He doesn’t stop his methodical movements, almost like he’s stuck in a trance he can’t get out of. I step closer, my body rigid and on guard as he abruptly stops shaking the knob, but his lips start to move, and he grumbles something under his breath for a moment before the rattling starts again.
He’s stuck in a loop.
He’s sleepwalking.
“Ok, um…” I roll out my shoulder, trying to wake myself up a little more before approaching Brighton and reaching out to touch his hands. “Hey Brighton,” I say quietly, trying to get him awake without startling him, but it doesn’t work, and he whips his head toward me. His dark hair is messy and plastered to his forehead with sweat as he advances on me, and I stumble back through the hallway out of his reach.
“Hey! Hey, hey,” I put my arms out, almost tripping over the couch from his sudden movement. My heart is racing in my chest so rapidly that it feels like it's trying to rip itself to shreds in fear. Panic surges, and the reality of the situation begins to bleed into memories of my childhood like they’re one messed-up video reel on repeat.
“Brighton!” I yell, grateful that Daisy isn’t home this week to hear me screaming. My eyes flicker over his shoulder to the hallway. Whyis he trying to get into her room?
His footsteps are heavy against the floor, and despite my better judgment, I screw my eyes shut for a split second to remind myself where I am. Every dangerous thought flickers through my head—no, no, he’s a good dad.
I don’t know how to stop someone from sleepwalking!I try to breathe, but it feels like his hands are already around my throat, and I can’t tell the difference between my memories and what’s real until I smell Brighton’s cologne.This is real.
My eyes fly open, and I put my arms out behind me to feel my way around in the dark as he advances. “Brighton,” I lower my voice as he charges at me. I’m basically pinned down against the island with very few options to put space between us. So I do the opposite.
“This is idiotic,” I whisper, before meeting him in the middle and wrapping myself around his torso with a tiny yelp of fear for what he might do. I squeeze tightly and wait for him to freak out, but he freezes, his entire body going solid. I hold my breath, waiting for the worst, but he just stands there for a long, terrifying moment before he clears his throat and his body starts to relax.
“Rhea?” His voice is dry and scratchy as I tilt my head up to look at him, slowly uncurling my fingers from his sweaty skin. I quickly step back from him until my back hits the counter. He looks confused as he reorients himself and figures out where he is.
“Did I hurt you?” Is his next question, and it surprises me because he didn’t, but it’s the second thing that worries him after coming to his senses, and it tugs weirdly at my chest.
“I’m fine,” I say slowly, “are you okay?” I ask him.
“I uh—” He stops and turns around, looking at the living room before his exhausted eyes land on me. “I—” he tries again, and nothing comes out, but his hands are shaking violently at his sides. His browsfurrow, and his jaw is so tight it looks painful as he watches the tremors in disgust.
My own heart still races at a painful pace, but at least my brain doesn’t think we’re in danger anymore. The splinters of my father are gone, and only Brighton stands in front of me, sad and confused.Shit.
My heart goes still, then starts to break away in tiny flakes at the sight of this normally sturdy man,shaking.Every inch of him is shaking.
“Let's get you back to bed?” I suggest uncomfortably, completely unsure how to diffuse the tension and drifting away from the counter to stand in front of him. I offer him my hand, and he looks down at his own, trembling before he takes it and inhales sharply like the contact burns.
I lead him down to his room, and it’s exactly as I expect. Clean, organized, white sheets, a gray blanket, and a single fan in the corner to keep him cool. I smile to myself, not bothering with the light as I pull him back to bed and help him in. “I’ll get you some water,” I turn to leave, and Brighton’s hand catches my wrist.
“How did you…” He breathes out, still sitting up in bed. He wipes his face with his other hand and hangs it there for a moment, only his ragged breathing echoing through the dark room. I stare at his hand around my wrist and keep my focus on that as Brighton collects himself. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” I stop, confused, and he catches the look I give his hand, because he quickly releases my wrist and folds his hands into his lap beneath the blanket, out of sight.
“Not telling you about the sleep walking,” he chokes out the words, and he’s never sounded so unlike himself.
“No harm done,” I smile at him, but he doesn’t return it.Other than some crippling trauma—but that’s not your problem.“Does it happen often?” I ask, unsure what to do.
“No,” he says, “I mean… I don’t know.”
“You were trying to get into Daisy’s room?” I say, and he looks up at me with a heartbroken realization.
“It’s nothing, I…” he sighs. It’s a strange thing to watch Brighton Black stumble around on his words. Not that he uses many normally, but to hear him struggle with his explanation is odd, and does nothing to quell the overwhelming empathy that’s currently strangling me to death. A smart person would walk away, take a beat, give him space. But I’ve never really been good at that—the whole space thing. My brain has always needed answers immediately so I can fix the problem; if the problem doesn’t exist, neither does the anxiety. The worry, the fear… the dread.
“This is childish, and it’s three a.m. You can go back to bed,” he says.
I don’t move. “Tell me?” I ask, sinking toward the bed with caution as he watches my movements but doesn’t tell me no. I sit at the end, curling up my legs and wrapping my arms around them.
“Locked doors,” he says. “I don’t know what it is about them, but…”
“Is it PTSD?” I ask him, and his head snaps up. I try not to flinch, but my body reacts, and I see his brows pinch together in the darkness. “Military brat,” I say, watching as the air leaves his chest in one thick wave.
“I didn’t know,” he says. He looks around him and gently palms the top blanket on his bed to hand to me as my body shivers from the fan blowing on my back.
