[Home Plot] Sticks and Stones, Pt. IV

[manwithoutfear]

In a word, I wake up violently.

I can't pull in enough air, can't breathe, each inhale a gasp. My throat feels like sandpaper when I dare to swallow. Limbs tangled in my sheets, I roll from the bed onto the ground with a dull thud -- only to realize everything's dulled. My ears are stuffed with cotton and my hands are bone dry, the world around me dark and flat.

It was all a dream. The Hand, Bullseye, Foggy... All of it. It never happened. We never even left the room. My God, the baby-- Is Ellen even--?

The world tilts. I spit out a sound that's part sob, part yell, and punch the floor, once, with everything I'm worth.

It's not enough.

Comments

[manwithoutfear]

"It's fine," I say, the response automatic to the point of reflex. Compared to the anxious knot in my stomach that wants to know whether or not what I heard is real, the hand barely registers.

"The floor isn't, but I'll get someone to come in and fix it."

[shewaswarned]

"The floor can wait too," she promises, gently holding his hand in her own. If she's going to the doctor, the very least she can do is insist that he get checked out too - even if the concept of doing so put her stomach in nervous knots.

She draws their hands down, stepping into his space, moving fingers to his cheek. "Hey."

[manwithoutfear]

I bow my head, leaning into her touch. I want to apologize for everything that did or didn't happen, but I can't find the words. I'm too stuck in my thoughts.

After a few moments, I swallow, throat thick.

"Come on."