NIGHTMARES

3am on a freezing cold night in Illinois.
The My Chemical Romance tour bus is parked at a service station five miles outside of Chicago in a silent parking lot. The vehicle's blackened windows are foggy with condensation from the heaters inside and the metallic outer skin is sealed in crackling frost. Everyone onboard is fast asleep in their bunks or crashed out on sofas, tired from travelling and the exhilarating chaos of last night's show...

In the band's cramped sleeping quarters Frank is suffering through the latest in a series of nightmares. Eventually terror and nausea force him awake so hard he hits his head on the bunk above his own, his heart crashing against his ribs as he gasps for breath, sweaty and shaking. Fumbling under the pillows for his phone he activates the screen with trembling fingers and watches the grisly echoes of the nightmare fade into bright synthetic light. His vision is all blurry so he rubs his eyes and his quivering hand comes away wet. Fuck, he was crying again. Shivering, he flinches when the phone light goes out and a thousand gruesome images explode back out of the darkness. That poor frightened woman being slaughtered right in front of him, screaming for his help but no matter how hard he tries he can't get to her and she's ripped apart by invisible knives in fountains of blood. Skin slashed and hanging in bloody shreds from her chest and face; flesh torn from her bones; her brown eyes wide and lips contorted with agonised screams: 'Help me! Frank! HE'S KILLING ME! HELP!'
"No," Frank groans tearfully, scrubbing at his eyes and trying to force the horrifying images away, "It's not real, none of it's real..."

The curtain of his bunk whips back revealing a dark figure in the shadows and Frank gasps, fear gripping his throat.
"Hey," the shadows whisper, "Are you okay?"
"Toro?" Frank pants, "You scared the shit outta me!"
"You've had another nightmare," Ray sighs, switching on the reading lamp in his own bunk opposite.
"I guess so," Frank admits shakily, raking his tattooed hands through his black hair. It’s wet and sticky with sweat. Behind Ray someone else is moving around in bed. The whole bus will be awake soon.
"Come on," Ray whispers, grabbing some clothes from under his bunk, "Let's get some air, huh?"

It's bitterly cold outside but the guys slip out quietly and walk in silence over the slippery asphalt to the parking lot wall. Ray leans calmly against the frosty bricks wrapped in a long winter coat while Frank paces up and down in agitation, his small body burning with the need to do something – anything! - to take his mind off that poor girl’s face, ripped apart as she screams for him over and over again... lost in the murderous dark...

"Maybe you should talk to someone about this," Ray suggests, breathing white steam in the frosty air, "This is like the seventh night in a row right? You need some decent sleep, dude, you can't go on like this."
"Yeah…seven," Frank mutters, searching his jacket pockets for cigarettes. Actually, this is the tenth consecutive night he's woken up before dawn with damp sheets and blood in his eyes but Ray doesn't have to know that. Nobody has to know.
"It's okay, I'll sleep when I'm dead," he sighs, forcing a joke, "They're just dreams, man. I can handle it."
"You could talk to Gerard," Ray adds quietly, "He's practically an expert on nightmares."
"No. Just drop it, okay?" Frank snaps, anger rising out of his exhaustion, "I don't need to talk to Gerard or anyone else about this because it's no big deal!" Looking his much taller friend in the eye he fixes him with a defiant glare. "I'm fine, Toro. Really."
Ray raises his eyebrows doubtfully in response but says nothing and Frank looks down at his scuffed beer-stained sneakers. His pockets are empty except for gum and a handful of Kleenex. No cigarettes. "Let's go back inside," he mumbles, "I’m freezing."
***
Dawn comes too slowly. Afraid to close his eyes again, Frank lies sleepless in his bunk playing with his phone and staring at the digital clock until 6am when he drags himself out of the tangled sheets and tip-toes to the tiny bus bathroom. Locking the door behind him, he sits down on the closed toilet lid and pulls out the medicine box from under the sink, opening it up to reveal a mess of dog-eared band-aids, plastic scissors, antiseptic creams, cold and flu pills, cough drops, condoms, ice-packs and aspirins. He wants some caffeine pills or something to keep him awake today and get him through the show later but no such luck. Sighing wearily, he glances up at the toothpaste-splattered mirror and cringes at his pale reflection. He looks like death warmed up: a fucking ghost with shadows of exhaustion and smeared eyeliner under his bloodshot green eyes. A wave of self-pity washes over him and he drops his head into his hands, shivering in the cold room, on the verge of tears.

Just a couple of weeks ago he was his usual happy self, full of energy and ideas, playing and partying and able to sleep peacefully for hours in beds, bunks and even on bare floors. Ten nights of hell later and now he can't catch more than a few short hours of nap-time a day without waking up in terror almost pissing his pants. The nightmares feel so real and the fear and torment they bring cuts a new pain through his guts every night. He's jumpy and edgy and despite what he told Ray earlier he's frightened too, scared for his sanity. In twenty-three years of living he's never had dreams this bad before and after ten days of this shit he can barely stay awake in the afternoons and his guitar-playing is suffering onstage at night. Nervous anxiety rattles him constantly and he calls his girlfriend back home half a dozen times a day to make sure she's alright even though the woman killed in his dreams looks nothing like her.
Angrily shoving the box back under the sink he returns to his bunk, finds some warm clothes to cover his white goosebumped skin and then heads out to buy Red Bull at the nearest store, determined not to let these stupid dreams fuck up his day.

Notes

((Hi babes, this is a weird little story i'm sort of playing around with on the side while I write 'All Dead Now' which is a bit of a beast. If people like this I will keep updating it. Things might get a little supernatural.... we'll see. xo))