“A nightmare for a nightmare. You go first this time.”
His gulp was audible.
“I hear voices, and sometimes–” his voice broke. “Sometimes they feel soreal.Sometimes, they even convince me that they are. My dark passenger used to just be this unholy, demanding voice, but now I see him in my dreams. Sometimes I even think I see him looking back at me in the mirror. But I can’t trust it. The same brain that projects voices can project images. I can’t trust what I see, and I can’t trust what I hear.”
She was silent for a moment, her brows furrowed as if collecting her thoughts.
“What can you trust?”
Brooks scoffed before he said, “Nothing. Abso-fucking-lutely nothing.”
“You said you have auditory and visual hallucinations. That doesn’t cover taste, smell or touch. If you can touch it, smell it, taste it, it must be real.”
“I don’t know, Lytta. I want it to be real. I want it so fucking badly, but there is no explanation as to how other people live in my head.”
“What if I told you there was?”
“Seriously, Lyt?”
She smiled as he caught himself.
“A nickname, huh? Does that mean we’re friends?” She bumped his shoulder with her own as she teased him, and it thawed something inside of him.
A friend.
He’d never had a friend in the asylum before. Only the voices in his head.
Somberness settled in, and Lytta leaned her head against his shoulder.
It felt nice. Companionable. Even though they didn’t know each other very well yet, Lytta felt like she belonged with him.
“I know that the deck is stacked against you, Brooks, but I was serious earlier. I think you’re holding back because you’re scared. You think that if you let the voices in they will destroy you. The misery of knowledge is always better than the ignorance of bliss. You know that deep down inside there is more to this. Your dreams are guiding you. All you have to do is listen.”
“Say that I listen to you. Maybe I stop fighting back and let the darkness in. What comes next? I kill everyone in this asylum and walk away.”
“No, Brooks. Let the darkness in, and you willsee.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” he huffed.
Before she could argue her point, he said, “Your turn, Lyt. Nightmare for a nightmare.”
She nodded in what seemed like a concession, her mouth working as she chewed her lip.
“What do you wanna know?’
She looked up at him and, in those espresso eyes, he saw determination and clarity.
“The scar on your neck. How did you get it?”
Her skin, so thin and fragile in appearance, stood starkly against the angry imperfection. One thick, straight line ran from ear to ear over top of what resembled a necklace of thorns. Tissue long since healed puffed in places where the skin failed to knit correctly. It crossed and slashed as if she were hanged her with barbed wire.
“You get straight to the point huh? No questions about how I got here, my diagnoses, what I had for breakfast… Just an immediate question about the deformity around my throat?”
“Nightmare for a nightmare, Lyt.”
“Fair enough,” she shrugged.
It was a moment before she answered, but her face was set in concentration.
