His unceasing twitches awakened her at around two in the morning. She sat up and looked over at him. She grabbed his arm gently and shook him awake. He snapped up, his breathing was labored, sweat was running down his back, his eyes were wild with fear, and his skin was ice cold. He slowed his breathing but still had a haunted look about him; his hands trembled and he had terror in his eyes. She knew how hard this was on him. He got up mumbling something about a shower. He closed the door, but she could still hear him as he was violently sick. This had happened a few hours before, so there wasn't anything left in his stomach, leading her to believe that it wouldn't last as long this time. After a few minutes, there was only silence, as he was catching his breath. He turned on the water. Soon he turned it off and came out. He slipped into a pair of sweatpants and a tank top and sat down on the edge of their bed. He rubbed his temples.

"Hey," She said softly.

"What's wrong with me?" He asked, sounding hopeless.

"Nothing." She told him, wrapping her arms around his torso and resting her head on his shoulder.

"If there's nothing wrong with me, then why am I so screwed up?"

"Everything looks better in the morning." She said. "Just get some sleep, it'll be okay." She moved her hands to his shoulders; she massaged his neck and shoulders. She made sure to hit the small tender spot that she knew would knock him out. He let out a small gasp, then a sigh. She pulled him back onto the bed and slid her arms around him. He slid his arms around her, pulling her close.

"We'll be okay, I promise." She whispered into his ear. He sighed and pulled her as close to him as possible in response. She listened to the sound of his heart beating in his chest, beating for her, and hoped to God that I would be.