Perchance to Dream
As a rule, my sleep is typically deep and dreamless, or at least it has been for the past year or more, and I've found that to be my preference. That preference has everything to do with the numerous nights since I'd first moved to Los Angeles that I'd woken up suddenly, heart pounding like a jackhammer, cold sweat on my face and the lingering dread of a nightmare still clouding my mind. The first truly bad ones had been after Faith, and then after I'd been shot, but of course, the worst were the ones that came after Connor and Holtz and Justine's knife and Angel's fury.
Eventually, I found a way to shut them out, force those terrors into small, dark cold corners of my mind where those feelings need never rise again. It meant there would be no good dreams, either, but being perfectly honest, there wasn't much likelihood in that happening anytime soon.
As the numbness of sleep slowly faded from my body, and I was gradually reacquainting myself with limbs and sensations, I had the now unfamiliar sense that I was waking up from a dream. Sunlight suffused through the blinds as my eyes opened and I began to flex joints that seemed to far prefer remaining where they had lain. This morning, almost everything seemed to conspire to make me greatly reluctant to get up.
Except, that is, for the fact that I was waking alone.
Reaching out, I could still feel the barest indentation of the mattress where she'd been, and the slight warmth of the pillow beside mine. Fred hadn't been gone long, and though I would have preferred things otherwise, I found myself not minding. There would be, I felt certain, other opportunities to do so.
I entertained the idea that there might be troubled or guilty feelings involved, but only for a moment. Nothing of last night pointed at such a thing being so, and I felt sure in our newfound ability to communicate.
Rising from the bed, I took a moment to set Fred's stuffed rabbit right side 'round, dressed and returned to my own room to shower and change. A few minutes later, I was out of my door. Despite everything else that had happened before, I found myself believing that we might all actually find a way to come through this trial.
((Open to anyone in the hotel hall))
Eventually, I found a way to shut them out, force those terrors into small, dark cold corners of my mind where those feelings need never rise again. It meant there would be no good dreams, either, but being perfectly honest, there wasn't much likelihood in that happening anytime soon.
As the numbness of sleep slowly faded from my body, and I was gradually reacquainting myself with limbs and sensations, I had the now unfamiliar sense that I was waking up from a dream. Sunlight suffused through the blinds as my eyes opened and I began to flex joints that seemed to far prefer remaining where they had lain. This morning, almost everything seemed to conspire to make me greatly reluctant to get up.
Except, that is, for the fact that I was waking alone.
Reaching out, I could still feel the barest indentation of the mattress where she'd been, and the slight warmth of the pillow beside mine. Fred hadn't been gone long, and though I would have preferred things otherwise, I found myself not minding. There would be, I felt certain, other opportunities to do so.
I entertained the idea that there might be troubled or guilty feelings involved, but only for a moment. Nothing of last night pointed at such a thing being so, and I felt sure in our newfound ability to communicate.
Rising from the bed, I took a moment to set Fred's stuffed rabbit right side 'round, dressed and returned to my own room to shower and change. A few minutes later, I was out of my door. Despite everything else that had happened before, I found myself believing that we might all actually find a way to come through this trial.
((Open to anyone in the hotel hall))