versusnurture | fourteen ♢ text & audio & spam

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[She wakes up screaming at what is, relatively speaking, three in the morning. It's a nightmare, the first really bad one since she died. She tries to remember what it was, what exactly, but it's all a blur; she remembers screaming in the dream, too; she remembers a lure; she remembers blood, lots of blood; she remembers a song. Ein Männlein steht im Walde . . . She remembers not being able to breathe. She remembers her mouth was full.]

[The first few nights, she calls people. She asks for help. After that, she wanders the halls, unable to get back to sleep, unwilling to lie in the dark any longer. Her hair is tied back, a scarf tucked around her shoulders, but her scar still stands out against the pale clamminess of her neck.]

audio } ben

[Night one, she calls Ben. She is crying, her voice muffled (she is using the bear as a pillow, as something with which to dry her tears).]

I'm not hurt. [She has to clarify this first, so he doesn't fear for her, so he doesn't hurt for her. This is how she protects him.] But I need you. Please. If - it's not too late.

audio } blight

[It's instinct to contact him. Maybe it's bad instinct. But it's what she reaches for the second night, once she's calmed herself down enough that she's no longer hyperventilating. Once she feels mostly human again.]

[It's midnight. She sounds as chipper as if it was noon.]

What do you know about brain chemistry?

text, filtered away from hannibal } public, april 7

who has nightmares

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[He doesn't know how she can be so calm about it. He doesn't get how she can just say these things. He takes a step forward and hesitates.]

You're right, it can't, I just - I dunno.

Can I give you a hug?

[She's sad. She doesn't know why, all of a sudden, she's sad. It's not as though any of this is new. But there's something itching at the back of her throat, like she feels before she starts to cry.]

Are you going to hurt me?

No, God - no. [His face says everything. How awful the idea of hurting her is, how awful the idea that anyone would use a hug as a ruse for hurting her is. How awful all of this is.]

Then.

[She reaches for his hand and gets his wrist instead, tugging him forward clumsily, gently.]

Then you can, I guess. If you want to. If you promise not to hurt me.

[He lets her pull him forward. Scott is the sort of person to trust other people: he believes what he's told, because why does anyone really have a reason to lie? Maybe it makes him gullible, but he'd rather just be honest. It doesn't even occur to him that he could be stepping into a knife as he wraps his arms around her, gentle, careful. Even if it did occur to him, it probably wouldn't stop him.]

I promise. I promise I'll never hurt you.

[Lots of people promise that, she wants to tell him; but for some reason, she doesn't. Instead she rests her tired head against his shoulder, and she doesn't cry, but sort of wants to.]

Okay, Scott. I believe you.

[It's a lie. But she wraps her arms around him anyway.]

[He thinks it might be a lie, he thinks he hears her heart do something different, but that doesn't matter. She's letting him hug her, she's hugging him back, and for right now, at least, that has to be enough. He holds her tight (but carefully not too tight), and lets his head rest against hers.

He thinks she could use a friend.]

fourteen ♢ text & audio & spam

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