(no subject)
She wakes but doesn’t stop dreaming. There’s a man sitting on the edge of her bed. He’s dressed in jungle camouflage. She knows his face.
"...Davis?" Her voice is faint and disbelieving.
He smiles. "Hey, gorgeous."
"Are you...when did--"
Davis shakes his head. "I’m not here to stay. But I wanted to stop in and check on you." His eyes flicker to her left hand and he shakes his head, grinning. "Can’t believe my best girl settled down."
"I’m your only girl," she reminds him, eyes lowered (just like before and yet still so nervous).
He leans a little closer, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes. His fingertips trace her cheek. "You really loved me, didn’t you."
She nods shakily. "Should have said something." Her voice cracks.
"No, shhhh, it’s fine," he murmurs, leaning closer still to put his arms around her. "It’s gonna be okay."
"No, it’s not."
"Shhh, yes it will," he says, stroking her hair. "I’m here now. You can tell me how you felt."
"I don’t know how," she mumbles against his shoulder.
He smiles indulgently. "Please. Try."
"I loved you. I’d have done anything for you."
"Would you have died for me?"
She swallows hard, fighting back tears. "Of course, I would have."
He runs a hand through her hair and moves to whisper in her ear. "Then why didn’t you?"
She jerks in his arms as if shot.
"It should have been you," he continues--the words from a voice she loves, whispered so close, but the words themselves--
"It should have been you. It was your turn to take point, but I took it for you, because I liked you. And then I found that fucking landmine."
"But I--"
"Shhh." His hand slides up her chest to settle around her throat. "Don't speak. Just listen. It should have been you. Then you wouldn't be here, a whore in friend's clothing, only wanting what you can't have and not enjoying what you do."
His legs, which had appeared normal until now, grow steadily transparent from the knees down. The area around his knees looks a lot like ground hamburger.
"It wasn't, though," she whispers. "Wasn't my turn."
His hand tightens. "Don't lie."
"Wasn't."
"You're still responsible. You are always responsible--don't you see what you're doing?" Blood from his legs is soaking the bedspread. "You draw people in because you need them, and then you don't know how to keep them, so you hurt them. Once they leave, you need new ones. Viscious cycle, gorgeous. And you can't win."
His hand is crushing her throat, his lips are crushing her mouth and she doesn't know if she's going (or coming) but she's waking up in sweat-soaked sheets, lungs heaving. She twists her way free only to fall on the floor, knees aching from the impact but she is sobbing for a very different reason.