Nightmares don't always completely reflect what happened to you, they can sometimes be nonsensical shards of every day life that leave you woken by the taste of salt in your mouth and the distinct metallic pang of hunger. And Jonathan Sims has always been hungry.
It's not right to sit there in the dark, he thought. He should try to sleep or get some work done. Two choices and he had to pick one. A simple decision really. Option one or two. Which one.
His brain was like a stuck record, half in the previous dimension of old men and sharks. Of grief and mistakes and regret and the blood tinged water, turning a sickly, luminescent green. He thought he woke up crying. He wasn't so sure now. Weighing up the pros and cons of waking Martin took up the rest of the space in his brain, his face slack with effort.
Pros: possible comfort, someone to help sort through the landfill of his brain, Martin.
Cons: Jon would rather die than inconvenience Martin in anyway.
A simple decision really. Just like the old man walking into the shark infested waters with stones in his coat pocket. Jon rolled over, his covers being long abandoned, and stared at Martin. It was a safe thing to look at. Not prey or predator. No sharp teeth or memories here. So much to take advantage of but absolutely no conviction to do so.
Martin was pretty. Jon found the word unusual in his mouth, plosive sounds tap-tapping against his teeth. But it was true and Jon would have to get used to those. Eyelashes that caressed his cheeks and a sharp grin hidden beneath gentle lips. He loved it. He loved him.
If only his nightmares were more solid - predictable in their form of torture. Then maybe he could wake Martin and the words to explain wouldn't feel like burnt sugar on his tongue.
For now, he drank his fill of Martin until he was no longer hungry.
