Disclaimer: I don't own this character nor the show/book.
Warning: Mentions of alcoholism, torture (nothing explicit), and just very sad.
Your days are filled with thoughts on what you once had and how it all went to shit.
On some days your whole being is filled with anger. Anger at those who left you. Anger at the monster who caused it all. Anger at yourself for not realizing that you were never really safe.
On other days, it's filled with longing and regret.
Longing for the days that your home was filled with laughter and smiles. Days that ended with another's embrace and warmth.
Regret for being so naive. For believing that the days of pain and suffering were behind you. After everything you had suffered you thought maybe, just maybe, you could have your happy ending.
Obviously you were dead wrong.
Majority of the time all you feel is an emptiness that settles deep into your bones. You can't shake it off but that doesn't hinder your attempts to drink yourself to a drunken stupor.
Surrounded by nothing but your thoughts and the stench of alcohol. In a house in shambles surrounded by dirt, dirt, and more dirt. Not even your dogs to soothe you or keep the nightmares at bay.
Nothing, but you and a bottle of Jack Daniels and a grim reminder etched into your face of what you had lost and who was at fault.
And, of course, the nightmares. How could you forget? They never really left. Even when you were in the comfort of your home, surrounded by your family. Even then, you could not escape them.
Nightmares of a dark shadow that enveloped your whole being, controlling your every move. Forcing you to hold a blade and cut into your loved ones. Having to listen to them beg and scream and cry and stare at you with pleading eyes. Watching as the life leaves their eyes. Of a beast that whispered soothing encouragements into your ears.
Now, instead of a beast, it is now a man. The man who you believed was your friend. The man who you took too long to see what he truly was. A monster.
The nightmares leave you shaking, covered in sweat. They cause you to sob, one hand reaching out blindly for the bottle you know that is on the nightstand by your bedside. You chug it down, hoping it will wash the vestiges of the dream away.
It doesn't. It never does.
It never will.
A/N:
I wrote this like at 3 in the morning about a year ago. I never posted it cause I forgot but now it's here.
This takes place like after Hannibal sent Dolarhyde to kill Will and his family and then Will got cut across the face and went to live in Florida. I never finished the book so I don't really know much about the location and whether he kept his dogs. I just know that he became an alcoholic and fixed boat motors. I obviously didn't mention him fixing boat motors but just ignore that piece of information.