Every chapter will be one of the symptoms of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Just FYI

Disclaimer: If V were mine, halfway through the movie someone in the audience would have said, 'Hey, why is that short girl tackling V and dragging him offscreen?' None of it is. Alan Moore, Wachowski Brothers, David Lloyd, Vertigo, and men in scary business suits own V and Evey. I just think naughty thoughts and giggle to myself evilly. I am making no money off of this. I do this instead of my homework. Please do not sue me. I have no money, and my organs have been tainted by smoking and alcohol, making them unsaleable on the black market.

"History, Stephen said, is a nightmare from which I am trying to awake."

- James Joyce

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder

Part 1: Nightmares

Most nights, V would wake up screaming. (twenty years twenty bloody years later and he would still wake up screaming) Groping blindly in the dark. (fighting off the ghosts of those long dead killed by his own hand they deserved it every single one of them they all took pieces of him) Then the shaking, which would sometimes last all night. The sheets would be soaked. (sometimes in his panic he would think they were soaked with blood whose blood was hardly the point) The rest of the night would be spent staring into the darkness until he could will his body to obey him.

But after Evey came, he had to alter his nightly routine. She was frightened enough of him without being woken up in the dead of night by his tortured, broken howls. (she looked at him and he drowned voice failing mind still nothing just her) After all, she had been put off by his apron (those eyes always watching always watching can she see behind the mask am i the mask), and that was probably the least terrifying thing about him.

For a while he barely slept at all, trying desperately to convince himself that he didn't need it. (ideas do not sleep not human only men need sleep i am not a man i am less and more and nothing in between) But even V needed to sleep on occasion - he was not confident enough to work around highly explosive material when he could barely count to five. When he finally allowed himself to collapse onto his much-missed bed, he allowed himself to hope that his rest would be uneventful.

It was much worse. Instead of Larkhill, (fire) and twenty years of darkness, he dreamt of her. (her). All those years of convincing himself he was beyond such things (they would never happen anyway not to him dear god look at him), and one wry smile from her shot the whole thing to hell. He dreamt of her. (beneath him writhing mindlessly how could she feel such pleasure she was on fire beneath him his hands hands burned and mutilated could make her back arch and silent screams of ecstasy pour forth)

(his mouth on her firm smooth skin so pale being underground accentuated that she was like one of his statues her hands her hands everywhere caressing and torturing him punishing him he deserved it deserved it all sex and death he killed them now she would kill him and he would thank her with his last gasping breath) The first morning he woke up after such a nightly adventure, his immediate thought was, 'Bollocks.'

Now his fear was that Evey would wake up to the sound of his moans, (did he moan he must moan how could he not moan even in his sleep she brought him to his knees broke him he would weep to be inside her kill die beg just to feel one moment's peace inside her) or that one horrible incident when he fell off the bed and ended up scrambling across the floor to frantically make sure the door was locked. It was.

The day after she left him, he was sure the dreams would end. The day after that terrible betrayal, (for him Evey for HIM he wanted to rape you fuck you degrade you even in my dreams you are a goddess i am not worthy to touch to look at you killed something that i thought had died decades ago and the wound is still raw) he crawled between his clean sheets convinced that he would wake up untroubled. Evey had exorcised Larkhill, and now she herself had essentially been exorcised from his home. (he could have killed her did he want to kill her or fuck her or love her was there a difference anymore)

V woke up screaming, his throat raw and hoarse. Not even a scream an animal noise he could not identify, did not want to. The sheets were soaked. Not with his sweat this time; (evey can't you leave me alone you left me and still you're inside me such a part of me how could this happen how) he was horrified, but not surprised. The darkness yawned before him. (thrusting he was crying this time why was he crying he couldn't stop didn't want to stop only the feel of her and his thrusts and the sobs ripping him apart). His head slowly returned to the pillow. That was wet too. He wasn't sweating. Only then did V start to shake.

A/N: The first story with ANY naughtiness I've written. My second story, too. I have no beta. Anything is appreciated.

Never Gonna Be The Same - Courtney Love, 'America's Sweetheart'