Disclaimer: I don't own Until Dawn.
The Strength of Your Limbs (Is Nothing Compared to Your Heart)
"The past is our definition. We may strive with good reason to escape it, or to escape what is bad in it. But we will escape it only by adding something better to it."
– Wendell Berry
"The most authentic thing about us is our capacity to create, to overcome, to endure, to transform, to love, and to be greater than our suffering."
– Ben Okri
She can hear the horrible creature just behind her, scrabbling across the rock and screeching loud enough to wake the dead. She keeps running, the tunnel ahead bathed in the red light of the flare, shadows jumping crazily around her and suddenly there are claws in her shoulder and teeth in her neck and she screams in pain and horror and she can feel its teeth grinding against her bones and the hot, wet rush of blood spilling across her skin –
Emily woke with a scream on her lips and a phantom pain throbbing like fire in her right shoulder. Her hand flew instinctively to the place where the wendigo had bitten her; her fingers found only rough scar tissue, not the raw, bleeding flesh she half-expected.
She shuddered and threw back her covers, climbing out of bed and flicking on all the lights. It didn't take her long to pace around the entirety of her small apartment, resolutely pretending that she wasn't checking every nook and cranny for cannibalistic monsters. You're pathetic, Emily – what do you expect, that a wendigo will somehow wander into a busy urban area, break into the flat, and hide in the kitchen cupboard?
She came to a halt in the hallway. The wooden floorboards were cool against her bare feet and despite the fact that her apartment was flooded with cheerful yellow light, it still felt horribly empty. It was filled with the echoes of another person – a person who was never coming back.
Emily was only aware she was clenching her fists when a sudden acute pain in her palms made her start. She unfurled her hands to reveal ten tiny red crescents where her nails bitten into her skin and stared unseeingly at the blood slowly welling up.
When the police had told her they had recovered Matt's body, it had filled her with a sort of empty relief. At least she had known for sure then, even if it had confirmed the worst (no, no, not the worst, not the worst, they put Josh down like a rabid animal when he attacked them, at least Matt died entirely human) but that had changed when she had seen the pictures. She was pretty sure she wasn't supposed to have seen them at all, but she had caught a glimpse of the police photographs when she was walking through the station and the sight of her boyfriend suspended from a hook, like an animal carcass hung up to drain, was emblazoned vividly in her mind's eye.
I am never going to unsee that. It was there every time she fell asleep; if she wasn't being chased through those awful mines again, fleeing, fighting and often dying (I didn't die, I fucking beat them, I'm here, alive), then she was witnessing Matt's body the way she never had in real life, stumbling upon in it in the mines as she ran.
Emily turned and paced back to bed. Her hands itched for a weapon but she forced them to stay at her sides. She was fine. She was normal. She was coping. She was not someone who needed a security blanket; she was getting on with her life.
She slid into bed and switched off the lights. Darkness fell again, with only a sliver of silver moonlight streaming in through the curtains. The double bed felt vast and empty without another sleeping body at her side. It was too quiet without Matt's familiar snuffling noises (not endearing, never endearing, irritating if anything), it was too cold without his warmth and gentle presence against her back (he always made the bed too hot damnit).
She rolled over, aware that she was squeezing too hard again, her nails breaking the skin on her hands. I didn't love him for fuck's sake. (But I could have, in time. He was warm, like a ray of sunlight, and he was causing a slow thaw, like spring after a thousand years of winter).
Emily groaned, burying her face in the pillow. Shut up, shut up, shut up! Be happy with what you fucking have! You've never fucking needed anyone and you're not about to start now! I didn't die, I fucking beat them, I'm here, alive.
(Alone.)
Then, as if on cue, her phone rang. It was very quiet but it still made her jump, startled. It took common sense a second to catch up, then she cursed and fought her way out of the duvet, ignoring the too-rapid pace of her heart.
Picking up the phone (not the one that had failed her in the mines, she'd ditched that piece of shit as soon as she could), Emily was completely unsurprised to see whose picture was flashing up on the screen. She tapped 'accept call' and spoke tersely into the receiver, making no effort to hide her irritation. "What do you want, Sam?"
There was silence on the other end of the line for a second. Then Sam spoke in a low, even tone, "I was worried about you."
Emily barely restrained a snort. Sam seemed to have developed a sixth sense for knowing when one of the other members of the group were having a Blackwood-related freakout (not that I was doing any such thing). Emily had been on the receiving end of seemingly random calls in the middle of the night for the last three months, either right after a nightmare or when she couldn't sleep at all. "I'm fine, Sam. Turn off your Spidey-sense and go back to bed."
After all, you might lose your place if you stay out of it for too long, she thought snidely, ignoring the painful pang in her chest. It's pretty fucking crowded nowadays.
"Emily –"
The concern in Sam's tone nearly undid her and she snapped furiously to hide her own wavering emotions, "For fuck's sake, I'm fine Sam, go the fuck back to bed!"
There was a long pause. Then the blonde spoke again. "I'm not fine though, Emily." Her tone was gentle and coaxing, without being patronising, and Emily felt a fierce anger well up inside her at Sam for being so fucking nice. "I would sleep better if you were here."
It was flimsy and transparent, a completely obvious change of tack that Emily would have been able to see through at the age of nine; it was a way for Emily to save face, offered by someone who knew her far too well. She already knew what her response was going to be. "For God's sake, Sam," she sighed in disgust (self-disgust). "I'm coming. Give me ten minutes."
"Thank you, Emily." The blonde's voice was warm and bright. "I'll see you soon."
Emily huffed. "Bye, Sam." She hung up with a vicious stab of one finger at her phone screen and grabbed a bag from her dressing table. It was the work of a moment to throw a change of clothes and some toiletries in, pull a hoodie on over her sleep shorts and cami, and slip on a pair of sneakers. (She'd never bothered with sneakers really, before Blackwood, but they were, for obvious reasons, the best kind of shoes to run in.)
She locked the door behind her and left her empty, dark apartment without a second glance.
xxx
It took her fifteen minutes to drive across town to Sam's flat. After graduation last year, they had all been accepted by the same college, except for Matt, who was due to graduate and hopefully join them that coming fall (was and will never).
Unlike the rest, however, Emily had insisted on living across town, away from the stereotypical college accommodation.
"Like hell I'm sleeping in some grungy student digs," she had sniffed.
"Aww, c'mon Em, it'll be fun!"
"Student accommodation isn't that bad!"
"Besides, you can always fork out for the really good stuff if that's what's bothering you."
She had cut off their protests with a derisive remark of, "What, do you guys need me to hold your hands all the time now?" and sailed ahead with her plans anyway.
(She couldn't stand to be in close proximity to Mike and Jess right now, the wound of their double betrayal still raw and bleeding. Couldn't stand to be near Josh, who had so recently rejoined them after months of isolation, a shadow of his former self. Things were still awkward sometimes with the rest too, whenever a lull in conversation happened and heavy thoughts started to crowd in to fill the silence. But it was too late to go to another college, the plans and applications had been made long before that fateful February, and besides, it would look like running away. And she refused to be seen as a coward.)
Emily laughed, low and bitter as she pulled up in front of Sam's apartment building. Who needs their fucking hand held now? she thought, before cutting it off abruptly and stuffing it away into the dark recesses of her mind.
She phoned Sam, which would likely cause less fuss than if she pressed the buzzer. "I'm here," she said, taking care to sound as irritated as possible.
"Cool." Sam managed to sound pleased even in an undertone. She let Emily in and the brunette climbed the two flights of stairs to Sam's apartment. The door was partially cracked open and it swung wide when Sam spotted her. "Come on in."
Emily ignored the other girl (women, they were all women now, they had earned the right to that at least) as she stepped over the threshold, pretending she didn't see the understanding in Sam's smile, clinging to the anger and bitterness and biting disdain that had always allowed her to win at life. (I don't think this is something you win, Emily, just something you survive.)
She toed off her shoes and dropped her bag and followed Sam wordlessly through to the bedroom. The sight that greeted her now was a familiar one.
Lying haphazardly across two twin beds pushed together, were four sleeping figures. Chris, his glasses on the bedside table, lying on his back and snoring like a chainsaw. Ashley, sprawled out with an arm flung over his chest, the fingers of one hand clenched in his PJ top, directly over his heart for reassurance. The fingers of her other hand were linked with Jess', even as both women slept. Jess herself was curled into Mike's side like a little monkey, trying to take up as small a space as possible, and one of Mike's arms was wrapped around her in return. His other arm was empty but there was a dent in the sheet that said Sam had been lying there mere minutes before.
"Anyone else would accuse you guys of having an orgy," Emily muttered, pulling off her hoodie and dropping it on a chair. Sam only smiled as she reached the side of the bed.
"Hey, Mike," she whispered, poking him in the side. He stirred a little. "Mike," she insisted. His eyes opened and he blinked, focusing on Sam's face.
"Sam? You okay?" The immediate concern in his voice made something in Emily's chest wrench painfully.
"I'm fine. But I won't be if you don't budge up," she threatened playfully.
Mike groaned theatrically. "And the little one said 'Roll over', huh?"
"I am not the little one," Sam denied. "And no one has to fall out of the bed if you just squeeze up a little."
Mike gave her an exaggerated once-over and a fake leer. "I don't mind doing a little squeezing, Sam."
"Shut up, Mike." A hand snaked over the tangle of bodies to lightly smack Mike's chest. "You're disgusting," Ashley yawned, her voice thick with sleep.
"She's right," Jess murmured without opening her eyes. "C'mon." She tugged at Mike's tank top. "Scooch over and let them in."
Mike pretended to grumble even as he shifted over, Ashley and Jess moving back to let him. "Fine. But this better not be an elaborate plot to push me down the gap between the beds."
"Of course not, Michael," Jess said sweetly, still with her eyes closed. "Why ever would you think that?"
"Minx," he huffed, dropping a light kiss on her forehead, and the corners of her mouth tugged up even as the rest of her expression remained serene.
Emily ignored the worsening pain in her chest at the banter, as Sam dropped onto the bed and moved to lie next to Mike, leaving the space next to her open. "That wasn't so bad, was it Mike?"
"You're all ganging up on me," he complained. "Hey, Chris, buddy, back me up here!"
"Don't wake him!" Ashley hissed but it was too late; Chris' snores broke off into snorts and then he woke abruptly.
"Buh?" he said blearily.
"Sorry, Chris, Mike's just being an idiot," Sam informed him, settling against the pillows.
Chris yawned. "When is he not?"
Emily took the opportunity to lie down quietly next to Sam, almost unnoticed as Mike noisily protested the accusation and Ashley laughed, reluctantly amused, and Jess smiled a tiny secret smile against her boyfriend's side.
Then Chris squinted shortsightedly across the bed, finally spotting her, and in his usual clumsy way, acknowledged the elephant in the room. "Hey, Emily. Come to join the co-dependency group?"
Silence fell.
Emily's first instinct to deny. Deny loud, long, and at all costs. Her second was flee, much to her private anger. Her third was anger, anger at Sam for persuading her into this, anger at herself for being weak enough to want it.
But as all these emotions passed, what was left in the end was a bone-deep weariness and a grief the likes of which she never felt before and wasn't sure was ever going to go away. But being around these assholes seemed to help and Emily had finally reached the point where the pain was more important than her pride.
Not that she had to let them know that.
"Don't be ridiculous," she sniffed, even as Sam's arm looped over her side. "It's hardly my fault if Sam won't stop ringing me at all hours of the night. I just want some peace and quiet." The last sentence tasted so much of the truth she nearly bit right through her lip, but none of it showed in her voice at least.
"Well, I just can't sleep without all of my best buddies here. I need my cuddle huddle." Sam's voice was warm and teasing in her ear and any lingering awkwardness dissipated into laughter and calls of "Is that what they're calling it nowadays?" and "Cuddle huddle? I don't think I agreed to anything called any such thing."
A little of the pain lodged in Emily's chest loosened at the sound of the banter, at the creak of the mattress as someone rolled over (Jess) and another playful squabble sprang up (Mike and Ashley) and someone verbally knocked their heads together (Sam) and a voice called plaintively for everyone to go back to sleep (Chris).
Eventually, everyone settled back down and the room fell into comfortable silence. Emily listened to the breathing of her five remaining friends even out and deepen, as they dropped off one by one. The room was filled with warm, breathing bodies, shifting and sleeping (and safe) all around her and she could finally, finally, go to sleep herself.
(I'm not alone.)
A/N: Well, this accidentally ended up being a story about Emily. I genuinely can't stand her in-game (apart from when she's on her own with no one to have really horrible interactions with) but apparently I can understand her enough to write about her. xD I sort of like my interpretation of her though? xD I don't know. Maybe it's easier to like her when I'm in her head. And I really wanted to write this snuggly post-game story. I totally see them being all co-dependent, oh-dear-we-seem-to-have-somehow-all-moved-into-your-flat-Sam.
But I couldn't imagine Emily to joining in on this unless she had no choice. (This story's working title was genuinely 'Emily is Too Proud for Her Own Good'.) So Matt had to die. (Sorry, Matt.) And Josh was doomed by canon. (Sorry, Josh.) At least the rest of the friends got to cuddle? xD
Also, if you're wondering, for this story I do consider Chris and Ashley, and Mike and Jess as couples and the rest of the relationships as super, super, close co-dependent friends, but feel free to interpret it as you wish. xD
Thank you for reading and if you enjoyed, please leave a review. :)