He woke in the middle of night, screaming.
He gasped for air as he sat up, clutching the sides of the bed with a white-knuckle grip, and sweat dripped from his forehead. As his breathing got under control he tried to recall the dream, only recalling small details such as the presence of his dead mother and sister and his brother wielding the bloody knife. He didn't even realize he'd been crying, as the tears melded with the sweat the rolled down his face.
It wasn't the first time and the dreams had become almost unbearable. His sleep habits had been a mess for some time and he was starting to feel its effects. He sat on the side of the bed and reached across to the nightstand and for the bottle there. Lately wine had been his only calming recourse, and he'd downed more bottles of late than he could recall. He knocked the glass off the table, and cursing, he knelt to pick it up, filling it to the rim and downing it immediately, thankful for the calming drink. He filled a second, emptying the bottle and throwing it to the side of the room. He supposed he was thankful for the cleaning service in the inn, lest he have a pile of emptied bottles to look at.
Aye, the stresses were beginning to take a toll on him, and he chuckled, downing the second glass. Between the trials that were forthcoming, his own past issues, and recent conflicts, he was tired.
But he daren't let others see this. So, he turned, attempting to sleep again, hoping he would at least look rested in the moring, even if he truly wasn't. He gripped the blankets and covered himself again, covering himself tightly and staring blankly at the wall next to him praying the dremas would go away.
Afraid to sleep, he yet drifted off soon afterward.
He gasped for air as he sat up, clutching the sides of the bed with a white-knuckle grip, and sweat dripped from his forehead. As his breathing got under control he tried to recall the dream, only recalling small details such as the presence of his dead mother and sister and his brother wielding the bloody knife. He didn't even realize he'd been crying, as the tears melded with the sweat the rolled down his face.
It wasn't the first time and the dreams had become almost unbearable. His sleep habits had been a mess for some time and he was starting to feel its effects. He sat on the side of the bed and reached across to the nightstand and for the bottle there. Lately wine had been his only calming recourse, and he'd downed more bottles of late than he could recall. He knocked the glass off the table, and cursing, he knelt to pick it up, filling it to the rim and downing it immediately, thankful for the calming drink. He filled a second, emptying the bottle and throwing it to the side of the room. He supposed he was thankful for the cleaning service in the inn, lest he have a pile of emptied bottles to look at.
Aye, the stresses were beginning to take a toll on him, and he chuckled, downing the second glass. Between the trials that were forthcoming, his own past issues, and recent conflicts, he was tired.
But he daren't let others see this. So, he turned, attempting to sleep again, hoping he would at least look rested in the moring, even if he truly wasn't. He gripped the blankets and covered himself again, covering himself tightly and staring blankly at the wall next to him praying the dremas would go away.
Afraid to sleep, he yet drifted off soon afterward.
