Her mind was empty the first time she woke up to the pitch black sight before her that was her own room. It was 2 seconds before flashes of blacks and reds and greens cut the long train of empty thoughts and snapped her back to her senses. The room suddenly felt colder as it was winter and her blanket was nowhere to be found. The night gown barely reached the ankles of her feet.

The tip of her toes froze.

And it took her a few minutes until she decided to move, reaching the nightstand to turn on the light--also reaching for her phone on the process.

There was only one person she had in mind.

"Hello?" his voice was hoarse, dry due to the winter cold.

"Hey," the hesitation was not so obvious inside her tone, hidden between the poor telephone line and the early unconsciousness.

He didn't answer. Probably still blinking his eyes in confusion, or just trying to figure out the time.

"It's 2 am, is everything alright?"

It was hard to be honest. To tell someone at 2 am that the tip of your fingers were still trembling. To tell someone that you didn't even dare to look out your window. To tell someone that the flashes of blacks and reds and greens were still there, blocking you from going back to sleep.

"I-i had a nightmare," she didn't even dare to close her eyes. The blacks and reds and greens were still there.

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

"No."

"Do you want me to do something?"

"No. Just--" she cut her own words. "Just be there. Don't hang up."

"I won't," his voice was low and quiet, afraid of making too much noise at 2 am.

And after that was silence. The spindle headboard she was leaning on has rusty ends and she just noticed those things at that very moment. Her eyes darted at nothing, adapting to the darkness a bit too well. She then could even see the band posters on the wall in front of her.

But darkness was still darkness. And there were nothing other than the dim light from the night stand and the slightly opened curtain, and the sound of his breath across the telephone line.

"Are you still there?" she's asking the obvious.

"I am," he sounded sleepy.

"You're sleepy. You should sleep."

It was actually the same for everyone. It was that restless week, when you got no more than 4 hours sleep a day. When your money just vanished into thin air without you remembering how it went out your wallet. When the last proper meal you had was breakfast, 2 days ago.

"What about you?" he questioned for the 4th time that night.

She chuckled. "I'm fine."

"No you're not. Otherwise you wouldn't call."

He was right.

"I'm fine, okay. You should go back to sleep," she almost whispered.

As much as she wanted to keep him for the night, she knew she couldn't.

"Not until you do," he insisted.

"I'm hanging up."

"Then I won't go back to sleep."

She sighed. "Fine. Suit yourself."

"Okay."

"I mean--no. Go back to sleep."

"I'm hanging up."

"I said--" he hung up in the middle of her sentence. She closed her eyes and smiled as she reached for her temple. But the smile didn't last that long as the flashes of blacks and reds and greens decided to go back, as the warmth of the 2 am voice that decided to hang the phone up started to become blurry.

She didn't get any sleep after that. He told her the next day that he didn't, either.

But she could never know who to believe, couldn't she?

I mean she can just wake up, anytime.