twiststheblade (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
twiststheblade) wrote2006-06-27 08:44 pm
twiststheblade) wrote2006-06-27 08:44 pm
Room 111
It stopped working. The nightmares came wherever she slept, whoever she shared her bed with. It was so hard to stay silent. To swallow the scream, to creep silently from the bed and curl, dry-eyed, in the corner of a bathroom. To still her breathing, swallow back the nausea rising in her throat. Watch her hands slowly stop shaking, until the violent tremors had subsided to a bare quiver. Then to crawl back into the bed.
So she stopped trying.
She won't share a bed any more. No, that's not true. She'll still sleep next to Goldy. Or rather, curl up next to her, eyes open in the dark, one hand resting on the comfort of the other woman. Sometimes her fingers curled gently into golden locks. Sometimes her lips resting softly on her skin, so that all she can see is her. Not the shadows that creep at the edges of her vision. Not the dark things that want her to see them. Acknowledge them. Not the pressure there at the back of her mind, demanding she look at it, screaming at her to remember.
She won't make Goldy deal with her, be with her when she wakes, screaming, fighting something that isn't there. When she starts out of the bed, not knowing where she is, seeing not her room in Milliways, but white paper walls and dark wood. When she can't breathe can't think can't breathe can't move.
She'll sneak into her room, slide into the bed, wrap herself around the sleeping form, and just. . . be there.
She won't sleep. Won't sleep. Won't. . . .
Sleep.
So she stopped trying.
She won't share a bed any more. No, that's not true. She'll still sleep next to Goldy. Or rather, curl up next to her, eyes open in the dark, one hand resting on the comfort of the other woman. Sometimes her fingers curled gently into golden locks. Sometimes her lips resting softly on her skin, so that all she can see is her. Not the shadows that creep at the edges of her vision. Not the dark things that want her to see them. Acknowledge them. Not the pressure there at the back of her mind, demanding she look at it, screaming at her to remember.
She won't make Goldy deal with her, be with her when she wakes, screaming, fighting something that isn't there. When she starts out of the bed, not knowing where she is, seeing not her room in Milliways, but white paper walls and dark wood. When she can't breathe can't think can't breathe can't move.
She'll sneak into her room, slide into the bed, wrap herself around the sleeping form, and just. . . be there.
She won't sleep. Won't sleep. Won't. . . .
Sleep.
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"Okay. Just. . . can I stay here please?"
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The frown doesn't fade any. This child-like need is new, and a little perturbing.
"That must have been one hell of a nightmare."
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She presses her face further into Goldy's shoulder.
"You. I hope you have no idea." She's stilted, almost stuttering. Just please, is all she can think, don't make her tell. She can't.
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"I think I could get into the right ballpark." And then, after a moment's consideration, "but if you don't want to talk about it... that's okay."
"I just... don't like to see you like this. Obviously."
She leans back and partially detaches Miho from her, seeking an important eye contact.
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"I don't want to talk about it," quitely. "I can't."
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She's serious, but not in an unkind tone.
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And does as she's told.
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She querks a fond half-smile.
And then winces as the expression twinges her newly swelling cheek.
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"Oh, sweetie. Let me get ice."
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She's already slipping out of bed.
"Glass of water? Or bourbon?"
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"Water. Please."
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While she isn't psychic, she tends not to miss things that she can actually see. At the very least, she knows bourbon is Miho's comfort drink. And she's seen it used for other reasons in the past as well.
"You want to tell Alanna, or shall I?" she asks, returning with a wash cloth and stopping by the mini-fridge.
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"I don't mind," quietly.
"Whichever one of us sees her first, I suppose."
She holds a hand out for the water glass. Bourbon, right now, is the last thing she wants. She needs a straight head, and she feels clearer than she has in weeks.
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One handful of ice is wrapped into the cloth, and another is dropped into a tumbler. She fills the latter with half a bottle of Evian.
"I will order the equipment from Hank."
She glances back. "You don't mind waiting a few days do you? It may take him some time to get it all together."
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"I wasn't hitting you," very quietly.
She shakes her head.
"No, it's fine. I need to get some rest, sort myself out."
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"I know."
She hands over the glass before perching herself on the edge of the mattress and applying the ice to her cheek.
"Actually. Um. I have plans with Ace this coming weekend." She looks guilt-ridden all of a sudden, and her voice drops accordingly. "We're going on vacation to a beach on some... other planet she knows."
She doesn't feel like she needs permission. Not by any means. But she doesn't want to be holidaying when she should be on a mission.
"We'll only be gone five minutes in bar time," she adds.
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"You'll be all fit when you get back, then," she says, smiling a little.
She scoots across the bed to drop her head onto Goldy's shoulder, wrapping an arm about her waist. Cuddles now. There may not be any later.
"Have fun."
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She tilts her head over to rest on Miho's.
"You never quite know with Ace though. Which is sort of the attraction in the trip. The unknown element."
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"Just make sure to avoid quick-sand," said quietly with a faintly amused tone.