Free Merciless Ride by Chelsea Camaron

toss and turn the same as I do every night. The bed is hard and unmoving, much like that wall. The unforgiving wall that aided in holding me immobile that night.  
    Exhaustion is consuming me because I haven’t slept a full night since the incident. I am not awake, but I am not in a dreamland of comfortable slumber. I twist as I find myself tangled and trapped in my own bed.  
    Strong arms scoop me up. How? I am sleeping, yet I feel him with me now. Shooter. That night, Shep was about to enter me. Shooter came, though. He carried me out. He kept me safe.  
    “I’ve been there, Tessie,” Shooter’s voice whispers in my ear, “where the silence is deafening. Where everything is so dark on the inside, the light of day won’t break through as you go through the motions. When the darkness falls and your mind takes your body back to the place where it all falls apart.”  
    My limbs feel heavy as I relax into his hold. He is saving me in my dreams even. My eyelids are far too heavy to lift as I drift further into sleep.  
    “Don’t let the black engulf you, baby. Fight it, Tessie. Fight it for Axel.”  
    The bed beneath me feels softer now, inviting almost.  
    Whispered words fill my mind.  
    “Fight it, baby. Fight for peace. Fight to have your life back. Fight back the darkness. Fight it for your mom.”  
    Drifting deeper into sleep, I hear Shooter whisper one more time. “Hell, baby, fight it for me. Fight it for what could be.”  
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Sleep will be left to the angels tonight. A call from Tessie’s mom, Claire, brought me over this evening. My plan was to talk to Tessie tomorrow about our living arrangements, only Claire is worried about her daughter. She is also worried about all of their safety. Although we have someone on guard, the rotation of men she doesn’t know is stressing Claire out. With her illness, stress is a trigger for flare ups, and she certainly has enough stress without the addition of strangers coming and going. The reality is, I am a stranger to her, as well, but she knows some of what happened and apparently feels like I am a family friend or at least a guardian. She called to ask me to stay over because Tessie seems to be having issues with nightmares.  
    The couch was the only available space for me to sleep other than the floor. I had barely closed my eyes when Tessie’s scream startled me. Sure, she told me to leave. The hell if I plan to do that, though, especially after seeing for myself that Claire is right. The physical signs of depression are there: weight loss, withdrawing, irritability, and many more I am sure I could pinpoint if I spent more time with Tessie. No, I am not going home.  
    Sorry, baby, but I am locking down and staying now. Not just on Tripp’s order, but for your own well-being, Tessie.  
    Hiding in the shadows isn’t hard when she gets out of the shower. Watching her lie down and not find peace is a torture like nothing I have faced before. She is hurting, and I am helpless to bring her peace.  
    Then something in me comes alive, some pull that I long ago shut down snaps back. Involuntarily, I find myself needing to comfort her.  
    When she doesn’t fight me as I climb in her bed and hold her, I don’t know what to think. Following my instincts, I talk her down from the panic she was building up just moments ago. She is not fully awake, yet not in a deep sleep, either; she is drifting in a way.  
    Night terrors—I have been there. You feel like you are awake and stuck in some horrific moment. You move and fight out against an invisible assailant. The world you are in is not your own, but one vividly recreated in your mind. Your bed is suddenly a person, a wall, or a cage containing you. Lashing out, you struggle, waging war in your mind against yourself. Muscles exerted, calories burned, sweat pours from your body as your imagination works in overdrive. Your pulse quickens, your breathing labors, and you continue to fight