Wake to Dream(10)

A thin, black shirt did very little to disguise the fit body beneath. Shadows traced lines of corded muscle, the cloth stretched over shoulders too broad for such delicate fabric.

Dark linen pants wrapped around thin hips, traveling lower to bulge out over thick, solid thighs. Max's booted feet were set at shoulder width where he stood motionless and silent.

When he cocked his head to the side, the thick wave of his black hair dusted his shoulders, the obsidian depth of color drawing the eye to his face half marred by scarring that could only have been left by fire.

Even with the disfigurement, his features were captivating and haunted.

"I'm sorry it had to come to this."

Alice swallowed, the lump thick and sticky, barely sliding down her throat enough for her to speak through parched and cracked lips. "To what?"

Taking one step forward, he braced himself from moving closer, his eyes darting around the room before settling back on her face. Alice’s thoughts were cloudy, perhaps lending to the odd feeling that he was fighting his desire to approach.

"The use of drugs is unfair and barbaric. I realize that. Technically, it's just as bad as a caveman knocking a woman over the head with a club." He paused, his facial features tightening as he winced as some unspoken thought. "But you wouldn't stop screaming. I just wanted it to be quiet, you know? Homes should be quiet."

The room came into focus, but light played in through the windows casting an ethereal glow. Dust motes sparkled in the diffuse streams of morning, amber illumination lending a hazy quality to the room.

I'm dreaming, she thought. It’s nothing more than my imagination.

The thought helped ease the quivering fear in her heart. What was more: it gave her strength and a touch of bravery she believed impossible had this scene been true reality.

"You can't hurt me," she said, the statement matter of fact and without question.

Eyes narrowed in response to her words, he answered, "That's not my intent, but accidents happen." His tone was regretful. It piqued her curiosity, but not enough to question him.

"You're not real," she insisted. Attempting to sit up, she felt sluggish, but it wasn't the crippling boneless feeling from before. Her body ached, her tongue swollen and thick, but despite that, she found the ability to speak. "How can you hurt me when you don't exist?"

His head cocked to the side, his features focused in such a way that Alice wondered if he'd understood what she'd said. Were her words more garbled than she thought?

She didn't have to wonder long.

"I'm not a ghost, Alice. Not yet, at least." His steps were loud against the wood floor, his hand warm where it caressed her tear stained cheek. "Do you feel me? Am I cold?"

"Just a dream," she insisted.

He smiled. "In a way, yes. But not in this way."

Silence fell between them, the susurration of his skin sliding down her face as loud as a jet engine in her head.

"You're so beautiful. Just as I knew you would be. We'll get you dressed...get you ready for your new life. You'll shine, Alice. It'll be what you always wanted. An escape from the life that has done nothing but hurt you. Even in dreams, you could never escape."

But this was a dream. Was her conscious thought bleeding into her nightmares? Was she waking up while still remaining asleep?

Her brows pulled together, confusion saddling her until the air was ice against her skin. Glancing down, she ignored the way he stroked her hair, her breath hitching in her chest to find her body unclothed.

"You didn't suffer," he whispered. "Quite the opposite, in fact."

Tears burned her eyes, understanding weighing her down even more than the lasting effects of the drugs he claimed he'd used. "Did you...?" Sobs choked her voice, rendering her silent.

As if the explanation would excuse the abuse, he spoke to her softly. "You were so cold. I was trying to keep you warm. There was so much vomit that I couldn't clean it up, and then you were cold. If it means anything, I fought to resist. But you begged. As soon as I saw the mess you made of yourself, you begged."

An acrid smell hit her nose, stains on the cushion of the couch outlining where her upper body had once been. Vomit. It had to be. The scent of bile was distinct.

"You'll beg again," he promised. "But not now." His eyes found hers, the light sparkling in the depths of frozen blue. "Let's get you ready. I don't want you to be cold anymore."

Lifting her from the couch, he swung her towards an open door, the metallic clang of a falling leg iron slapping the wood at his feet. Alice faintly remembered the biting cold of the restraint circling her ankle, but the memory was distant and fading. He must have released her when she’d been unconscious.

Where was her fear? As a child, she woke drenched in sweat when the monsters came to toy with her. She’d screamed until her throat was torn, her limbs flailing even as her parents attempted to soothe her panic.

Nothing had consoled her in her youth, but perhaps experience, age, maturity, or exhaustion consoled her now. Was she screaming in the darkness of her bedroom without even knowing it?

"How do you know about my childhood?" It occurred to her finally that this man was intimately aware of her nightmares, but there was no reason for the knowledge. She hadn't told him since she'd woken, she didn't believe it was possible for her to have spoken while drugged.