So, I’m not really sure how to go about this situation. I’m kind of stuck in my house right now, wondering what the hell is wrong with my boyfriend, and what he’ll do if he gets inside. But let me give you some context.
My boyfriend has always been one to move around in his sleep. It’s usually something small, like his finger will move or his legs will twitch - nothing that I ever worry about, but it does tend to wake me up sometimes. We don’t live together (and definitely am not planning on it now) so it isn’t something I had to suffer through every night. I’m not the lightest sleeper in the world, but if someone was laying next to you while you slept and they kept twitching around, you probably would wake up a few times in the middle of the night too. It didn’t really start impacting my sleep until the night before last, when he started to twitch more aggressively. Well, if I’m being honest, twitch might not be the best word, but I’ll let you decide on that.
I woke up Saturday morning to him swatting at my arm. There was no sunlight coming through my curtains, so I knew we hadn’t been asleep for too long. I wasn’t completely awake yet, but I still managed to find my phone - 3:25 AM. Jesus, I thought to myself. I have to be up for work in like six hours. I could tell he was still asleep, probably just having a bad dream or something. He tends to have some of those every once in a while, but not as much as when he stays over at my place. I wondered what he was dreaming about.
Assuming he’d stop soon, I just decided to lay back down and scoot away from him to where he couldn’t reach my arms. Not only did he keep swatting, but he rolled over to get close to me and targeted my arm again. After about a minute, I couldn’t let him keep going. It didn’t hurt by any means, but it was annoying. I wouldn’t be able to sleep like this, so I tapped his arm until his eyes started to flutter open.
“Why- why are you hitting me…” Greg whispered. He’s also never been a morning person, and anytime I’ve had to wake him up it’s taken a little bit to get him back to reality.
“Why have I been hitting you? You’ve been swatting at my arm for like two minutes,” I whispered back, kind of annoyed. I knew he didn’t know any better - he was asleep after all - but I had work early, and he started his shift late in the evening, so I didn’t really care if he was that tired at that moment.
I couldn’t really see his face too well in the dark, but I could tell he was squinting at me in confusion and fatigue. He knew that he moved a little in his sleep, but swatting was new to both of us, I guess.
“I’m sorry, babe. Did I swat at you hard? Did it hurt?” he asked, reaching for my phone to use as a flashlight. He examined my arm under the light, I assumed to see if he had left any marks. I could tell he felt bad and it was nothing he could really control, but I had to get him to stop somehow.
After we saw that there were no marks, and he apologized like fifty times, we decided to go back to bed. I figured he’d start twitching again, but nothing happened when we fell back asleep. At least, nothing that woke me up again anyhow. That’s all that really mattered to me, but I felt strange about it nonetheless. I’m not sure why, probably because I wasn’t used to that much force behind his twitches, but for some reason it stuck with me the next day.
Because the temperature has been dropping little by little every night, my room has been absolutely freezing. I’m not sure what’s up with the heating unit in it, but I guess it isn’t in its prime. I made a mental note to mention it to my mom sometime soon, but it wasn’t anything I could work on myself, so I figured I could utilize my human heater. I doubt he’ll twitch that hard again tonight, I told myself. I guess if he does, I’ll wake him up again.
3:25 AM, my phone screen read. Jesus fucking Christ, again? I turned my head towards Greg to see him punching at my arm. Not the delicate swatting he was doing the night before. I was ready to smack him upside his head when I heard a low voice… whispering something? Fuck, is he sleep talking now too? I decided to lean my head closer to his mouth, just to try and decipher whatever he was babbling about. I’m shocked he didn’t end up socking me in the jaw.
“Wake up, Nat. Wake up, Nat. Wake up. Wake up…” he kept repeating to himself. What the fuck is his issue? Why is he trying to wake me up? Fed up with his bullshit, I flipped the blanket off of my body and got on my knees, and started to gently shake him while holding his shoulders.
It took longer than usual to wake him up, and this time he was even more groggy and irritated.
“Greg, what the fuck is going on? Were you dreaming about me or something?” I asked as I leaned over towards the wall to flip on my small night light. I turned back around to see Greg in the worst state I’ve ever seen him.
His eyes were slightly bloodshot and he had intense bags under his eyes. Despite being naturally pale, he looked more ghostly than normal, and his breathing was raspy. It was like I woke him from the grave. I was a little more than freaked out.
“Oh God, Greg. What… what happened?”
“I don’t… I don’t… know. I think I had some type of nightmare. About you. I can’t seem to remember.” From the look on his face, I knew he was trying to recall whatever dream he had, but at that moment I just couldn’t take it anymore.
“Greg, I know this isn’t something you can control, but I’m tired. And your punching fucking hurt. It’ll probably leave a bruise tomorrow and I can’t have my coworkers asking about that shit. I’m sleeping on the couch for the rest of the night.”
As I started gathering some blankets and a pillow, I heard Greg say something under his breath.
“Punching?” He sounded even more puzzled now, but I was too pissed off to discuss it any further, and he was too groggy and confused. I set up my temporary bedding for the night and prayed that I would get just a few more solid hours of sleep.
Wake up, Nat. Wake up, Nat. Wake. Up. Wake. Up…
My heart was beating out of my chest when I suddenly woke up. Had I been dreaming? Did my subconscious allow Greg’s weird sleep talking to interfere with my dreams? I wasn’t too sure, but I knew I hadn’t gotten much sleep since I moved to the couch. I dug my phone out from the crevice of the couch.
5:25 AM. Only two fucking hours. Actually, not even that if you’re counting the time it took to wake him up and migrate to the living room. I was pissed and also very sore. I knew it was because of the tiny ass couch I was laying on. I turned over towards the other side and let out the most gut wrenching, Sarah Paulson, banshee-like scream.
Greg was standing over me, his bloodshot eyes wide open and a demonic smile crept across his lips. In that moment, I almost pissed myself, but Greg didn’t even flinch from the scream - ironic since all he does while he sleeps is fucking move around. The only explanation I had was sleep walking, but that didn’t explain the terrifying expression he had on his ghostly face. How long has he been watching me sleep?
I hadn’t realized my mom came home from her date last night until I heard her running through the house to reach the living room. Thank God she did because I was literally frozen from fear. She stood there, in the walkway between the dining room and living room, just staring at me and Greg, a small handgun resting between her hands.
“Natalie, Greg, what the fuck is wrong with you two?”
“Mom, I think… I think there’s something wrong with Greg. He’s asleep… He’s sleepwalking right now, but look at his face,” I said between sniffles and tears. I hadn’t been that scared for a long time, but this was a nightmare come to life for me. I had a feeling my therapist would be hearing about this incident soon enough.
I could tell my mom was a little freaked out. I mean, she heard her daughter scream at 5 in the morning, so I understood, probably a little more than she thought. Before my mom could see his face, it reformed into a normal resting expression, like he was watching a movie or something. I was starting to wonder if he was really sleepwalking or if he was just putting on an act.
“Greg,” my mom whispered as she gently tapped his shoulder, assumingly to wake him up. “Can you hear me?” The only sound that filled the room was my sniffles. I could still feel the teardrops on my face, but I couldn’t reach to wipe them away. My focus at that moment was Greg’s face. I’d never felt threatened by him before, but now all I could see in my mind was that distorted smile. His face and presence only made me feel disgust and fear.
I could see his eyes settle into a more natural gaze, and his shoulders relaxed as he stood up straighter. His expression went from bored to beyond confused as he realized what room he was in, and that he wasn’t lying in my bed. Although I knew that he was awake, at least for the most part, I couldn’t help but feel defensive as if his face was going to distort itself again.
My mom started to speak, but I cut her off, ready for this to end.
“Greg, go home. Now.”
Both my mom and Greg looked at me like I had just shot someone.
“Nat, it’s 5 in the morning. At least wait until the sun comes up…” my mom argued.
“No. Greg, I don’t want you here anymore. I’m tired. Go.” Greg looked offended, and I felt bad for sending him home at such an inconvenient hour, but this had gone too far. I wasn’t sure if he was just pranking me, or there was some weird nightmare sequence going on in his head for the past two nights, but I didn’t care. I was tired and damn near traumatized, and I didn’t want to argue.
Due to her confusion, I understood why my mom was so adamant about letting him stay, but I wasn’t about to let down. Luckily, Greg finally intervened and said he’d go. I explained that it was something he did that freaked me out but I didn’t want to get into it at that moment. I could tell that he wanted to ask questions, to see why I had tears on my face and why I was forcing him to leave, but he didn’t. He tried to lean over to kiss me bye, but my reflexes kicked in and I pushed him away, still slightly startled. I had never rejected his kisses before, and I knew that surprised him as much as I surprised myself, but he accepted it. Just a few minutes later, I heard the front security door slam shut, and I could finally breathe.
Not surprisingly, my mom asked me what happened and why I was acting “so bitchy” towards Greg (her words, not mine - I saw where she was coming from, though). Through more tears and hiccups, I explained what had happened the night before and how I woke up to him watching me sleep. Her eyes grew wider with each sentence, and she slowly started to become enraged.
“What the fuck? Has he done this before?”
“No! No he…” I started to defend Greg. But if I’m being honest with myself, I don’t know if he’s never done this before. I mean, yea, I would always wake up when he twitched, but how would I have known he was watching me sleep? Tonight could be explained - I was in distress from the situation at hand and I couldn’t sleep - but what about every other night, when we fell asleep next to each other? Would I have felt the bed shuffle as he got up to watch over me? Did he just prop himself on his knees to lean over my sleeping body? The thought made me sick to my stomach, and I ended up throwing up on the couch.
______
My angel of a mother cleaned the mess for me, and had me sleep in her bed with her. It made me feel a little better knowing he wasn’t inside the house anymore, and that I was safe next to my mom, but the image of that smile never left my mind. I saw it right before I fell asleep, and it appeared in my nightmares too. I woke up in sweats at around 9:23 AM today, feeling like I hadn’t slept at all. It took a second to realize that it was light outside, and that my mom had already woken up and left for work. I felt drowsy, but I didn’t feel fear, and at that moment it was all I could ask for.
I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror for a solid few seconds, wondering how my amazing, beautiful boyfriend could terrorize my dreams like that. I had never seen him in any other way other than perfect, so this entire situation has me really fucked up. I had to get him out of my head, even if for a few seconds, so I washed my face. That was probably the worst thing I could’ve done besides fall back asleep because all I could envision was him standing behind me while my eyes were closed, watching me through the mirror with that demonic look on his face. My heart rate jumped again. I had to lay back down.
9:32 AM. My phone screen was bombarded with texts from Greg - I’m sorry about last night, tell me what happened, I need to know, can I come by your place tomorrow. My brain ached when I tried thinking of things to say to him, so I just threw my phone back down on the bed. I wondered if a quick trip to Dunkin would help my mood, and I sat in bed contemplating whether it would be worth the drive. My thoughts about an iced coffee were halted when I heard a soft knock coming from somewhere. No one was home and the cats were outside so I had no clue where it could be coming from. Then I remembered Greg. He probably stopped by to get some answers from last night since I decided to ignore his texts begging for explanations.
I shuffled toward the front door, not quite ready to face him again. I reached for the door knob. Knock, knock, knock. Slower than before. I was a little freaked out, but I blamed it on the events from last night. Maybe I should just check through the window.
Just as I thought, it was Greg, knocking on the front door. Only, he looked… sunken in. Hollow, even, like the life had been sucked out of him. Nothing even comparable to how he looked last night. I quickly backed away from the window, hoping he didn’t notice the curtain move.
Knock, knock, knock. The pace was still slow, but there was a little more aggression this time, nearing a police knock but not exactly a Derek Morgan-level beat down. Why wouldn’t he just call me? What if I wasn’t home?
“I know you’re awake, Nat. I woke you up, remember? Prove you’re awake, Natalie. Answer your door. Welcome me in.” My brain focused on one part of that - Welcome me in. Not let me in, nor can I come in, but welcome me in. That wasn’t like him. In fact, none of it truly sounded like him. His voice was lower and his speech was somewhat slurred, like he had something in his mouth.
This started at about 9:35 in the morning. It’s 10:24 now, and he’s still here. Not only that, but when people come over to my door to question him about what the fuck he’s doing, they don’t stay long. I hear some mumbling and then nothing - silence for ten seconds. Then he continues on with his begging.
Welcome me in. I know you’re awake. I woke you up, Nat. I’ve been woken up too. On and on for what has felt like an eternity. And yes, in case you’re wondering, the cops have been called. Twice. Remember how I said people don’t stay long when they come over here to see what’s going on? Yea, the cops don’t stay long either. I’m too scared to look out the window, fearing that I’ll see a mass graveyard of hollowed out neighbors and cops scattered across the lawn. My mom is aware of what’s going on, along with my other close family members, so they know to stay away. Whether or not they believe me, I don’t care, but they all promised not to come by the house, which is why I’m typing this here.
If anyone knows how to fix my boyfriend, please tell me. I don’t want to stay awake, and I don’t want him to either. How do I get him to fall back asleep?