Tamed By My Master's Moon

POV: Adams

 

Once upon a time, I really wished one could put an end to dreaming.

Besides getting your anxiety up or giving Dutch excitement, dreams—or nightmares, in my case—don’t do much.

You’d think that after three years of having nightmares almost every day, I’d have built a tolerance by now. Maybe found some kind of clever coping mechanism.

But no.

The human brain is an awful, persistent jailer when it’s trying to punish you.

 

I woke up with a start at 5:23, like clockwork. I don’t even remember most of them anymore. Just flashes: sweat sticking to my chest, my hands clawing at sheets, the slow suffocation of a hospital room too quiet to be real life. Then I’d wake up, throat tight, heart racing, and pretend none of it meant anything. That I hadn’t spent the night drowning in memories I didn’t ask to keep.

 

This morning was no different.

 

I rolled out of bed, taking off still tangled in a damp shirt and clinging to a headache that had taken up permanent residence somewhere behind my right eye. The only good thing about insomnia is that you never need an alarm clock.

 

I made coffee like I always do. Three scoops. French press. Strong enough to slap a priest.

 

Then I stared round the empty apartment like I always do.

Well, almost empty.

Save for minimalist furniture – a Craigslist couch, rarely used flat screen TV, rocking chair in the corner, and a musty center table. Everything is in cool greys and navy blue. My therapist called it a calming palette. I called it the kind of place no one wanted to stay in too long.

 

**

 

I didn’t know how much time had passed until my phone buzzed at 9. It was my mom. I dipped my cold coffee and mentally braced myself.

 

“Hey, kiddo,” her voice came through the speaker, loud and familiar. “I was thinking about you today. Are you still working through that whole sleep thing?”

 

“Please, don’t”, I pinched the bridge of my nose and groaned, trying to push away the building pressure in my head.

 

“You don’t get to mouth off at me like that when I’m just trying to help! I just wondered how you were working out the sleep thing and the outside thing.”

 

“Mom, you don’t have to keep checking on me. I’m not a teenager and I’m fine.”

 

“Of course, I have to check on you! You all act like teenagers whatever age. You do know I care, right?”

 

I sighed, standing up to pace. “Yes, mom. It’s just... same old, same old. I’m not sleeping well, but I’m managing. Not a big deal.”

 

“Sweetheart, you’ve been saying that for years now. I get that you want to handle everything on your own, but maybe it’s time for a change. I’ve been reading about ways to… help with things like this.”

 

“You’re not giving me some weird holistic remedy, are you?” I laughed weakly.

 

“No, no. It’s this recipe for a draught I read somewhere.”

“Here we go again. Don’t you get tired of all those concoctions you brew up? You nearly blew up a pipe last time!”

It could have been my stressed eyes, but I could have sworn I saw a... Raven? “Mom, let me call you back.”

 

“You really should get the draught and maybe an outgoing pet, too...”, her shrilling came to an abrupt end.

I hung up, of course.

 

Nope.

 

Ravens don't just fly around in New York.

 

I turned my head to look out the window at the city. It felt so distant, so empty, even with the people hustling and bustling below.

 

**

Later that evening, I logged into my online therapy session, the screen flickering to life with Dr. J’s face.

 

“Good evening, Adams,” she said warmly. “How are we doing today?”

 

“I’m surviving,” I replied, sitting back in my chair. “Same old. You know, nightmares. Anxiety. But I’m managing.”

 

“I’m glad to hear you’re managing. But you’ve been managing this for a while now. I’ve been thinking… perhaps it’s time to consider a change in your routine.”

 

I leaned forward. “Like what?”

 

“Have you ever considered getting a pet?”

 

I raised an eyebrow, sitting up straighter. “What, are you psychic or you’ve been discussing confidential matters with my mom?”

 

She chuckled lightly. “Yes, I’m actually, I just didn’t know how to tell you earlier. But she might be onto something if getting a pet makes you sit straighter.”

Rolling my eyes at her smirk wasn’t new, so she ignored me as usual.

“Research shows that having a pet, particularly a dog or cat, can help people manage stress, reduce feelings of loneliness, and foster responsibility. More importantly, it can help you start connecting with others, in a low-pressure way.”

 

“I’m not sure about that.” I ran a hand through my hair, suddenly feeling tired again. “I don’t think I’m ready to take care of something else. I’m still struggling with my own head. How am I supposed to take care of an animal?”

 

“Adams, it’s not just about responsibility. It’s about building a connection. Pets can encourage us to be more present. And in your case, I think it could help foster interaction more naturally. Rather than trying to force yourself to meet people or go to events—this could be a small step toward feeling less isolated. Just having something else alive in your space could make the difference.”

 

I was silent for a moment, mulling it over. “I don’t know. I’ve never really been a pet person, save for Charlotte the slutty fish. She died three days later. Most likely hep B, but mom said it’s because I took her out of her natural habitat”

 

“Well, that’s a lot to unpack. You don’t have to decide right away on a pet. But it’s something to consider, at least.”

“Try a dog”, she said. “they don’t  lie, cheat or ghost, just eat and snuggle.”

 

**

That night, I had another dream.

 

It was the same hall, the one that felt like a morgue or some kind of forgotten hospital wing, it was where I had met Jason, the heartbreaker. I was running down that hall again, breath sharp, heart pounding. My legs felt like lead. The walls around me kept stretching, growing impossibly long as though they wanted to swallow me whole.

 

But this time, there was something different. A glow in the dark. A flicker of something bright.

 

When I turned the corner, I froze.

 

A pair of eyes were staring at me from the end of the hall. They were glowing - golden and bright, almost unnatural. I couldn’t look away.

 

I could hear the soft scraping of claws on the floor, and then the hum of something moving in the darkness behind the eyes.

 

No!

 

But before I could react, the eyes blinked. And when they did, I woke up, gasping for air.

 

The whole room was still and silent. No glow. No claws. Just the quiet hum of the city outside

 

I shivered.

 

The sensation of being watched made my skin crawl. I couldn’t get back to sleep after that.

 

**

 

The next day, after another sleepless night, I drove to the animal shelter.

 

Maybe my mom was right. Maybe Dr. J was too. A connection. Something to help me anchor myself in the world before I go.