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twiststhebladeIt 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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Date: 2006-06-28 01:10 am (UTC)"Just make sure to avoid quick-sand," said quietly with a faintly amused tone.