(no subject)
She won't scream. She won't. Yelling disturbs the neighbors, getting upset disturbs the neighbors. So she won't scream. She won't. She'll wake up, her eyes wide, and she'll scramble backward until she's sitting up against the back of the bed. Until her knees are up against her chest and she can curl in.
Heart pounding. Breathing fast. Surface skin temperature high. Salinity high. Pulse abnormal. Stress.
Muttering to herself under her breath. Nothing that makes sense, not to anyone but her. Maybe John. "You can't do this. I'm not a machine. Allison. I'm Allison, I'm not a machine. Please. This is not the right thing. You don't know what you're doing. Please, stop. Stop. You're hurting me, please stop..." over, and over and over.
Because dreams bleed into memory, like John said. And maybe she's still dreaming.