneath his eyes, contrasting dull sapphire, and blackening his pale skin. His face drew into a grimace as he stared unimpressed at his reflection.
           "Where did the time go?" he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance at himself for losing the fight against his own mind. For diving into the deep end. For everything he's become.
          When had he given up, again?
          When had this even started?
          So many unanswered questions...
          He brushed scattered and stray blonde hairs behind his freckled ears, a deep sigh escaping his chapped lips. Looking in the mirror was always a disappointment, Damon noted. He probably wouldn't do that again.
          Despite himself though, his lifeless gaze shifted back to his weary reflection. Sweat still lingered on his semi-toned skin, glistening in the light, reminding him of the maddening nightmare he'd had just moments prior.
          Oh right.
          How could he forget?
         He couldn't help the flash of bared teeth, faces twisted into nauseating grins that seared through his thoughts. Ugly and sinister; soullessly gazing back into his own cold eyes.
        Why wouldn't they just leave him alone?
       "Damon," he sneered, eyes squeezing shut disquietly, "get it together."
         He huffed a ragged breath, blinking drowsily, but he was no longer tired. How could he be? With the vivid images of monsters, sickening creatures, grinning with a deranged bloodlust in their eyes, playing in his exhausted mind like a broken record.
          It wasn't real. Just breathe.

          To say he was uneasy was an understatement. He was straight paranoid, thoughts racing, heart pounding. With each step, dread thickened, flowing through his veins like it was ingrained in his blood.
School went by as poorly as ever, a frenzy of unfocused panic. A struggle to comprehend the curriculum of his classes. Damon was never smart, by any means. Though, it didn't help that throughout his day, the world would alter, drain into a deep desolate pit of his nightmares.
           Everything was so vivid. He'd scream, cry, but nobody ever heard his pleas. His desperate attempts for help, all in vain.
            It was never real.
           No matter how hard he would sob, how loud he'd yell, nobody came. There was no one to save him, nothing left in the world for poor, little Damon.    God, he really felt like a child.
           He was reduced to an irrationally anxious disarray, belittled by monsters of his own creation. Forced into submission by his own thoughts, unable to escape himself. Deprecated by mere nightmares, his own appalling fantasies.
           The world was unfair by all means, and God did the universe remind him any chance it could. Damon wasn't intelligent, nor entirely attractive, if at all. The most he had was athleticism and he could hardly perform at his best in even that, failing time and time again to stay upright on his feet, the world spinning hopelessly around him.
           He was a lost cause, wasn't he?

          Regardless of his torturous circumstances, Damon found himself close to people, though he could never look them in the eyes. Staring into the buoyant gaze of another only filled him with a revolting foreboding, reminding him of the unruly horrors he experienced with every breath he was subjected to take. Eye contact was almost as bad as looking at his own fatigued face.
           And he attended many parties for the football team, despite his apprehension. Being a linebacker landed him a pretty big name schoolwide, which didn't help with his screaming mentality. Sometimes, he even found himself considering quitting the team.
          But he could never abandon the perks his fame brought, regardless of the torment he endured. Parties would always be his favorite place, surely the most grounding. Being surrounded by friends, the football team, and women, was soothing enough to his pounding mind.
          The frat house, god was it a mess. It reeked of booze and bodies, air potent with the smell of sweat. Music blared, all but deafeningly, but nobody complained. They were all too infatuated by one another. Tangles in each other's arms like their lives depended on it. Their breathing intermingling in an inarticulate song.
          His sapphire gaze scanned the room restlessly as he chewed at his bottom lip with an exasperated breath, discarding those surrounding him. It was almost incomprehensible how at ease, yet terrified, he could feel in the midst of a raging party such as this. But they were the only place he could get away from the hell his life really was.
          A soft hiccup escaped his lips as he lowered the icy glass bottle from them, a gentle clatter sounding, muffled by the chattering of the party, as it hit the mahogany table.
          How many was this now... 3? 4?
          It had to be at least 4.
         Damon could only rest easy at the bottom of his 4th or 5th bottle. No matter how hard he'd try to fight it, there was no other way to calm the seething storm in his mind. The pain somehow melted away with every drink, dwindling into a mere whisper.
          His monsters could no longer bother him when he was reduced to an incoherent state of hazed thoughts and half-lidded eyes. That's all he needed. A moment of peace.
           Though the serenity never managed to last long. Once fully conscious, it all started over again. Beginning with a familiar and sickening tightness in his gut, nausea searing through his sore and aching body.
            When would he ever get a break?
            He stumbled into the bathroom, bracing himself  against the wall, sputtering, a flurry of coughs escaping him. Acid bubbled in his throat, but he forced it down, scowling at the way it smoldered against his sore throat; a harsh and unpleasant stinging that refused to subside.
             Alcohol really sucks.
            Each and every torrid hangover was worth the moments of quiet he was blessed with, though. It was the only time his mind belonged to him. The only time he could see the colors cascading across the star-speckled skies. The cloud strewed, deep blue, fading into a sultry purple, freckled with spots of scorching white stars.