That was the cynic talking.
Brooks turned and stared in the mirror. His face was gaunt and the burn marks oozed. He would have to ask the nurse to wrap it tomorrow before it got infected.
He stood back from the sink to stare at his pants again. The indecision between want and need made his heart race, a mixture of panic and fury.
Impulsively, he ripped the scrub pants from his body and threw them in the corner. He wanted to run his fingers through his hair and pull it until his scalp screamed, but if he touched those wounds he knew he would end up on the floor.
Pain.
He needed controlled pain to take his mind from the stained pants laying in the corner. He would rip his briefs off too if it didn’t mean walking out naked in front of Lytta.
He was afraid to confront the answers waiting within the fabric of those pants. What if they didn’t hold her sweet smell? Confirmation that it was all a dream would be devastating and he was sure it would break the last of the fragile binds keeping him sane.
Even worse would be the indisputable fact that she was real. Brooks couldn’t fathom what possibilities that would bring. He would have to consider that his entire life had been a lie and he just wasn’t sure what could be done with that information.
When the rage was too much to contain, Brooks swung at the fake mirror. A sickening crunch made him flinch as his knuckles bled. Something was bound to be broken.
It wouldn’t have been the first time.
Brooks was desperate, but for what he didn’t know.
Confirmation? Denial?
He needed to hear her voice as a sense of desperation fueled his hysteria.
“Siren?” He called hoarsely.
No answer.
“Siren!” His yell reverberated through the small space. His ears rang from the deafening scream as a ball of emotions rose from his chest to clog his throat.
He was miserable. So many emotions warred within and not a single outlet was visible. He could see her, and touch her,feelher. Gods, the way she smelled… Like sea water and sunshine. That had to mean something, right? How could something feel so goddamn real only to turn to dust when reality came back around?
Brooks stammered backward until he found the wall. His back pressed against the cold tile as he slid to the floor and held his knees to his chest. He played his dream over and over in his head trying to determine how his brain could have tricked him so perfectly.
It was because he was vulnerable.
It was always because he was fucking vulnerable.
No more.
Perhaps it was desperation or a fear of the truth, but Brooks could no longer entertain these thoughts. If life as he knew it were shattered, he wasn’t sure he could pick up the pieces.
From now on, no matter whose voice rattled around his skull, he would not entertain them.
They weren’t real.
A small knock sounded at the door before Lytta pushed it open.
Concern etched her face as she asked, “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” he replied, his voice a dull monotone.
She hesitated before stepping across the threshold and taking a seat beside him.
“Wanna play a game?” Her voice echoed in the small bathroom. It was rough as if her vocal cords had been damaged. One look at the mottled scar running across her throat was explanation enough.
“Why not?” he sighed.
