She dreaded waking now. There was a moment, every morning, when she was warm in her bed and still drowsy. The blankets were the perfect weight to compel her to not move. It was dark outside and the traffic noise from the street was distant and rhythmic like a tide. The world made sense and she was unafraid. Then her mind offered up the remnants of the nightmares and the adrenaline drove her from her bed, shaking and nauseous.
He had been in her kitchen again this morning, reading the back of a cereal box. She didn't bother to go for her gun anymore. She was running out of dishes to break. She tried to ignore him. He smiled when she came into the room, still in pajamas and feeling blurry from lack of sleep. Coffee was instantly forgotten and she spun towards the door. He was in front of her then and she whimpered at the spicy scent of his aftershave. "Good morning, Liv." She didn't resist when he tilted her head back and brushed his lips across hers. He deepened the kiss and she idly wondered how far her mind could take this illusion. He was gone when she opened her eyes.
Sometimes she missed him enough that she could feel him near her, as if summoned. She couldn't tell when she was imagining him or just imagining that she was imagining. The circular thoughts chased around her head and left her nearly hyperventilating. It was only long years of practice that left her face blank. She could force herself to act normal through anything. She would ignore him until he went away.
She was increasingly uncertain if he would ever go away. She felt a gnawing panic when she considered that he might go away.
The sound of water deadened her ears and made her feel vulnerable. She found herself whipping the shower curtain aside multiple times every morning. She locked the bathroom door now, uncertain who she was trying to keep out. Imaginary ghosts weren't bothered by locked doors, as evidenced by the number of times she found him snooping in her medicine cabinet. She resolutely did not think about how she was finding the cabinet door open after having imagined it so. Some days she showered at the gym at the federal building but when she was being honest with herself she had to admit she felt no safer there.
She was desperately lonely and angry with herself for feeling lonely. She worked longer than necessary to be around other people. She avoided the lab because Walter, when lucid, looked at her so sympathetically it made her heart hurt. She avoided the lab because Peter, when not self-absorbed, looked at her so longingly it made her heart hurt. She avoided her apartment because she worried that she would be unwilling to ignore the John-ghost there.
She was eating poorly, but not was terribly interested in doing anything about it. She went to the store only when she was out of whiskey. If she happened to be out of milk or cereal she would buy that, too. She tried to eat the lunches that Charlie brought her, but more often than not she threw the food out after he left. She knew that he knew that she was throwing the food away and he stayed longer every day trying to wait her out. She was far more patient and could pick at a sandwich for a infinite amount of time. She drank coffee throughout the day to give her just enough jittery energy to function.
She was washing her cereal bowl and then he was behind her, nibbling at her neck. She was pleased that she didn't drop the bowl into the sink and break it. He licked just behind her ear and it was so good and delicious and real. Her eyes were hot with tears. She leaned on the sink, sobbing as the John-ghost whispered in her ear, lips brushing softly, need spiking though her. She shivered violently.
She pushed away from the sink and stumbled to bed, uncertain which she dreaded more: that he would follow or that he would not. She curled under the blanket, still shivering. The lights from the street were distorted though the curtains on the French door near her bed. She was afraid to sleep. The nightmares were worse than waking.
But not by much.