Nightmares

Here's another short with my two nameless people, who seem to have serious relationship problems. But that's the fun in writing about them!

“Clarice!”
He sat bolt upright in bed, his bare, thin chest heaving, his eyes wide, terror pounding in his veins. Again and again in his mind he saw the flames engulf the house, heard his sister’s cry pierce the air. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t been there; he could see it in his mind all the same. The heat felt sweltering even in the tepid air of his bedroom. His hand flew across the sheets and hit the cool indent where she had been sleeping and a pang of disappointment shot through him. She must have left again. Most nights she left. Even several heartbeats after waking, the horror and fear did not fade, but remained as prominent as ever.

He glanced up, feeling eyes on him, and saw her standing there in the doorway, dressed in a sheer bluish nightgown, a lit cigarette in one hand. She was staring at him, looking a little alarmed, and very much like she didn’t know what to do. Moonlight from the tiny window on the wall lit against her bleach-blonde hair, making it seem very out of place against her swarthy skin. She said something, softly, uncertainly. His name. He didn’t reply. The flames licked the edges of his vision, and he could feel the burn sear across his chest once more.

“I thought you had gone,” he managed to choke out, staring off at his terrible vision.

“I woke up…I decided to go out for a smoke,” she said, sounding utterly bewildered as to what to do next.

He nodded slowly, and turned his head away, trying to hide his face in the darkness. She approached slowly, her feet shuffling against the carpet. She put out her cigarette in the ashtray by his bed and much to his surprise, lowered herself down onto the edge of the bed next to him.

She shook slightly (if only he knew the internal battle she was fighting!) as she wrapped her arms around his torso. She rested her chin on his good shoulder and whispered, “I miss my sisters too.”

Of all the things she could have said, nothing could have unhinged him more. He could feel the sobs catching in his chest, but he refused to let them come. He was stunned that she was allowed this kind of touch, the kind that denoted affection and not simple lust. He settled his arms around her waist and took comfort in her familiar curves, hiding his face in the stray blonde curls that brushed the base of her neck.

All his energy was now concentrated on not weeping. Of all people, she understood best the flashbacks, the pain, the loss…No one else knew it like she did. All had lost family…but their families had died as a direct result of their insurrection, of their dissent. They were the faces, the instigators of the rebellion, and as such the death of their families was on their shoulders alone.

Damn. Too much thinking. A few lone tears oozed from his eyes, and dripped onto her shoulders, tight with muscle that she worked every day. He felt her stiffen in shock, and then her arms tightened almost infinitesimally around him. Suddenly, he didn’t care how rare this touch was. He didn’t care that it might never happen again, that she most likely thought him weak for crying. He’d never seen her cry. She was letting it happen, and she had spoken of her sisters, which she almost never did. So she must care…right?

He pressed his cheek against her shoulder, feeling the silent tears wrack his ruined body. She didn’t speak, but he could feel her discomfort acutely. Yet she didn’t move. She stayed, and offered her shoulder to him. And that was everything at the moment.

After a long while, she said roughly, “No crying now…if the president finds out, she’ll find a way to tap into this water resource.”

He let out a huff of breath through his nose. She never could be serious for long, unless she was insulting someone. He pulled back and they looked awkwardly at one another. At last she said with a touch of impatience, “Well, scoot over!”

Was there no end to the ways she’d stun him tonight? Wordlessly, he moved over a few inches on the bed. She slipped beneath the covers and snuggled into the pillow, close enough for him to touch her. He could hardly believe she was inviting what it looked like…generally, if she stayed, she slept far enough off that even with his arm stretched out he couldn’t hold onto her.

She shifted pointedly, and sighed. Slowly, tentatively, he settled down next to her, and put one arm around her waist, pulling her into the curve of his body. She didn’t protest, or slug him in the gut, which was her usual response. He laid his head down on the pillow behind hers, and wondered perhaps, if she wanted protection from the nightmares too. It wasn’t inconceivable, considering all that had happened. She was human too, after all.