Chapter Text
A constant stream of screams.
There were many things regarding my past I shall never be able to forget.
One of them would be my mother’s punishing hands. Her indifference toward my suffering and the pain inflicted by others brought into my life by her. The voice like chattering glass that came out of her mouth in moments of anger—one that could just as well come from a demon—cursing profanities at me in an attempt to doom my soul to eternal damnation. The exploring hands of one of many boyfriends my mother had over the years. The fact she would never believe me—or maybe pretended not to—when I told her what happened at night after she slept.
The constant spiral of memories, coming at me like heavy waves of anguish, was one of the reasons why I could not sleep for the longest time. Maybe the other one was how unsafe I felt at night. That I felt like I needed to constantly keep my eyes open to protect my body and mind from hands that would abuse me in more ways than one.
At least, that is what my therapist told me. Adam, who sits right in front of me in a white room that smells like chlorine, says the lack of sleep was one of the main reasons for my psychosis. I’m of the opinion I had nothing more than a justifiable reaction to years of overstanding abuse, but I think the police did not agree that digging a knife into my mother’s leg was a warranted reaction.
I have been here for far too long; it feels like an eternity. At this point, I have lost the ability to count the time.
4:49 PM, says the clock on the wall. But what day is it today? How many months have I spent here? How many hours? It is impossible to tell. No one tells me anything, that is for sure. All they do is hand me a cup with pills, tell me to swallow, and pull my tongue out to make sure everything made its way into my stomach.
Adam, a honestly lovely man in his late forties with graying hair and a kind face, is saying something about trauma creating long-lasting brain damage. Maybe that’s why I can't remember anything anymore. Or the reason why I’m confused about most things. Most days, I don’t even know how I got to my bed, and the reason for the soreness in several areas of my body is unknown to me.
What would it take for him to just stop speaking and finally get me to my room? It is more peaceful there. I still can hear the constant stream of screams from the other patients, much more distressed than I have ever been for reasons far beyond my understanding of the human mind and its conditions for breakage. But with time, I had learned how to tune it all out. It was still better than my mother’s house.
I roll my eyes, too tired of all this nonsense. Although I knew Adam meant well, it was all hopeless.
The screams come out of my mouth before I can help it. There was nothing happening. I couldn’t even say I was feeling the overwhelming sense of dread that I know quite well from the moments when anxiety takes over; I just wanted him to shut up for once. It does not take long before two other men come barging into the room, grabbing me by the arms with much more force than is necessary to restrain me; I am not resisting. I just keep on screaming till my throat is sore. Adam comes out of nowhere with a syringe filled with translucent liquid; I don’t even feel the sting of the needle on my arm anymore. That strange calmness just washes over me, my body weighs a ton as my eyes close, and the darkness overcomes me.
I hear birds chirping nearby. The smell of grass recently washed over by rain floods my senses; the feeling of home fills my heart with a warmth that I am unable to feel anywhere else. As if slowly being drifted into sleep, reality around me starts to shift. First came the smells, then the light feeling of the wind against my skin; next, the sounds became clearer by the second. My boots sang loudly as I stepped over the stone pieces that form the flooring; the castle's tall walls echo the sound of my feet in the empty hallways, painting a gloomy picture, but one that I find the utmost comfort in.
The feeling of slipping into a dream is difficult to describe. As if you had always been there, you are transported into an entirely different reality. People often describe it as something similar to when a parent carries you to your bed after you had fallen asleep somewhere not that comfortable, but I lack that memory myself, as my parents were never that affectionate. This reality is one in which you are safe, one that you can control and sometimes predict. That may not be true for everyone, but at least it is true for me; my dreams have always been a fruit of my wishes and commands.
I walked toward one of the windows, void of glass or any trim, as time had faded all the details on the building away. I could feel the wind whooshing in, caressing my skin and making a mess out of my white, snow-like hair. Once I heard the roar of Balerion and the movement of his wings, I smiled. The dragon known as the Black Dread, shamelessly taken from one of my favorite fiction novels, ungracefully lands its gigantic claws onto the pavement almost entirely covered with grass in front of the ruined castle we call home.
The noise of my feet filled the empty corridors as I stomped down the stone stairs to meet the only companion I had for the past couple of months. Maybe years. It is hard to tell.
Balerion was overwhelmingly big. His black scales were individually as large as my head, and a single one of his claws could get to the size of my entire body. Yet as I got closer to him, he would bow his head down and stare at me with his enormous and threatening yellow eyes, waiting for my hand to touch his head. I would scratch his rough scales as one does to a dog, and a smile crept up onto my face.
I’ve missed you, big boy,
I whisper, as if there were anyone else around to hear me.
It took me a couple of minutes to climb my way up Balerion’s back, as per usual. But once I was settled and safe enough to not fall to a gruesome death—metaphorically, of course, as this was only a dream—the dragon I came to recognize as the only resemblance of a family I had ever had took flight.
The wind in my face, so strong it could force my eyes shut due to the discomfort of having my lashes nearly taken away by it, at the same time made me feel alive and entirely relaxed. I took my hands off Balerion’s back, opening my arms wide, taking a deep breath to let the fresh air fill my lungs. This was a place in which my almost constant distress could not affect me. My mother’s hands could never reach for me, and there would never be a needle waiting for me at the end of a screaming match. I could be myself and allow myself to breathe. It was entirely sacred to me.
Suddenly, I felt something sting at the back of my head. My vision blurred, but not enough to override my sight completely. Balerion stirred underneath me, his flight becoming unsteady as he shook his head and roared violently.
Wow, wow! Easy, boy. I’m still here with you!
I screamed at him, to no avail.
With another sudden movement, Balerion took a harsh turn to the left. My hands gripped his scales so tightly I could almost feel my nails coming off my fingers, desperately trying to hold on. He was entirely out of my control, something that had never happened prior to that moment.
In the distance, I could see two little houses, similar in shape but slightly different in color, sitting right next to each other and surrounded by what seemed to be a small farm. At the back of my mind, a memory of old and lost dreams called out to me; those were the House of Mystery and the House of Secrets.
Balerion’s entire body vibrated, and as I felt the temperature of his skin skyrocket in a second, I knew exactly what was coming next but could do nothing to stop it.
No!
I tried to scream, but I could not be heard over the tearing shriek that came out of the dragon’s mouth, alongside the flames that completely annihilated both houses and everything around them in a second.
As much as I tried to close my eyes, to not force myself to bear witness to all that destruction, I couldn't. Balerion was a creation of mine; all of his anger and all of the damage that came from him was also mine. My responsibility. I could not allow myself to turn the other way.
Balerion continued to burn through acres of that beautifully green forest, and I kept on holding onto him until my nails fell out of my fingers, bleeding profusely against his armor of skin.
When my heart already hurt so deeply I could not do anything other than let the tears fall down my face, I saw a dark figure standing on the floor a few feet in front of us. He raised his right hand, and with a slight turn of his wrist, Balerion’s body turned as well, and I could not hold on anymore.
Desperation sank in fast and deep, and I painfully wailed as I fell several feet to the ground. My hands tried to grab onto anything, but there was nothing in my way other than air and the tears that flew off my face. I could see my dragon falling in a spiral away from me, reaching the floor with a loud and destructive thud and taking with him another large portion of the forest.
Before I could hit the hard dirt floor of the burned forest, everything stopped. And I stopped breathing with it. My body hung a couple of centimeters above ground, as if the air itself was gently holding me still.
To my right, a dark figure approached.
I closed my eyes on instinct, protecting my face with my arms and turning my hands into fists, ready for any fight that might come my way.
I do not wish to hurt you,
a deep and almost sleepy voice whispered, but I could hear it so clearly it almost sounded like it came from my own mind, like a stray thought I could not place that sent shivers up my spine. Even with all the havoc you have caused to my realm.
I was panting from the adrenaline. My body was warm, and my heart was beating so fast I could feel it in my temples, like a drum inside my ears. As soon as I turned my head to the side to look directly at the dark figure standing right next to me—now without the protection of my feeble arms—the air that held me up dropped me, and my back hit the ground at full force.
I groaned in pain as my back burned and my lungs compressed, turning my body to its side in an attempt to fill them with air again. A man dressed in all black, with a heavy coat that went to his knees, a dark mess of hair atop his head, and a very angry face stared down at me.
Tell me your name, dreamer,
he whispered inside my head again.
Oh, fuck off,
I could barely speak, still out of breath, but I managed to spit the words out.
The man knelt right next to me. His hand, strangely soft and so warm I could feel the tenseness in my body slowly fade away as if it was being drained by his presence, held my chin tightly and forced me to look directly at him. But as soon as I stared into his eyes—a dark shade of blue so profound I could drown in them—a sense of dread took over. An overwhelming dread that I could not quite explain. His face morphed into a mix of all my fears and anguishes, the frown between his eyebrows a deep omen of my doom.
Alice,
I blurted out.
Alice of what?
he asked, his fingers digging holes into the skin of my cheeks.
Berlusconi,
I tried to make myself sound less pathetic. I failed. Alice Berlusconi.
Now, Miss Alice Berlusconi, do you happen to know, perhaps, how you managed to invade another dreamer’s dream?
His voice sounded so calm, but his presence was so paralyzing it was hard to stop my mind from being taken over by the emotions he wanted me to feel.
I don’t know what you’re talking about,
I responded sincerely. I just… lost control, I guess.
My voice sounded weak, small, and something that looked like pity flashed through his dark eyes for a moment.
You were never meant to have control in the first place, my dear.
The grip of his hand around my chin softened until he let go completely. His face was like an open book, ready to be read; it only required you to pay close attention. And I couldn't help but notice concern taking over his demeanor. You will awake now.
No, wait!
I tried to stop it. To force myself to remain asleep and keep on dreaming. But a strong wave of heat washed over my body, and seconds later, I shot up in my bed, sweating profusely with tears rolling down my cheeks. It was still dark. I could still hear the screams around me. My chest was tight, and I had to force air into my lungs.
It took me several hours to be able to sleep again. I did not dream this time.