Short Story: A Sleepless Night

Sebastien’s eyes fly open, a ragged gasp escaping him as he hauls himself into a sitting position. His eyes dart around the room, searching for unseen enemies. It takes a few moments for him to become cognizant of his location and the fact that he is completely alone.

Just a nightmare. Sebastien lets out a long sigh, though that realization doesn’t bring him as much comfort as it should.

The dream had been far too vivid — it’d been so long since he’d had one this clear. Even now in the waking world, he can still feel the coldness of the table beneath his body, a sharp corner digging past his fur deep into his bones. The darkened figures hovering above him, the prodding, the —

Sebastien gives a violent shake of his head, pushing the images away. He brings a hand up to mop at his face, grimacing at the wetness of the sweat that clings to his brow.

Just a nightmare. He repeats to himself. Although he knows that that’s not precisely true — it’s a memory too, though he does his best not to dwell on that thought. Instead, he tries to focus on regulating his breathing and getting his heart rate back to normal.

He once again takes stock of the room, noting just how dark it is. It must be the middle of the night still.

Unfortunately, there’s no chance he will be getting back to sleep any time soon. He quickly considers his options of how to pass time until morning. Perhaps some studying or cleaning?

No, forget it. Neither of the options feel particularly appealing to him right now, with the unpleasantness of the dream still clinging to him like a wet blanket.

All at once, that gives him an idea. A visit to the kitchen for a cup of warm milk — a guilty pleasure that both his feline and human forms enjoy.

Sounds most agreeable.

Sebastien reaches for a nearby light, the small flame bursting into life. He pulls himself out of bed and begins dressing properly — even though he doesn’t plan on running into anyone during his midnight wanderings, he doesn’t want to suffer the indignity of accidentally putting on a piece of clothing backwards.

He quietly makes his way down the stairs and through the dark halls — and stops short in surprise as he turns the corner to the kitchen.

The lights are on.

Raenelle is the only other person in the house, so logically, he knows it must be her. Even so, he can’t help but be surprised that she’s still awake at this hour when she has work in the morning.

Then again, it’s not as if she’s ever woken up early and on time for work anyway.

Raenelle’s head shoots up as Sebastien enters the kitchen, a startled look on her face. She quickly recomposes herself and gives him a slight nod in greeting, which Sebastien returns. He pulls open the cupboards, rummaging inside for a fresh carton of milk to heat up.

The minutes pass by in silence. Sebastien half-expects Raenelle to make a sarcastic remark about his late night snacking and his weight, but she remains quiet.

Soon, he slides into a chair on the opposite end of the table, a warm glass in hand. She doesn’t even look up at his motions, and he watches her for a moment, noting with a touch of surprise at how tired and withdrawn she looks.

That alone would not be particularly concerning, considering how late it is and her usual demeanor. No, what’s far more troubling is how she’s picking at the food in front of her instead of downing it with her usual gusto.

Something is wrong, and Sebastien finds himself reluctantly wondering what it could be. Not that he’s concerned about her, of course — no, he’s merely curious, and talking to her could be a good diversion from his own worries.

“What are you doing up so late?” He inquires, breaking the heavy silence. Raenelle looks up at him in surprise for the briefest of seconds before the expression falls away and is replaced by something harder, guarded.

“What does it matter, Sebastien? I’m an adult; I can set my own schedule.” Sebastien feels himself bristle at her harsh tone, regretting his attempt to engage her at all. However, before he can snap back his own retort, she turns the question back on him. “Why are you up so late?”

Sebastien glares at her; if she didn’t want to answer his question, then he has no reason to answer hers. “I just couldn’t sleep,” he replies coldy.

That ends that exchange.

A tense silence falls over them. Sebastien holds himself stiffly, wondering where he can go to escape this uncomfortable atmosphere and just enjoy his drink.

A sigh escapes his companion, the sound much louder than usual in the quiet of the night. He peeks at her out of the corner of his eye, taking in her hunched figure, her eyes cast downward as her fingers paint invisible patterns on the table.

“It’s my mother’s birthday.”

Sebastien blinks a few times at the soft admission.

Ah.

It’s been some years now, back when he was still with Casseia, but he remembers hearing the news of Mrs. Talisko’s disappearance and how distraught her husband and daughter were. If not for Casseia warning him repeatedly to be cautious of bringing up Raenelle’s mother before handing him over to her care, he probably wouldn’t have remembered the incident at all.

Sebastien shifts with a hint of discomfort. It’s not like Raenelle to be vulnerable, especially with him, and may the Twelve Deities help him, he has absolutely no idea where to begin to comfort her — not that he’s sure she even wants it. Clearing his throat, Sebastien utters two simple words of acknowledgment. “I see.”

Raenelle inclines her head to indicate she heard him but doesn’t say anything further. The heavy atmosphere lifts, and the silence now feels much more comfortable and natural. Almost comforting, if he’d dare say so.

Sebastien takes another few gulps of his milk, feeling the warmth spread through his body as the liquid slides down his throat. Eventually, Raenelle speaks again in a lazy drawl. “So… Why can’t you sleep?”

For a moment, Sebastien considers simply making up a lie. But after Raenelle’s own surprising honesty...

“I had a nightmare,” he admits. He doesn’t elaborate, and thankfully, Raenelle doesn’t press him. Instead, she simply nods in acknowledgment and abruptly drops her silverware next to her still unfinished plate.

Jumping to her feet, Raenelle stretches with a loud yawn. “Well, I think I’m done here. I’m going to go to bed.” She begins making her way out of the kitchen, but she pauses at the door and tilts her head slightly in his direction. “Enjoy your milk, Sebastien.”

“Good night, Raenelle.” Sebastien moves his gaze away from her retreating figure and stares down into the cloudy liquid in his glass. He taps a finger against the table.

To his surprise, his earlier bundle of nerves has calmed by a considerable degree after their conversation — if the handful of words they exchanged could even be called that.

Perhaps, he thinks to himself, perhaps simply acknowledging one’s problems lessens their severity.

Eyes involuntarily drifting towards where Raenelle was standing moments before, he finds himself hoping that she feels the same way.

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This story is written by Nicole Wooden and edited by me. I hope you enjoyed this little backstory of Raenelle and Sebastien!