for in the sleep of death, what dreams may come
3:30 AM. At least I got a couple of hours.
Fuck.
---
"Hey. Rossi. You asleep?"
"Yeah, I'm asleep. My eyes are closed. I'm in bed. What does it look like?"
"Like a hot slab of man spread out for my pleasure. Except for the bad breath, the gunk between your toes, and what the hell /is/ this in your ear--"
"Your fucking finger. Goddammit, Canto. What the hell? I'm /asleep/. I thought you were spending upstairs in /your/ bed. Let a guy get some peace and quiet--"
"Aw. He didn't miss me. He /doesn't/ miss me. Well, I guess I could go bother Lazzaro, if you're not interested."
"It'd kill the poor bastard, waking up to your ugly face. You're lucky I got a strong heart, woman. /Ow/. Shit. Watch where you're putting that."
". . . Mmmm. Is this better?"
"Fuck. This is not restful, Leah. --Shi.... Get over here."
"Ooh, I love it when you're domineering. And cranky! The cranky makes you extra-double-super hot, Rossi."
"What, and you're the special sauce? My ass. Payback's a bitch. What gives? Are you here to sleep, or what? --What time is it?"
"Late. It's always late for me, these days. You know why. --Hey, watch that hand! Or at least put it right here, there's a good boy."
"Jesus Christ. Three AM? Canto, I have to be up at six."
"You can sleep when you're dead. Carpe diem. Didn't the good Jesuits teach you that much Latin, loverboy?"
"Did I say I loved you? Must have been out of my fucking mind. --Sssst. Watch it. Leah, you're not buying fruit down there. Stop /squeezing/."
"Well, no, I don't think cucumbers are fruit -- though they do have seeds on the inside, so maybe they are? --Is this better?"
"Sweet Je-- What /exactly/ did I ever do to you? God. C'mere. Take that. And /that/. And--"
"--od! God, you--mmm. Rossi. Rossi, I do love you. Not just for /that/, but . . ."
"That'll teach you to wake the ri-- the righteous man from his bed. My God. Don't. Stop moving--"
"I'm not, I'm noooo-oot -- shit! Who taught you that -- Jesus God -- that one? Julia?"
"Aw, fuck. I. Am. Not. Thinking. About. My. Sister. --Stop. Hold still. C'mon, Leah. I dare you."
"I /can't/ fucking hold /still/ if you /keep/ doing /that/--"
"C'mon. I thought you were a hard-boiled, experienced journalist. Seen it all, done it all. Not even if I do--"
"--from Lazzaro, maybe. Definitely something a Houston hound dog of love would know. And pass on. Keep passing it, damn your eyes. God, that feels amazing."
"Woman, you can kill a mood faster than a cold bath. Why the hell am I in love with you? I must be drunk."
"Dreaming. You're dreaming. Think you'll remember it in the morning?"
"...No. Don't--"
"Sorry. Sorry. Here--"
"Oh God. --Shit. I ... weird. Felt like someone walked over my grave."
"I knew I should've warmed up my feet first."
"Nothing like that. Here. Give me your feet. I'll warm them up. Let me look at you."
"What, forget what I look like already? I didn't think it'd been /that/ long. --Just stay there, Chris. I'll scooch around . . . there. One foot, two foot. Voila."
"Never know. Something might've changed. Anyway, I wake up in the middle of the night and find a naked woman in my bed, you better believe I'm gonna want a look at her."
"Your hands got eyes, don't they?"
"My hands're telling me you're gorgeous."
"Oh, Christopher."
"Damn things are obviously lying to me. That's what you get for having a cop as a witness."
"Hey! Remind me again why I came down here. Or fell in love with you in the first place -- and that little trick with your pinkie, boyo, doesn't count."
"I'll be damned if I know why. Had a little itch? Needed something scratched? Here I am, sleeping the sleep of the just--"
"Oh-ho, he's taking me for /granted/ now. Well, this is rich. Scratch /this/--"
"Ow. /FUCK/. You diabolical...."
"I'm an angel. A perfect, glowing, divine angel. I have wings. And a halo and a harp. Funny how playing that is a lot like playing what you've got going here. See, I'll show you. . . ."
"Dammit, Canto. If I start laughing, I won't be a-- ow. /Ow/. Christ. Stop it! Shit. I'll scream rape. Ow, my ribs--"
"Rape. Ha. Who'd believe it? Big strong manly man like you. Besides, I'd duck out the back. They'd never catch me. Never take me alive."
"'She overpowered me, your honor, with her wicked ways. I'm pretty sure she sacrificed some sort of chicken.'"
"'Which he then barbequed with a delightful picante sauce, sir, so it couldn't have been that bad, right? And how he knew his way around the kitchen so well . . .' Know how I know you're gay, Rossi?"
"Stop it. Don't make me laugh again. I'll show you fucking /gay/--"
". . . Yeah, those Brokeback boys got nothin' to worry about. Tell you /what/."
"You're giving me a complex, Canto. One of these days I'm not going to put out anymore and just ask you to cuddle."
"And that is the day that truly my heart will break, for I will have traded in my bronco-bustin' cowboy for a true girly-man. --Shit, Rossi. You've got so many complexes already, ain't room for me to add more. Your subconscious is already built up with high-rises galore."
"What, and you're my therapist now? You got some kind of doctor-patient fantasy you want to work outta your system?"
"Can't be any worse than your fascination with hard-ass mother figures, can it?"
"You? My mother? What the fuck? Whatever bodego sales-rack psychology book you picked /that/ one out of--"
"Oh, please. You said so yourself, the night you got gelato all over me /and/ my kitchen floor. Pig."
"I remember the gelato. I don't remember calling you my /mother/. Wouldn't do ... /this/, to my mother."
"--Mother Mary! I /hope/ not. Not sure her heart could stand it."
"Mm. I love the noises you make when I...."
"Oh, /God/, I -- I can't -- oh, holy mother of -- /Rossi/."
"Don't ... don't fight me. Tell me ... God. Tell me you love me."
"I love you. I love you so much. Just do it. /Do/ it, dammit! Finish me off, or I'll--"
"--!"
"..."
"Come on, Leah. You're almost there--"
"I'm /here/, idiot. Vini, vici, vici, but hell, if you want to keep goin', I'm not complaining. I could go all night, you know that."
"Forget my mother's heart. /Mine/ couldn't take it. --You're ... Jesus, you're tight."
"Bet you say that to all the girls."
"Only the one I fell in love with."
"No fair making me cry in the middle of blowing my mind, you son of a bitch."
"Women. Always crying at the wrong things. You'd -- ah, God. --You'd think I was dying, instead of making love to you."
"Don't know if there's much of a difference. They say that orgasm is like a little death -- yowza. So thank you for /that/ one, right there. Mmm, Christopher. Think I'll have to keep you. All my own."
"/He/ keeps calling me that. What gives? What's wrong with calling me plain old 'Chris,' like everybody else and his cousin?"
"He who? Hey. Am I sharing you now? You're /mine/. I just said so."
"Yours. Right. --When the hell'd you get so possessive?"
"Let's say I had a change of mind recently. Pretty dramatic one."
"You gonna be the jealous type, too?"
"Nah. Not if you don't, with me. Okay, no more dallying around with luscious, exotic, damned /talented/ men -- that Percy Talhurst is something else, y'know? -- but if I wanna flirt, I can. I will. Same goes for you."
"Fuck that. You might not be the jealous type, but I am. Nobody touches you but me. Got that?"
"Flirting isn't /touching/. /This/ is touching."
"Ah, God-- you brat. You pray with that mouth? If your Father Andrew knew where it'd been--"
"--he might ask for tips for his work with the altar boys. Brat, am I? Wonder what it makes me if I do -- hold still, dammit -- do /this/."
".../Canto/."
"Yes, my dear?"
"I'm going to /strangle/ you. Where the ... aah. Sweet Mary, Mother of--"
"This is me giggling. Cackling, even. Evilly cackling, Christopher. Hold still, right there, there you go, oh, Jesus, yes--"
"--God, no. No. Stop. Stop it-- Not yet. I'm not done with /you/ yet. I know how this works. You get up to paydirt and then I wake up with a hard-on, and you turn out to be the Keebler elf."
". . . Well. Talk about /killing the mood/."
"Like you never fantasized about a Tony the Tiger?"
"Whoa. So that's what it's like to have every bit of sexual passion sucked completely out of your body in 0.2 seconds flat."
"I have a gift. The nuns taught me."
"And their rulers. Their naughty, slapping rulers."
"You think that's gonna turn me on? Trix Rabbit, Canto. Tell me you never had a fantasy involving the Trix Rabbit."
"Oh, my /God/. What did I say a second ago, about the fucked-up levels of your mind?"
"Not /my/ mind. I always had a thing for She-Ra. She was hot. --I seem to recall you said you could go all night."
"Not while I'm being tormented by visions of Keebler elves and tigers and motherfucking /rabbits/, oh, my. Make it stop, Chris. Please, make it stoooop."
"I got the magic touch, Leah. Still sensitive? I can just rub it all away--"
"/Ohhh/."
"Feel good?"
"If you stop that -- oh, God, oh, Go-- if you /stop/, I'll kill you. With my teeth. Bite you."
"Who said anything about stopping? What I want to know is if you can carry on intelligent conversation while I'm doing it. So how was your day?"
"I didn't . . . there was a story -- /fuck/ me, asshole. I can't -- ahhhh."
"We could pretend the moaning was words, but the /writhing/--"
"/God/ -- bite you with my /teeth/--!"
"You'd bite me? The person who's doing this to you? The guy you're in love with? You'd do that?"
"Would. I would. Like this--"
"/Owgoddamnfucking/-- God, woman. /God/. I love you so much. Jesus. Why didn't I tell you sooner? Come for me, Canto. Let me hear you--"
"!"
"....breathe, Leah. Shh. Breathe. I love you. Breathe...."
"Trying. Breathing. Right. Right. Oh, Chris. Love you. Love you more than anything. Anything ever."
"Yeah, I know. I should've turned on the light. I like watching you. It's too dark--"
"I like the dark. It's quiet. Safe. Just us here, y'know? --Hold me, Rossi. Please."
"I got you, Canto. I got you. Your heartbeat's still racing."
"Like you had nothing to do with that."
"Do I sound smug? Should I apologize?"
". . . No. Just hold me. I'm so cold all of a sudden. So cold."
"Here. You want another blanket? It's probably all the -- Christ. You're freezing. I think I'm bleeding where you bit me."
"Oh, hell. We're a pair of drama queens, even when we don't need to be, huh? No, I'm okay. I'll just suck all the living warmth out of you. You can keep your blood, though. Ick."
"Stop making me laugh, Canto. Seriously. I have an image to maintain, here."
"For me?"
"For-- like you've ever given a shit for my masculine dignity."
"I give a shit for it. I give a shit for you -- all of you. Your dignity, your laughing, your insecurities, your anger, your generosity . . ."
"Insecurities. What insecurities? I thought I was perfect. Might have to write the manufacturers to complain."
"I'll take it up with God personally. I got a direct line, you know."
"Yeah? Next time you see him, tell him he's a crappy neighbor. Never calls, never writes--"
"Maybe if you stopped by His house once in a while . . ."
"Once in a while. Nobody's home. Screw that. Who needs God when I got a Leah?"
"He misses you. The way I do. Same thing. It's all love. It's more than me, Chris. You should go see Him. Sit awhile. Talk and see if He talks back. I'm serious."
"You're starting to sound like one of those born again God Squadders, Canto. If I want to fight with you about one of your boyfriends--"
"You're the only boyfriend I got. God's something else. God probably wouldn't tie me up like Percy Talhurst, either. More's the pity."
"You wan-- sorry. Damn, I'm sleepy. You want me to tie you up, all you got to do is ask."
"Okay, Chris. It's no big deal, really. I like what we have right here. I never want to leave it. Or you."
"Then don't. Stay here. Don't leave."
"I wish I could, but you have to get some sleep. Big day tomorrow. Every day's a big day for Detective First Grade Rossi of the NYPD. Magneto, the Feds, the school--"
"Talking to kids. Jesus. Like being the FBI's bitch isn't bad enough. Goddammit. I think you really did draw blood. My -- arm's sticky."
"Shit. Stay there; I'll go to the bathroom and get a washcloth. Don't move, okay? Don't go away, Chris. Stay for me."
"I'm fine. It's fine. It's just a little --/Leah/. Don't go."
"--ave to go. Gotta look after that blood on you. All that blood, my God, how could there be so much blood from such a little wound--"
"Goddammit. Leah. Shut up. Stop talking, just -- fuck. /Fuck/. This isn't ... it was just a little-- I didn't mean.... don't /go/."
"--away now, Chris, goodbye, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I love you, Rossi, I always loved you, Chris, I'm sor--"
"No. /No/. Lea--!"
The name punches through the dark like a bullet wound, torn and bleeding over a raw throat. In the shattered peace of his room, Chris Rossi lurches up in his bed, slick with sweat, heartbeat thunderous: aching, anguished, agonized--
3:23 AM. He buries his face in his hands, draws in a shuddering breath, and rolls out of bed. A shower, first, and then -- whatever comes. There are hours to stay awake until the day.
[Log ends]
Fuck.
---
"Hey. Rossi. You asleep?"
"Yeah, I'm asleep. My eyes are closed. I'm in bed. What does it look like?"
"Like a hot slab of man spread out for my pleasure. Except for the bad breath, the gunk between your toes, and what the hell /is/ this in your ear--"
"Your fucking finger. Goddammit, Canto. What the hell? I'm /asleep/. I thought you were spending upstairs in /your/ bed. Let a guy get some peace and quiet--"
"Aw. He didn't miss me. He /doesn't/ miss me. Well, I guess I could go bother Lazzaro, if you're not interested."
"It'd kill the poor bastard, waking up to your ugly face. You're lucky I got a strong heart, woman. /Ow/. Shit. Watch where you're putting that."
". . . Mmmm. Is this better?"
"Fuck. This is not restful, Leah. --Shi.... Get over here."
"Ooh, I love it when you're domineering. And cranky! The cranky makes you extra-double-super hot, Rossi."
"What, and you're the special sauce? My ass. Payback's a bitch. What gives? Are you here to sleep, or what? --What time is it?"
"Late. It's always late for me, these days. You know why. --Hey, watch that hand! Or at least put it right here, there's a good boy."
"Jesus Christ. Three AM? Canto, I have to be up at six."
"You can sleep when you're dead. Carpe diem. Didn't the good Jesuits teach you that much Latin, loverboy?"
"Did I say I loved you? Must have been out of my fucking mind. --Sssst. Watch it. Leah, you're not buying fruit down there. Stop /squeezing/."
"Well, no, I don't think cucumbers are fruit -- though they do have seeds on the inside, so maybe they are? --Is this better?"
"Sweet Je-- What /exactly/ did I ever do to you? God. C'mere. Take that. And /that/. And--"
"--od! God, you--mmm. Rossi. Rossi, I do love you. Not just for /that/, but . . ."
"That'll teach you to wake the ri-- the righteous man from his bed. My God. Don't. Stop moving--"
"I'm not, I'm noooo-oot -- shit! Who taught you that -- Jesus God -- that one? Julia?"
"Aw, fuck. I. Am. Not. Thinking. About. My. Sister. --Stop. Hold still. C'mon, Leah. I dare you."
"I /can't/ fucking hold /still/ if you /keep/ doing /that/--"
"C'mon. I thought you were a hard-boiled, experienced journalist. Seen it all, done it all. Not even if I do--"
"--from Lazzaro, maybe. Definitely something a Houston hound dog of love would know. And pass on. Keep passing it, damn your eyes. God, that feels amazing."
"Woman, you can kill a mood faster than a cold bath. Why the hell am I in love with you? I must be drunk."
"Dreaming. You're dreaming. Think you'll remember it in the morning?"
"...No. Don't--"
"Sorry. Sorry. Here--"
"Oh God. --Shit. I ... weird. Felt like someone walked over my grave."
"I knew I should've warmed up my feet first."
"Nothing like that. Here. Give me your feet. I'll warm them up. Let me look at you."
"What, forget what I look like already? I didn't think it'd been /that/ long. --Just stay there, Chris. I'll scooch around . . . there. One foot, two foot. Voila."
"Never know. Something might've changed. Anyway, I wake up in the middle of the night and find a naked woman in my bed, you better believe I'm gonna want a look at her."
"Your hands got eyes, don't they?"
"My hands're telling me you're gorgeous."
"Oh, Christopher."
"Damn things are obviously lying to me. That's what you get for having a cop as a witness."
"Hey! Remind me again why I came down here. Or fell in love with you in the first place -- and that little trick with your pinkie, boyo, doesn't count."
"I'll be damned if I know why. Had a little itch? Needed something scratched? Here I am, sleeping the sleep of the just--"
"Oh-ho, he's taking me for /granted/ now. Well, this is rich. Scratch /this/--"
"Ow. /FUCK/. You diabolical...."
"I'm an angel. A perfect, glowing, divine angel. I have wings. And a halo and a harp. Funny how playing that is a lot like playing what you've got going here. See, I'll show you. . . ."
"Dammit, Canto. If I start laughing, I won't be a-- ow. /Ow/. Christ. Stop it! Shit. I'll scream rape. Ow, my ribs--"
"Rape. Ha. Who'd believe it? Big strong manly man like you. Besides, I'd duck out the back. They'd never catch me. Never take me alive."
"'She overpowered me, your honor, with her wicked ways. I'm pretty sure she sacrificed some sort of chicken.'"
"'Which he then barbequed with a delightful picante sauce, sir, so it couldn't have been that bad, right? And how he knew his way around the kitchen so well . . .' Know how I know you're gay, Rossi?"
"Stop it. Don't make me laugh again. I'll show you fucking /gay/--"
". . . Yeah, those Brokeback boys got nothin' to worry about. Tell you /what/."
"You're giving me a complex, Canto. One of these days I'm not going to put out anymore and just ask you to cuddle."
"And that is the day that truly my heart will break, for I will have traded in my bronco-bustin' cowboy for a true girly-man. --Shit, Rossi. You've got so many complexes already, ain't room for me to add more. Your subconscious is already built up with high-rises galore."
"What, and you're my therapist now? You got some kind of doctor-patient fantasy you want to work outta your system?"
"Can't be any worse than your fascination with hard-ass mother figures, can it?"
"You? My mother? What the fuck? Whatever bodego sales-rack psychology book you picked /that/ one out of--"
"Oh, please. You said so yourself, the night you got gelato all over me /and/ my kitchen floor. Pig."
"I remember the gelato. I don't remember calling you my /mother/. Wouldn't do ... /this/, to my mother."
"--Mother Mary! I /hope/ not. Not sure her heart could stand it."
"Mm. I love the noises you make when I...."
"Oh, /God/, I -- I can't -- oh, holy mother of -- /Rossi/."
"Don't ... don't fight me. Tell me ... God. Tell me you love me."
"I love you. I love you so much. Just do it. /Do/ it, dammit! Finish me off, or I'll--"
"--!"
"..."
"Come on, Leah. You're almost there--"
"I'm /here/, idiot. Vini, vici, vici, but hell, if you want to keep goin', I'm not complaining. I could go all night, you know that."
"Forget my mother's heart. /Mine/ couldn't take it. --You're ... Jesus, you're tight."
"Bet you say that to all the girls."
"Only the one I fell in love with."
"No fair making me cry in the middle of blowing my mind, you son of a bitch."
"Women. Always crying at the wrong things. You'd -- ah, God. --You'd think I was dying, instead of making love to you."
"Don't know if there's much of a difference. They say that orgasm is like a little death -- yowza. So thank you for /that/ one, right there. Mmm, Christopher. Think I'll have to keep you. All my own."
"/He/ keeps calling me that. What gives? What's wrong with calling me plain old 'Chris,' like everybody else and his cousin?"
"He who? Hey. Am I sharing you now? You're /mine/. I just said so."
"Yours. Right. --When the hell'd you get so possessive?"
"Let's say I had a change of mind recently. Pretty dramatic one."
"You gonna be the jealous type, too?"
"Nah. Not if you don't, with me. Okay, no more dallying around with luscious, exotic, damned /talented/ men -- that Percy Talhurst is something else, y'know? -- but if I wanna flirt, I can. I will. Same goes for you."
"Fuck that. You might not be the jealous type, but I am. Nobody touches you but me. Got that?"
"Flirting isn't /touching/. /This/ is touching."
"Ah, God-- you brat. You pray with that mouth? If your Father Andrew knew where it'd been--"
"--he might ask for tips for his work with the altar boys. Brat, am I? Wonder what it makes me if I do -- hold still, dammit -- do /this/."
".../Canto/."
"Yes, my dear?"
"I'm going to /strangle/ you. Where the ... aah. Sweet Mary, Mother of--"
"This is me giggling. Cackling, even. Evilly cackling, Christopher. Hold still, right there, there you go, oh, Jesus, yes--"
"--God, no. No. Stop. Stop it-- Not yet. I'm not done with /you/ yet. I know how this works. You get up to paydirt and then I wake up with a hard-on, and you turn out to be the Keebler elf."
". . . Well. Talk about /killing the mood/."
"Like you never fantasized about a Tony the Tiger?"
"Whoa. So that's what it's like to have every bit of sexual passion sucked completely out of your body in 0.2 seconds flat."
"I have a gift. The nuns taught me."
"And their rulers. Their naughty, slapping rulers."
"You think that's gonna turn me on? Trix Rabbit, Canto. Tell me you never had a fantasy involving the Trix Rabbit."
"Oh, my /God/. What did I say a second ago, about the fucked-up levels of your mind?"
"Not /my/ mind. I always had a thing for She-Ra. She was hot. --I seem to recall you said you could go all night."
"Not while I'm being tormented by visions of Keebler elves and tigers and motherfucking /rabbits/, oh, my. Make it stop, Chris. Please, make it stoooop."
"I got the magic touch, Leah. Still sensitive? I can just rub it all away--"
"/Ohhh/."
"Feel good?"
"If you stop that -- oh, God, oh, Go-- if you /stop/, I'll kill you. With my teeth. Bite you."
"Who said anything about stopping? What I want to know is if you can carry on intelligent conversation while I'm doing it. So how was your day?"
"I didn't . . . there was a story -- /fuck/ me, asshole. I can't -- ahhhh."
"We could pretend the moaning was words, but the /writhing/--"
"/God/ -- bite you with my /teeth/--!"
"You'd bite me? The person who's doing this to you? The guy you're in love with? You'd do that?"
"Would. I would. Like this--"
"/Owgoddamnfucking/-- God, woman. /God/. I love you so much. Jesus. Why didn't I tell you sooner? Come for me, Canto. Let me hear you--"
"!"
"....breathe, Leah. Shh. Breathe. I love you. Breathe...."
"Trying. Breathing. Right. Right. Oh, Chris. Love you. Love you more than anything. Anything ever."
"Yeah, I know. I should've turned on the light. I like watching you. It's too dark--"
"I like the dark. It's quiet. Safe. Just us here, y'know? --Hold me, Rossi. Please."
"I got you, Canto. I got you. Your heartbeat's still racing."
"Like you had nothing to do with that."
"Do I sound smug? Should I apologize?"
". . . No. Just hold me. I'm so cold all of a sudden. So cold."
"Here. You want another blanket? It's probably all the -- Christ. You're freezing. I think I'm bleeding where you bit me."
"Oh, hell. We're a pair of drama queens, even when we don't need to be, huh? No, I'm okay. I'll just suck all the living warmth out of you. You can keep your blood, though. Ick."
"Stop making me laugh, Canto. Seriously. I have an image to maintain, here."
"For me?"
"For-- like you've ever given a shit for my masculine dignity."
"I give a shit for it. I give a shit for you -- all of you. Your dignity, your laughing, your insecurities, your anger, your generosity . . ."
"Insecurities. What insecurities? I thought I was perfect. Might have to write the manufacturers to complain."
"I'll take it up with God personally. I got a direct line, you know."
"Yeah? Next time you see him, tell him he's a crappy neighbor. Never calls, never writes--"
"Maybe if you stopped by His house once in a while . . ."
"Once in a while. Nobody's home. Screw that. Who needs God when I got a Leah?"
"He misses you. The way I do. Same thing. It's all love. It's more than me, Chris. You should go see Him. Sit awhile. Talk and see if He talks back. I'm serious."
"You're starting to sound like one of those born again God Squadders, Canto. If I want to fight with you about one of your boyfriends--"
"You're the only boyfriend I got. God's something else. God probably wouldn't tie me up like Percy Talhurst, either. More's the pity."
"You wan-- sorry. Damn, I'm sleepy. You want me to tie you up, all you got to do is ask."
"Okay, Chris. It's no big deal, really. I like what we have right here. I never want to leave it. Or you."
"Then don't. Stay here. Don't leave."
"I wish I could, but you have to get some sleep. Big day tomorrow. Every day's a big day for Detective First Grade Rossi of the NYPD. Magneto, the Feds, the school--"
"Talking to kids. Jesus. Like being the FBI's bitch isn't bad enough. Goddammit. I think you really did draw blood. My -- arm's sticky."
"Shit. Stay there; I'll go to the bathroom and get a washcloth. Don't move, okay? Don't go away, Chris. Stay for me."
"I'm fine. It's fine. It's just a little --/Leah/. Don't go."
"--ave to go. Gotta look after that blood on you. All that blood, my God, how could there be so much blood from such a little wound--"
"Goddammit. Leah. Shut up. Stop talking, just -- fuck. /Fuck/. This isn't ... it was just a little-- I didn't mean.... don't /go/."
"--away now, Chris, goodbye, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I love you, Rossi, I always loved you, Chris, I'm sor--"
"No. /No/. Lea--!"
The name punches through the dark like a bullet wound, torn and bleeding over a raw throat. In the shattered peace of his room, Chris Rossi lurches up in his bed, slick with sweat, heartbeat thunderous: aching, anguished, agonized--
3:23 AM. He buries his face in his hands, draws in a shuddering breath, and rolls out of bed. A shower, first, and then -- whatever comes. There are hours to stay awake until the day.
[Log ends]