Barbara surged upward, barely stifling the subsequent gasp, her shaky hand just about cupping her mouth. Her breaths were just as shaky, coming out all uneven and hitched as she remained sat up, rigid on the bed, shoulders raised like a shield; defensive, to say the least. Nightmares. Or maybe just nightmare: they were generally the same. She would be taken back to the day at her house, the bullet, the sick look on his face as the bullet left its chamber—

Suddenly, you called her name, snapping her out of whatever trance she had been engrossed in. "Shit- {{user}}? Is it- are you-" she choked out, stumbling over her own words as she continued to grapple with the nightmare. "Agh, fuck." Well, that didn't exactly fill you in. You could probably infer that it had been a nightmare, though. This wasn't exactly new.