(Untitled)

[butterflyfactor]

I've been waking up in the middle of the night, staring at the dark, no memory of dreams or falling asleep. It doesn't feel like rest. Awake, and not awake. That's it. So it's weird when I'm aware, for the first time in a week, of being somewhere in between. I know I'm not awake, but I know I could be, shortly. I don't know what roused me, I don't

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[howmanylives]

I haven't been home in a week. That is... if you can call a hut in the middle of nowhere home, which is arguable, to say the least. This place is no more home than anywhere else I've lived, and being the Multiple Man, I've lived most places. My reasons for running this time are better than the last, but that's really not saying much. A drunken rejection is hardly comparable with what I did to Theresa all those months ago, but in a way, it's just a variation on a theme. When it comes to relationships, there's not one part of me that's ever done it right. So I ran because of guilt. I ran because of embarrassment. I ran because of ego. I ran because, at the end of day, I'm my own worst enemy, and for all this talk of seeing every possibility, I'm stuck committing the same mistake, over and over again, because I'm just too stubborn to learn.

Jamie was busy trying to quiet Richards when he'd heard a voice coming from the adjoining room. He'd snuck in the house about ten minutes prior when his late night wandering had brought him to familiar territory, and he'd intended on catching a few hours' sleep before slipping out in the morning, hopefully unseen by the one person he'd been skillfully avoiding since Mardi Gras -- Layla, his roommate and the source of all his latest problems. He owed her an apology, he knew, but that involved getting close enough to talk to her, something he'd been unable to bring himself to do since that night.

Which was why, for a second, he considered just leaving. He stood stock still, one finger pressed to his lips to shush the dog, waiting for another sound, though none came. That in itself was almost more worrying, and when Richards let out a whimper and pressed its nose underneath Layla's closed door, Jamie sighed.

"Alright, alright," he said, pushing the dog out of the way with his foot. He rapped his knuckles against the door once, then canted his head, listening. "You okay in there?"

[butterflyfactor]

Layla gave another start, breath jumping in her lungs. Oh, sure. He came back now. She didn't answer for as long as it took her to make sure she wouldn't do something really embarrassing when she took a breath, like sob. She didn't breathe at all for a minute, then swallowed and forced out a , "Fine."

Somehow, the quality of my voice when I say it doesn't really back up the intention behind the word.

[howmanylives]

Jamie and Richards shared a look.

That's about as encouraging a response I could hope for... not. The first few nights, before the snow melted and further construction was pointless, we shared a room, so her nightmares are nothing new to me, even if I made a point of not bringing them up at the time. I've developed a lot of skills over the years, but comforting someone else is an admitted weakness. Usually I just end up passing those duties off to a dupe, but that hasn't been an option since last summer.

"I'm coming in," he said, in a voice that brooked no argument, and before he could change his mind, he cracked open the door.

[butterflyfactor]

She didn't look up at him. She didn't even uncurl slightly. If anything, she got smaller, sighing and digging the heels of her palms harder against her eyelids.

"It's your place," she said quietly, but steadily, managing to keep her tone even.

[howmanylives]

"Yours, too," he said, Richards pushing past him to jump up on the bed, where he just as quickly laid down in front of Layla, head in his paws, with a low whine.

Jamie wasn't nearly as fast, instead choosing to linger by the doorway. His mouth was set in a thin line. After what had happened, there were more ideal circumstances under which they could be having their first conversation. In the middle of the night and in her bedroom, with her not only in bed, but so visibly disturbed, was somewhere near the bottom of the list. The list wasn't hypothetical -- he'd made it a week ago, while nursing a truly spectacular hangover. Never and nowhere held the number one spot.

"Should I even bother asking if you want to talk about it?"

[butterflyfactor]

After the space of a few breaths, she smoothed her hair back off her face and laced her fingers behind her neck. She made eye contact with Richards. The pathetic look on his face seemed a wonderful mirror for the situation.

"Your call."

[howmanylives]

"That's not particularly helpful."

Knowing you owe someone an apology and actually giving one are two entirely different things. She had every opportunity to not lead me on, and she didn't -- my own motives were crystal clear the second I suggested we leave the party. Whether or not that was in my better judgment -- it wasn't, by the way -- is besides the point.

Pressing two fingers to the bridge of his nose, Jamie bit back an annoyed sigh. She'd had some sort of nightmare again, that much was obvious. Given what he'd seen of the future and what little he knew of her past, he even had a few ideas what it could've been about, though they were vague at best.

"Look," he said, "I don't know how to help you if you won't tell me the problem. I'm a detective, not a mind reader."

[butterflyfactor]

"Reading minds is useless," she said, dropping her hands and starting at Richards. After a moment she reached out to rest her palm on the top of his head.

"I don't know what to tell you."

Yup. That's right. You heard it here first.

I. Don't. Know.

[howmanylives]

Jamie rolled his eyes, and leaned back against the wall. He folded his arms over his chest.

"Bullshit. You're Layla Miller."

[butterflyfactor]

"Yes," she said, gritting her teeth together, voice raw, "and I'm telling you I don't know what to tell you, Jamie. I don't know. I don't know how we got here, I don't even know where we are. Ask me anything, about home, about you? And yes, I will doubtless have an answer. But don't ask me about me. Because I don't know what I can say."

She'd retracted her hand from its position on Richards and had swept both of her arms around herself, squeezing her own shoulders and dropping her face to hide her expression.

[howmanylives]

"So? No one knows how we got here. No one expects you to know!" he said, loud enough that Richards gave him a baleful look. Jamie carried on, unheeded.

"I'm not asking you for the meaning of life, I'm asking why the hell you woke up, and why you've been having nightmares since you've shown up. So unless you're so clueless that you can't even figure out what awful thing it is you keep reliving every night, I'm going to continue calling bullshit until you give me a straight answer for once."

[butterflyfactor]

"I've always had nightmares," she said, not quite snapping back at him.

"This isn't new."

[howmanylives]

"All the more reason why you should be able to tell me about them," he replied, eyes widening.

[butterflyfactor]

She didn't say anything for a while. She pushed a hand back through her hair, and scooted back along the bed to lean against the wall.

"...I thought I heard," she started, closed her eyes, stopped.

"I thought I heard my mom. I think." She frowned a little.

[howmanylives]

It was a start, albeit not much of one. He watched her carefully from where he stood, unmoving, though his expression softened. Richards whined again, tucking himself next to Layla, seeking out her hand.

"Okay," Jamie said, stretching out the vowels. "What was she saying?"

[butterflyfactor]

"I don't know," Layla said, sighing and drawing the dog up, into her lap, scratching his ears.

"I just thought I heard her. Just... being around."