Waking Nightmares
Chapter thirty-seven
Jake
I’m lying on the bed with Alex after a long day working in my garden. I’m on my back and Alex has his head resting on my chest. I’m running a hand through his hair, thinking about how much I love this. Just being around him is my favorite part of the day.
After a few minutes, he gets up off the bed. “I’ll be right back, baby. I need to check on something,” he says and leaves the room. I close my eyes and wait for him to return.
“Hello, Jacob.”
The sound of Andrei’s voice has me bolting upright, a cold sweat breaking out on my skin. He’s standing there at the foot of the bed, watching me with malice in his eyes. I kick the sheets off me and scoot back against the headboard, trying to put space between us.
“Get out of my room. What are you doing here?” He doesn’t answer, just continues to stare at me as he walks around the side of the bed.
“Alex will be back any second, you need to leave.” He laughs at that.
“I took care of that little brat. You know better than anyone what happens to people who get in my way.”
I stare at him in shock. “You’re lying!” There’s no way he could have hurt Alex, right?
My mind is racing and I’m trying to make sense of his sudden appearance.
He takes advantage of my distraction to wrap a hand around my ankle, pulling me down the bed.
He crawls on top of me and wraps his hands around my throat, squeezing.
“Get off me!” I scream over and over as I throw my fists against any part of him I can get to.
He grabs my wrists and pins them to the bed beside my head.
“What do you want? Just leave us alone!” I struggle against his hold, wanting to get to Alex and make sure he’s okay.
I feel tears leak from my eyes and I hate how helpless it makes me feel, being at his mercy once again.
“Jake, baby, relax. Everything is okay, you’re safe,” he says. I blink in confusion.
“Alex?” There he is, hovering above me, holding my wrists. I tug at them, and he lets me go.
“Sorry, I didn’t want you to hurt yourself,” he says with concern in his eyes.
“Did I hurt you?” I ask, looking over him for any signs of damage.
“No, you didn’t. Can you tell me what happened? It was like you were having a nightmare, but we don’t sleep.”
“I don’t know. I don’t understand what’s going on. I was here with you in bed, and you left. He came into the room and told me he’d hurt you. He crawled on me and started choking me. But it wasn’t real, right? He’s dead, and there’s no way for him to come back…”
I don’t say his name, but I don’t have to. Alex knows who I’m talking about.
“It wasn’t real, baby, none of it. I was here the whole time. You had some sort of waking terror or something. I didn’t even know that was a thing. You okay now?” he asks and runs a hand through my tangled hair before wiping a tear from my eye.
I clear my throat, embarrassed. “Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry about that.”
He lays down and puts his head back on my chest, hand resting over my heart. “It’s okay, you didn’t do anything wrong.”
We lay in silence for a while, and I try to soak up all the comfort Alex has to offer.
“I feel like I’ll never be rid of him. Logically, I know he’s gone and he can’t come back, but it still feels like he’s haunting this place. Haunting me. Every time I turn a corner, I expect to see him standing there, waiting to drag me out of here.” I take a deep breath.
“Do you mind if I call around, see if I can find a therapist? I think talking to a professional might be good for both of us.”
I think about it for a minute. “Yeah, I guess. I’m nervous about talking to a stranger, but… it could be good.”
“It will be.” He rubs my chest. “We just have to find the right one.”
I lean in to kiss him, and he shoves his tongue in my mouth, as he likes to do. “I want to fuck you,” I say, rolling him under me.
“Yes, please,” he purrs, rolling over to grab the bottle of lube out of the nightstand before handing it to me.
I waste no time getting us both ready, and before long Alex is moaning as I fuck him into the mattress with long, steady strokes.
His legs are wrapped around my hips, and his hands are resting on my lower back, encouraging me to fuck him harder.
I try to be gentle with him, not wanting to hurt him, but he likes it rough, and I like giving it to him.
I’m resting on my elbows, arms bracketed on either side of his head, giving him most of my weight in the way I know he likes.
I put my face in the crook of his neck and breathe him in.
His head is thrown back and his eyes are closed.
He looks blissed out, and I love making him feel that way.
“Right there, you’re gonna make me come…” he moans and tightens around me as I release inside him. I pull out gently, not wanting to hurt him. I never want to hurt him that way; his pleasure is always my top priority when we have sex.
I look down at him and smile. “You good?”
He lays there, hair mussed with a dopey grin on his face. “Am I good? Your cock is a deadly weapon. I need a minute to recover from that.”
“I didn’t hurt you?” I always ask, even though I’m pretty sure I know what his answer will be.
“Not even close, baby. It was perfect. Can we just never do anything but that, for the rest of our afterlife? Just stay in bed all day and fuck?”
I laugh at that. “I don’t think so, brat. Your mother might get concerned and come looking for you when you don’t show up for work. I don’t think you want her to see what I do to you,” I say playfully and lean down to nip at his ear. He smacks my ass in return, before gasping.
“Too much?” he asks.
“Not too much. I want you to touch me without worrying if I’ll be triggered. I love your touch. You always make me feel good.” My cheeks heat when I say it, but I look him in the eyes so he knows I’m serious.
“What if I do trigger you, though?”
“Then we’ll work through it. I don’t want to live in fear, especially not of you. I want you to be able to touch me when you want to.”
He smacks my ass again. “You’re gonna have to fuck me again. This pillow talk is making me hard.”
I sit up and grab his hips, gently flipping him onto his stomach before lying down on top of him. I put my mouth next to his ear. “Your wish is my command,” I say and slip back inside him.
***
Alex
Brandon is busy at the front desk, so I sit in his office and call every therapist I can find a number for.
So far, I’m not having much luck finding one that’s willing to work off the books.
I sigh and put my face in my hands after yet another hangs up on me.
I may have to start looking on the dark web. How do you even find the dark web?
I shake my head and pick the phone back up, dialing the next number on my list.
“Hi, this is Miranda at Bob Smith’s Counseling, how can I help you?”
I guffaw. “Bob Smith? Is that a real name?” I ask before I can think better of it.
“Sure is! What can I do for you today,” Miranda asks.
I clear my throat. “I’m so sorry about that. Um, I was looking for a therapist for my boyfriend. He’s homebound, so I’d need someone to come to us. Also, it would have to be off the books.”
“Can I ask why?”
“Oh, um… he’s an illegal immigrant.” I smack myself on the forehead with the receiver. Really, Alex? I’m so fucking stupid.
“Unfortunately, Mr. Smith doesn’t do house calls, but I can give you the number of some that can. Does that sound good?”
“Sounds great, Miranda. Thanks for your help.” I write down the numbers she gives me and dial one next.
An older man answers, sounding surly. “Hello?”
“Hi, I’m looking for a therapist that does house calls?”
“What? Speak up whipper snapper, I can’t hear you. Damn millennials these days, ain’t got no manners.”
Millennials? I speak louder. “I’m looking for a therapist that does house calls!”
“House calls? What, you’re too lazy to get off your ass?
Too busy playing on your little screened phones, are ya?
That’s the problem with your generation; you’re all a bunch of spoiled little princesses.
I’m eighty-seven. By the time I was your age, I was president of a fortune 500 company, and we didn’t need any therapy.
This country is going to the dogs, I swear. Grow up, pussy—"
“Excuse me?!” I screech into the phone. “Listen here you old, miserable fuck, I need a therapist for me and my boyfriend. We’re dead, so we can’t leave the house—”
“Boyfriend, huh? No wonder you need a therapist, you’re both mentally ill. First, you got the kids ‘identifying’ as cats and pissing in litter boxes at school, and now apparently you can identify as a dead person. What are your pronouns?”
I slam the phone down, and stare at it in shock. What the fuck? Did I dial the right number?
I shake my head, deciding to take a break before resuming my search.