[TRIGGER WARNING! Representation of self-harm. Discussion of childhood abuse. Depiction of a homicide. **Discretion is advised**]

That night I had horrible nightmares. I woke up at several points, panting, absolutely terrified. Every time I went back to sleep, the nightmares just picked up right where they had left off. It was maddening.

Finally I gave up, resigning myself to the fact that I wasn't going to sleep without nightmares. I knew sometimes writing helped calm my mind. So I switched on the lamp that was attached to the small desk in the corner, pulled out my black-bound notebook, and tried to write down some lyrics.

However, after about ten attempts and an hour later, I was starting to get angry instead of more relaxed. My head was absolutely killing me again, so I padded over to the small kitchenette and got myself a glass of water. After three glasses and my head hadn't improved, I sighed heavily and pulled on a shirt. I had some black Crocs, so I slipped those on, made sure I had my key, and then shuffled my way to the med wing for some Tylenol.

My stomach growled at me as I wound my way back to my room. So instead I took a detour and headed to the cafeteria. There wasn't anyone staffed at this hour, but they always had healthy-ish snacks out that wouldn't spoil. Half expecting the cafe area to be empty, I was shocked to find Scott sitting there.

He was curled up in an armchair that he had positioned to face the window. With the dim lights, I could see his reflection easily through the large window. He was clearly zoned out, so he didn't notice when my reflection joined his own. Outside the crescent moon still hung in the sky, though I knew in about a half hour it would recede and twilight would soon follow.

"Hey."

He jumped, spilling coffee on his hand.

"Shit," I said, quickly putting down my blueberry muffin on a table. "I am so sorry. Are you hurt?"

Scott shook out his hand. "No."

"I am so, so sorry," I tell him again. "I'll grab some napkins."

I came back with an entire fistful. He chuckles at me, shaking his head. "You're a bit of a barmy, you know that?"

"What's that mean?" I ask.

Scott grabs the clump of napkins from me, setting down extras on the table. He shakes his head still as he wipes off his hand. "Never mind, mate."

Grabbing my snack, I pull over an armchair and sit down. Scott has gone back to staring out the window. As I nibble the muffin, I watch him out of the corner of my eye. I'm sad when I notice he looks--well--sad. Really, really, sad.

"Couldn't sleep?" I try.

He merely shakes his head, then says, "You?"

"Nightmares."

"About?"

"My dad."

Scott doesn't say anything. So I take another nibble and start prattling, just to occupy the space between us.

"So, there was this one time my friends and I got jumped in the hallways at school by some bullies. Got the shit beat out of us. I'm pretty sure I had a broken rib or two."

Scott sips his coffee.

"Well, the one guy pulled a knife on me."

Now Scott swivels his head to me, surprised. "Damn."

"Yeah. So, since a weapon was involved, the police had to be called. Afterwards, well..." I clench my hand into a fist, relishing in the pain that comes from my nails. "We went home and my dad beat the ever loving shit out of me."

Scott startles. "Why?"

"Because I had inconvenienced him," I droll acidically. "Because I was involved in something that the cops were involved in."

"But," Scott sputters, "but you were the victim!"

"Didn't matter," I continue sardonically, glaring at nothing, and I can feel my upper lip pull back in a sneer. "As soon as I was out of the car, he grabbed me by the arm and dragged me inside. He threw me. My mom went and hid in their bedroom immediately."

"Jesus..."

I toss the rest of my muffin into my mouth, and chew it up viciously. I'm happy my other hand is free now, and I dig my nails into that palm, too.

"He shoved me up against the wall, smacked me upside the head. 'Are you stupid?', he ranted at me. I tried to tell him it wasn't my fault, that I hadn't started it. That's when he grabbed my lip ring and ripped it out."

Scott is horrified. "Fuck, Orion."

"He said I was lying. He told me I was worthless, that I just took up space, that I was nothing but trouble and I shouldn't have been born."

"Orion, I am so, so sorry."

I merely shake my head. "He tried to smack my head again, so I put my hands up. He grabbed at them, and we struggled for a moment. He punched me a few times, and when I went down he kicked me and broke a few more ribs."

"Fucking Christ! Did you call the cops?"

I laugh at my friend bitterly. "What good would it do? He'd just deny it, and I know my mom would've collaborated. Besides, a police record of me being beaten up that day existed already, so it's not like I could've proved anything."

"Fucking hell...Jesus, that's so messed up. I am sorry. I am so, so sorry."

I shrug, releasing and flexing my hands. They hurt. "Yeah, well, so am I."

"Orion!" Scott grabs my hands.

I'm genuinely confused. "What?"

"Fuck, Orion, your hands!"

I look down at my bleeding hands. It's not as bad as it could have been, but a few of my nails had poked through. One of them I had raked downward, and it was bleeding pretty profusely. Scott grabbed the stack of extra napkins from the table and pressed it against my upturned hand. Then he takes my other hand, placing it on top. He then holds my hands in a tight grip to ensure I can't pull away.

"S-sorry," I say, embarrassed.

"My mum killed my dad."

My eyes go huge and I stop breathing for a second. "W-what?"

"After my dad shoved me out the window," Scott tells me evenly. "I was so out of it from falling that I didn't really understand what was going on. But suddenly my mum and my dad were hollering, and then my sister started in."

I watch as the trauma takes over, and Scott's face goes completely dead, like a switch had been flipped. His bright eyes go hollow, and he's speaking, but no one is there. He reminds me of a robot just reciting lines. It's scary. It's scary as fuck, but I don't move, I don't say anything at all.

"My sister was screaming for mum to stop. A neighbor heard all the commotion and called the authorities. They were there in seconds flat--they probably called originally when they heard me crash through the work bench.

"I tried to move but I couldn't. Everything had gone eerily quiet. Then there were sirens, and I heard my sister wailing. She ran out of the house, and I heard her screaming that mum had killed dad, but I didn't get it. I had a concussion, and my back was fucked, and my ears were ringing, and I didn't understand anything until mum came out."

It breaks my heart when tears start to come out of Scott's eyes. He's still a blank slate void of emotion, though.

"She was covered in blood. She had beaten my dad to death with my cricket bat. It was like a movie--she looked like she was walking out of a zombie video game."

I shuddered at that mental image.

"The police pulled their guns on her. She dropped the bat and held up her hands. My sister had run to one of the cops, and my mom started screaming about how I was dead by the side of the house."

Finally his face crumples, and even though he's crying, he's laughing. "It was fucked--it was so, completely, bloody fucked. She killed him because she assumed I was dead. She had started to babble and chunter, and I couldn't understand what she was saying."

Scott leans his forehead against our hands. "So I get it, Orion. I couldn't sleep tonight because every time I closed my eyes, all I heard was my sister begging my mum to stop killing my father. Some nights it's like that."

It's with those final words he begins to sob.