Late Saturday night - a nightmare and its aftermath [NSFW]

Feb 13, 2006 10:04

It must be the middle of the night when Tara wakes up, her breathing loud and harsh, shaking from her nightmare. The moon shines through the window, filling the room with shadows, and for a moment Tara thinks there's a figure in their room, standing near the door. She lets out a soft, smothered cry of fear, her hand straying to Shane's back to wake her wife, before her eyes adjust to the darkness, revealing the pale fabric of her dressing gown.

Feeling a light but insistent touch at her back, Shane drags her eyes open and turns her head. Seeing Tara sitting up, apparently staring at something by the door, she frowns and pushes herself up on one elbow, rubbing at her eyes with her free hand. Sitting up, she very gently rests her hand on Tara's shoulder. "Baby?" She asks softly. Brows creasing, she glances around Tara and sees that Tara's staring at... nothing at all. "Tara, what is it?"

"Nightmare," Tara whispers, her voice choked and shaking. She crawls onto Shane's lap, placing her back firmly against her wife and wrapping both of Shane's arms around her, a protective stance as she watches the door. "I'm sorry I woke you," she adds, but she's not sorry. Not really. Not with Shane awake and holding her, driving the fear away by the simple force of her protective presence.

"It's okay," Shane whispers, resting her chin on Tara's shoulder, cheek brushing against hers as she settles her arms around her wife, holding her close and tight. "It's okay, baby, I've got you. You're safe, now."

"I... Shane?" Tara whispers, almost shrinking into that embrace, as if she made herself small enough she could disappear entirely into Shane's body. "That door? That I showed you? It's... it's come open." Her breath comes out in a hitching sob, and she sounds almost ashamed of herself.



Shane very slowly begins rocking the two of them from side to side, their hands folded together over Tara's chest, clutching tightly. "Okay," she says softly, her tone just as calm and reassuring as it was a moment ago. She won't ask if Tara wants to talk about it, she won't push her that way, but her tone makes it obvious that she's willing to listen if Tara is willing to speak.

"I... remember... my therapist? We're working on... on desensitization? With, um... with the guns?" Her eyes continue to scan the room, looking for a danger that isn't there, something to pin her fears on, but her body very slowly begins to relax against Shane's. "He asked about... before. Before Willow, I mean. What, um... what contact I'd had. With guns."

"Yeah..." Shane replies, head nodding against Tara's shoulder. Tilting her head just slightly, she can only just make out her wife's shadowed profile in the darkness.

"I... do you really want to hear this?" Tara turns her head to look at Shane, unable to make out her wife's face. "I need more light," she whispers.

Leaning over, Shane reaches for the small click-wheel switch on the cord of the lamp sitting on her nightstand and soft white light fills the room. Once that's done, she slips her arm around Tara again, giving her a squeeze. "I really want to hear this," she says quietly, carefully.

"I, um... I've only fired a gun once," Tara whispers. "My brother took me out the back, to shoot bottles off the fence. I mean, I'd seen them a lot? My father had several, my brother got one the day he turned fifteen. But women, um... women don't... weild weapons. Any weapons. My father was, um... really mad." She slides off of Shane's lap, nestling next to her, laying her head down on Shane's thighs. It's a childlike position of comfort, her arms curled up protectively over her chest and stomach.

"What happened, baby...?" Shane asks evenly, one hand settling lightly on Tara's hair while the other rests on her bent knee, a sheltering, protective posture. Very gently, she begins stroking Tara's hair.

"He knocked Donny down - my brother. And then he turned and... I hadn't expected the kick from the gun, you know? It kind of... threw me back, against the wall, and he closed in on me. And the gun was still in my hand, and I sunk down onto the ground, and he, um... he kicked me. Like I was a dog. In the... my ribs. And Donny yelled something, I don't know what it was... I think it might have been 'it was my fault', and he... he trod on his arm. Like, just..." she stops, turning her face into Shane's leg. "He, um... he said if I couldn't... if I, um, was going to touch things I knew I wasn't allowed to, I wouldn't be allowed to touch anything at all, so he, um... he taped up my hands."

Shane repositions her hands, settling her right one ever so lightly on Tara's ribcage and gently smoothing her wife's hair out of her face with her left, fingers tenderly brushing her cheek, brows furrowing as she listens. She'd had glimpses of the kind of cruelty that Tara's father had been capable of before, most of it from Tara's own mind and mouth and this was brutal but, sadly, it does not surprise her. She continues gently stroking Tara's cheek, allowing her wife to talk the poison out of her.

"It's, um... it's kind of hard to do some things without your hands," Tara whispers, balling her hand into a fist to show Shane how they were bound. "To eat or drink, or, um..." her voice drops further, deeply ashamed. "To go to the toilet. I... I, um... it was... it was a really bad few days."

"Yeah..." Shane says quietly, her voice little more than a croak, strained with emotion, though she never ceases that steady, gentle stroking of Tara's face and hair.

She doesn't want to go into those details - Shane doesn't need to hear how she'd dropped the glass of juice that her mother had poured for her, shattering on the linoleum, the scurried rush between the two of them to clean it up before her father returned home, the shared secret that would get them both into trouble if he ever knew. She doesn't need to hear about how, parched with thirst, she tried to turn on the tap with her fists, ducking her head to drink directly from the trickle she managed to get flowing from the stiff faucet. And yet... Shane may not need to hear, but Tara needs to tell someone. So she does, slowly, hesitantly, not censoring the details. "I learned my lesson, though," she whispers, when she finishes. "I never touched anything I wasn't allowed to again. Not ever."

Shane listens intently, knowing how important it is to do so... knowing that Tara needs to speak but even moreso probably needs to know that someone is listening, so she makes sure to keep touching her wife gently, makes sure her hands are still moving throughout, reassuring, encouraging touches. When Tara finally finishes speaking, her hands are still moving, slowly stroking Tara's back with her right hand while the left gently cradles her head. Her head is crammed with thoughts and words, all wrestling about inside, fighting for breath, and after casting aside several beginnings, she finally decides on one. "I love you... very much," she whispers.

"I love you," Tara replies, a fervent whisper. "There's... Shane, there's more. I... can you... can you bear it?" It hurts so much to hold this inside her, to remember it, and she doesn't want to hurt her wife with the past that hurts her.

"Anything for you," Shane murmurs softly, thumb gently stroking over her wife's hair.

"You, um... you remember Angela and Marie and Truth? From the dream fasting? I, um... I met Angela before I even got to California. I, um... I was seventeen when I ran away from home, after my mom died and my father started to... to..." She doesn't have to say this part, does she? Shane saw enough, months ago, with Mr. Crowley. "So I, um, I paid as much as I had for a greyhound ticket, to as far away as I could go. And then I, um... missed the bus. Except I caught the bus, but we were at a rest stop, and I was... um, still in the toilet when they drove away."

"So that's how you met her? Angela...?" Shane asks softly, fingers smoothing Tara's hair out of her eyes, fingertips delicately following the arch of her wife's eyebrow.

"She was, um... yeah. She was coming back from her parent's place in Georgia. It was right after Thanksgiving, and she found me there. And she was heading home to West Hollywood, and we got talking, and, um... she offered me a place to stay. I kind of fell for her. She was... Angela was easy to like, and by the time we got to her place, four days later, I, um... I was pretty much in love with her. So all four of us were living together, Angela and Marie and Truth and me, and I got a job as a cashier at Wal-Mart, and the money wasn't good, but the employee discount was. Except if my till count was out they'd take it out of my pay. And so I was short of rent, sometimes. Which was, um... which was how it started. The, um... what you saw."

"Yeah," Shane murmurs. Licking her lips, she tries to think of a gentle way of asking her next question. "How long were you...?"

"About nine months," Tara whispers. "Not... not long, really. I mean... and, um, it wasn't every day. Or every week, even. Just when I was short of rent, or when Angela had a special client. I, um... you know I didn't... they weren't allowed to...?" This is so hard to talk about.

"Yeah... I know," she whispers, hand still stroking gentle circles between Tara's shoulder blades.

"But Angela had some clients who, um... who liked to watch. Her and me, together. And sometimes the three of us together, except, um... they were 'with' Angela. Not me. And I trusted her to take care of me. I really did. I thought she loved me. But, um..." This is where it gets bad. This is where she wouldn't go, in therapy with Jonathan. "There was a client who, um... with... with dildos and stuff. And he paid really well, he was one of Angela's best clients. And she'd mentioned me to him, I don't know why, and he, um... they... they made an arrangement."

Shane grits her teeth, eyes narrowing as she struggles to hold in the angry, angry words that are desperate to tumble out . She can't do that, can't allow herself to do that, not now - the people she's angry at aren't even here and she knows that Tara needs her support now more than those ghosts deserve her ire. Taking a deep breath, she lets it out slowly, pushing out the anger with it, leaving only calm behind. "What was the arrangement, Tara?" She asks softly.

"She thought it would be okay. Because it wasn't, um... it wasn't him, it was just a thing. But, um... he wanted it to be just me. Not have Angela there, and I never... not alone. I mean, she was always there. But she'd, um... she's promised him, I think. And she said that if... if I loved her, I would... that I made my rent, but that was it, and I never... I never took her out anywhere, or bought her anything, or, um... that if I loved her... if I loved her..." She feels stuck on that phrase, and her arm wraps around Shane's waist, huddling closer. "So I said I would."

Bending slightly at the waist, Shane slips her arms around her wife, holding her close as she presses a firm kiss to the top of her head and another, softer kiss to her cheek. "You loved her... that should have been enough," she whispers, a hint of her former anger bleeding into her voice in the form of conviction. "It should have been everything."

"I... I don't think I did," Tara whispers. "I just... I needed her. I didn't have anywhere else to go, and she saved me. I... I didn't love her like I loved Willow. And I didn't love Willow like I love you. I mean, I thought I loved her, at the time, but... it's not... it's not like this. It's not even a shadow of this."

"I love you," Shane whispers back, reaching up to tenderly cradle Tara's cheek. "I love you so much, baby. I do."

"Thank you," Tara whispers. She has to finish this, though. Has to get this out, now that the poison is welling up inside her. "He, um... He liked to, um... improvise. With... things. Not, um... not designed for the purpose. And he... his..." and it comes full circle, the reason this memory had welled up in therapy. "His gun was... the barrel was... the right, um... shape..."

"Ohh, Jesus..." she breathes, gathering her wife up into her arms and holding on tight. Fear runs through her veins, replacing her blood with ice water. She knows it's in the past, but still, she's scared and it can't even be half of what Tara must have felt at the time. "Ohh, Jesus Christ, Tara... baby, I'm so sorry..." she whispers, gently rocking her as she strokes her hair.

Tara's breath hitches, a desperate attempt to control her breathing before the sobbing starts. She clings to Shane, burying her face in her wife's chest, loud, noisy gulps for air as she tries to finish. "And he... he was... one of Angela's best clients... So I... I didn't know what to do, and she wasn't... wasn't coming back to get me for hours, and I didn't know... what he'd do if I... if I said... because I was just a whore... so I... I let him, and he... he pulled the... pulled the trigger," and there's no possible way she could be clinging any tighter to Shane at this point, "and it wasn't loaded, but oh god Shane, I was so scared..."

"Oh, Tara..." Shane holds her tightly, as tightly as she's ever wanted to and even tighter still because Tara's here and she's okay. "I know... I know, I know, baby... I know you were scared. You're okay. I've got you and you're here and you're safe and you're okay... I promise... I promise..."

Sobbing against Shane's chest, Tara lets herself go, deep, wracking sobs that shake the foundation of her being. She's never told anyone that. Not even Angela, when her girlfriend came to pick her up. She'd never felt more ashamed in her entire life, of what she'd become, of what she'd let people do to her, and she's terrified that Shane will think less of her even as the rational part of her brain assures her that would never, never happen. Shane will keep her safe. In Shane's arms she can let this memory go, let the tears out, scream into her wife's shoulder for the pain she's locked away for so many years.

"I'm here, Tara," Shane whispers, loosening her hold and letting one hand slip down to gently stroke Tara's back, the other cradling the back of her wife's head, her touch impossibly gentle as she rocks her. "I love you so much... you're so beautiful and so good and so strong and brave... I'm so proud of you. So blessed to have you in my life. So fucking lucky..."

She doesn't feel strong. She doesn't see why Shane should be proud of her, of this worthless husk of a woman who let herself be treated that way. She can't deny it, though. Shane would never say it if she didn't believe it with every fibre of her being. "Love you," she chokes out amidst her sobs, and part of her feels as though now that she's let the tears come they'll never stop.

"I love you... you're everything to me, Tara. Do you know that?" She asks softly, not entirely sure if Tara will be able to hear her, but wanting to get the words out, all the same. "Do you? Do you have any idea how much you mean to me? I am gonna spend every single second of the rest of my life making it all up to you... if it takes every last breath I've got, every last drop of blood in my body, then that's what I'll give."

She can hear Shane, the quiet, firm voice cutting through her noisy gulps for air, filtering into her consciousness, and she clings to those words. She does know how much Shane loves her, she's felt that emotion, been surrounded and lifted by it. It's the foundation of her world, the place of safety from which she can make this leap into the morass of her own fears and memories. "Yours," she whispers, desperate and heartfelt. She wants to tell Shane that Shane doesn't owe her anything, that it's not her responsibility to make it up to Tara... but Shane knows, and the words, too hard to form in the first place, would be meaningless. Instead, she just rests in the knowledge of a love so concrete that she could hold it in her cupped hands, wrapping it around her, driving the shadows away, wishing she could cleanse her memories with it and knowing, at the same time, that no memory can be taken from her without threatening her sense of self.

"That's right... you're mine," Shane whispers back, stroking hand stilling to pull her in close again, burying her face in the crook of Tara's shoulder. "You're my girl and my wife and my goddess and I love you very, very much, Tara..."

"Yours," she whispers again, following Shane's urging hand to climb back on her wife's lap, burying her own face in a mirror of Shane's position. "So sorry." Sorry that this darkness has touched her beautiful wife, who has so many shadows of her own to fight, sorry that she wasn't stronger all those years ago, sorry that she didn't tell Shane sooner, sorry that she told Shane at all, sorry that it had happened in the first place. Sorry for so very, very much.

"No, baby... no, don't be sorry," she murmurs, words muffled against Tara's shoulder as she continues gently rocking the both of them. "Don't ever be sorry. Because everything that's happened... everything you've been through... makes you who you are... and that's the woman I love, Tara. Please, baby, don't ever be sorry for that..."

"It hurts," Tara whimpers, her sobs slowly calming into shuddering, hitching breaths under Shane's gently, persistent rocking. "I... that was the last time. I wouldn't... next time I... I couldn't pay the rent, I... I wouldn't... wouldn't go with... and she... I... I left."

"I know it hurts," Shane whispers, her voice soft and husky as she strokes Tara's hair. "If there was any way ... any way I could take that from you... have lived it in your place, baby, I would. All of it."

"No!" Tara says, her face crumpling again as she clings to Shane. "No, Shane... no." Shane's hurt enough, more than any one person should ever be expected to deal with. Telling Shane was hard enough. Giving her that pain, that burden to carry? She can't. Couldn't. Not even to wish it, not even to countenance the wishing of it. Never.

"Yes, baby, I would," she whispers again very softly, arms tightening around her. "If I could, I would do it. I'd do anything for you. Anything, Tara..."

"I know you would," Tara whispers. "I know." But she wouldn't ever let Shane do it. No matter what the cost to herself, no matter how much some of her memories gnaw away at her insides, she would never inflict that pain on her wife.

"But I can't," Shane finishes softly, sadly. "I can't do that for you, no matter how much I want to... and I do, I want it so much, Tara. But I can't... so all I can do is listen and -- and figure out new ways to make you smile..."

"You always do," Tara whispers. "I love you, Shane. You make me... you make me feel whole. You wash the dirt away."

Shane lets her hand slip down to the small of Tara's back to rest on the spot where her hand naturally settles, where she knows that Tara's tattoo is, even though she can't see it. "I've never seen the dirt. It's not a part of you. I just see you," she murmurs quietly. Drawing back a bit, she looks at her wife and, for the first time, tears well in her eyes. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life, Tara..."

Seeing those tears shining in the soft light from the bedside lamp, Tara raises her thumb to brush them away. "You always saw me," she whispers. "Since that very first day. You always saw something worthwhile."

Sniffling softly, Shane slowly nods her head even as she reaches out to wipe away Tara's tears. "You're my magic... my everyday magic," she whispers back. "I found you."

"You did," Tara whispers, her chest hurting from her sobs and from the swell of love that fills her, threatening to burst through fragile skin. "You found me and you lead me out of the maze. You're my Ariadne. My knight."

Reaching up, Shane gently takes hold of Tara's hand at the wrist, drawing it down and resting it over her heart. She places her own hand atop Tara's, lacing their fingers together. Tara's eyes are still overly bright with tears, red-rimmed and swollen and her nose is red, splashes of a troubled flush high on her cheeks and she's still the most arresting sight. "Always," she whispers.

"Always," Tara repeats, her fingers pressing gently into the flesh beneath her hand, feeling the beating of Shane's heart. She knows she's a mess, hair tousled from sleep and face red from crying, but under Shane's gaze she feels beautiful. Shane has always, always seen what was inside her, not what was on the surface, and it's a gift she's grateful for every day.

Shane leans in slowly, hesitantly, her eyes trained on Tara's as she does so, avidly searching for any signs of discomfort or uneasiness with what she's about to do. She accepts Tara, all of her, and that's never been a question or a doubt in her mind and she wants to show her that. Wants to kiss her so that Tara knows that... that she's not afraid of that darkness or those shadows, because she's fought off her own for so long.

Tara meets Shane halfway, sighing under Shane's lips, the touch that sometimes comforts and sometimes arouses but never, never fails to bring a sense of peace. Her free hand rises to twine in Shane's hair, textured strands wrapped around her fingers, holding Shane to her. It's an illusion only, but for Tara it's powerfully symbolic. Shane's not leaving her, not backing away. There's no disgust in her eyes. Just love, compassion, and concern.

"It wasn't your fault," Shane whispers softly when their lips part, both hands gently cradling her wife's face, thumbs slowly stroking over her cheeks and wiping away all traces of tears. "None of it was your fault, baby. Okay? Do you know that?"

"It was," Tara protests, just as softly. "If I'd been stronger, I... it never should have happened. I let it happen. I could have refused, I could have run, I should have done better, known better. I didn't deserve it, I know that, but I should have stopped it. I could have stopped it."

"Nothing like that will ever happen to you again," she murmurs, an undercurrent of steel and conviction in her voice. "It's easy to say you could have done something different, should have done something else instead of what you did... but you're looking back. The important thing is you know better now... and you've got me."

"I've got you," Tara echoes, softly. "Safe with you, Shane." She moves in for another kiss, fervent and grateful, her hand trembling as she holds on to her lock of hair. She knows - not believes, but knows - that Shane will never let anything like that happen to her again. Accidents, disasters like the bullet that tore through glass and flesh and life... Shane can't prevent those. But the abuse that she's suffered... that Shane can prevent, and will. With her own body, if necessary, slender form belying strength of muscles and character, Shane will stand between her and anyone that might want to hurt her.

"You are... always," Shane vows, her voice hushed and husky as she presses another tender kiss to her wife's lips. Hands slipping to Tara's shoulders, she gently coaxes her to lie down next to her, back pressed to her chest. Wrapping her arms securely around Tara, she fits her body against her wife's back, holding her close and tight. She ducks her head and presses another soft kiss to Tara's shoulder. "I'll never let anything happen to you, Tara. I swear."

Safe and protected, exhausted from memory and emotion and tears, Tara's eyelids grow heavy again. "I know," she whispers. "Thank you. Love you." The pain isn't gone, but it's better. The intensity of the memory which had been gnawing at her since her therapy session with Jonathan is muted. She's going to need to talk about those days, over the next month or so, now that the door is open and they slowly slip out, greasy and foul and repugnant... but that was the worst of them, and if Shane survived it - if she survived the telling of it - she can survive the rest.

"I love you, too," Shane whispers back, gently settling her head in the hollow of Tara's throat. She can hear Tara's breathing gradually slowing and evening out and she gazes at the spot where Tara had seen her ghost. She has no idea whose face it wore - whether it was her father or that sick fuck of a trick or someone else Tara hasn't told her about, yet - but she can almost make out the shape of it, herself. She won't sleep, tonight. She knows that. Someone has to stand watch over Tara.

history, dream, nws, shane, ptsd

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