Mark sat on the couch, his head in his hands while I brought in a cup of tea for him. I sat next to him and handed it to him, inwardly afraid that he might be trying to fight off Dark again. He looked up at me, his brown eyes strained but clear, with only the look of determination present. He was in control.
“Thanks,” he murmured, taking the steaming cup but made no move to drink it. We sat there in silence for a moment, the ticking clock the only sound in the room.
At last, I took a deep breath and dipped my head around to look at him. “Mark…?
“It’s been happening for a long time,” he blurted, turning the mug around in his hand. “It started out in dreams…bad ones. A lot tamer than the shit they pull out now, but bad. There were nights I’d play game after game just to stop myself from sleeping. Heh, bet the fans enjoyed those nights,” he chuckled, no real amusement in the laugh. Composing himself, he took a lon