< : nightmares
I knew there was something off about this place.
So much for sleeping.
Her name was Chelsea. Rude would never forget Chelsea. He couldn't.
She didn't come anywhere close to his height: she had to have been about 5'4". She is. She's hardly dead as far as Rude wants to be concerned. Her hair is brown but it is hardly plain. There are wonderful flecks of red in it the sunlight. To describe her eyes as amber would be a sin. They were gold: rich gold.
Rude loves her but there's a minor problem.
She works for AVALANCHE. A spy. He was deceived and every so often the pain in his heart that brings him to reserved silence and at a distance of the populace in general reminds him of that. Love in war can be forgivable but it can also be just a metaphorical scar. Rude isn't sure what he wants to make of it.
She's standing on the corner looking beautiful. He can't remember the name of the street or why they even decided to meet there. It might as well be called Chelsea.
She's not smiling, though, and it shows under the streetlamp. She looks even more grave with his approach and it puts a serious damper on her features. She tries to smile but it can easily be dismissed as something she is straining to uphold. She has scheduled their meeting this evening and Rude is prepared to let her do exactly as she wishes. She's fond of walks, drinking and staying in anyway. They're the same in a lot of ways.
As the night wears on she opens up a little more and genuinely seems to enjoy herself. After a few too many drinks they return to his apartment and turn in for the night. She insists she is tired and lies on the bed next to him but at a safe distance. It doesn't occur to him that her mind is much more than occupied. Skipping the affectionate parting before bed Rude falls asleep.
In the morning she's gone. There's no hint of her leaving in a hurry and she seems to have even straightened the place up a bit. The cans and bottles on the counter are actually in the right bins and one side of the bed is already made. She must have forgotten something. He tries to call her cell phone but the number is out of service. He is immediately aware something is wrong.
Suddenly the dream starts to speed up. It is more of a flicker of a series of events. He's on his way to work. Every number he tries to reach for her is disconnected. The board meeting. A Leaked portion of AVALANCHE data. Talk about spies in the company. The outing.
Rude sat up rigid on the sofa inside Elena's house. He took a moment to collect himself before sitting up and catching his face in his hands. Where had those memories come from? He felt chilled and numb. Looking around he was relieved to find the house was still dark and he hadn't disturbed anyone. Rude exhaled deeply.
Many people would say the nightmare was tame but Rude had seen his share of monstrosities and death. Those were things to worry about when he was awake. The haunting memory of the woman he loved vanishing without any closure left him stunned. In the long run it affected him greatly. Chelsea, that is to say if that was even her name, was gone and had taken what she needed. Everything about a relationship he was so sure and indulgent of was suddenly proved false.
Rude got up off the couch and headed for the kitchen. He wasn't in the mood for sleep but instead felt a heavy weight on his shoulders and a chilling emptiness inside. He started to brew up some coffee and searched for any liquor to spice it up and soothe his nerves.
So much for sleeping.
Her name was Chelsea. Rude would never forget Chelsea. He couldn't.
She didn't come anywhere close to his height: she had to have been about 5'4". She is. She's hardly dead as far as Rude wants to be concerned. Her hair is brown but it is hardly plain. There are wonderful flecks of red in it the sunlight. To describe her eyes as amber would be a sin. They were gold: rich gold.
Rude loves her but there's a minor problem.
She works for AVALANCHE. A spy. He was deceived and every so often the pain in his heart that brings him to reserved silence and at a distance of the populace in general reminds him of that. Love in war can be forgivable but it can also be just a metaphorical scar. Rude isn't sure what he wants to make of it.
She's standing on the corner looking beautiful. He can't remember the name of the street or why they even decided to meet there. It might as well be called Chelsea.
She's not smiling, though, and it shows under the streetlamp. She looks even more grave with his approach and it puts a serious damper on her features. She tries to smile but it can easily be dismissed as something she is straining to uphold. She has scheduled their meeting this evening and Rude is prepared to let her do exactly as she wishes. She's fond of walks, drinking and staying in anyway. They're the same in a lot of ways.
As the night wears on she opens up a little more and genuinely seems to enjoy herself. After a few too many drinks they return to his apartment and turn in for the night. She insists she is tired and lies on the bed next to him but at a safe distance. It doesn't occur to him that her mind is much more than occupied. Skipping the affectionate parting before bed Rude falls asleep.
In the morning she's gone. There's no hint of her leaving in a hurry and she seems to have even straightened the place up a bit. The cans and bottles on the counter are actually in the right bins and one side of the bed is already made. She must have forgotten something. He tries to call her cell phone but the number is out of service. He is immediately aware something is wrong.
Suddenly the dream starts to speed up. It is more of a flicker of a series of events. He's on his way to work. Every number he tries to reach for her is disconnected. The board meeting. A Leaked portion of AVALANCHE data. Talk about spies in the company. The outing.
Rude sat up rigid on the sofa inside Elena's house. He took a moment to collect himself before sitting up and catching his face in his hands. Where had those memories come from? He felt chilled and numb. Looking around he was relieved to find the house was still dark and he hadn't disturbed anyone. Rude exhaled deeply.
Many people would say the nightmare was tame but Rude had seen his share of monstrosities and death. Those were things to worry about when he was awake. The haunting memory of the woman he loved vanishing without any closure left him stunned. In the long run it affected him greatly. Chelsea, that is to say if that was even her name, was gone and had taken what she needed. Everything about a relationship he was so sure and indulgent of was suddenly proved false.
Rude got up off the couch and headed for the kitchen. He wasn't in the mood for sleep but instead felt a heavy weight on his shoulders and a chilling emptiness inside. He started to brew up some coffee and searched for any liquor to spice it up and soothe his nerves.