Sweet Dreams

a Carrie Kelly drabble


He's killing me.

throb

He's breaking me.

crack

Cutting me.

burn

My bones.

snap

My face.

pain

He's killing me.

He's killing me.

Oh God he's LAUGHING—

creeeeeeeeakpop

scream

scream

scream

He won't stop laughing.

Saying something. I can't hear it, all I hear is my blood pounding pounding pounding through all the holes he's made.

twist

oh god

why is no one

that fucking smile

biting me

no

kissing me

kissing me kissing me kissing me

KISSING ME

A whisper eats through the pain.

"I'll skin you alive."

Her eyes open, stare quietly at the ceiling. No pained gasps, no screaming, no flailing limbs, nothing. Her body has barely registered the terror her mind is still recovering from. She isn't surprised at the lack of reaction.

This nightmare isn't a new one.

An exhaled curse, and she throws the blankets to one side. So much for a good night's sleep. A glance at the clock through her good eye makes it impossible to hold back a groan. Not even two in the morning. So much for a good night's anything. She'd barely been asleep forty minutes. And there'd be no sleep after this either.

She knows what to expect whenever she dreams of him.

Winces against the yellow glare of the bathroom light and instinctively turns from the mirrors. The doubled bulbs are of course not all that bothers her, but it's nice to pretend.

She sits on the toilet, staring intently at the fibers of her worn towels as she relives herself. Imagines little faces and chuckles at the old habit, but falls silent and looks away at the first sign of that too-big grin.

The water from the sink faucet numbs her hands, grows warmer, warmer, begins to scald. Steam wets her face.

The mirror still hurts, even though her eyes are used to the light.

"Dick Grayson," she hisses through mangled lips, fingers curling against the lip of the vanity. The name burns as sharply as he knives had long, long ago, in the darkness and echoing of the Batcave. "You son of a bitch."

Her fingers crawl up and across the ravaged pieces of her face. Memories of turning down plastic surgery, though her reasoning behind this has long since left her. She laughs, loud and shrill. The echoes bouncing off the tiles make her ears throb out of cadence with her slow, rock-steady pulse.

Her grin is as crooked as his had been.

"You son of a bitch."


characters (c) DC Comics

Batman: The Dark Knight Strikes Again (c) Frank Miller

plot (c) me