Lately, he didn't have a lot of time to think. He used to have altogether too much when he didn't have a lot to think about, pretty much just himself and the handful of people who earnestly cared for him. Most of those thoughts weren't big and they were so self-centred in comparison to the kind of thoughts he had to have now, some of which were also self-centred, but at least they were centred on a self that mattered.
When he finally had long moments to think now, it was usually because something horrifying had happened and he didn't want a long moment to think any more, he desperately wanted something that could distract him, that would exhaust him beyond even dream- nightmares. Or force him into more pleasant ones, too pleasant. Those would be dangerous, but they wouldn't scare him out of his mind.
And they couldn't result in anything more embarrassing than what he was already doing: screaming his throat raw. Sometimes wordlessly, but more often with a person's name on his lips. Depending on how long he was caught in the dream, and if anyone overheard him through the thick walls, he would either lie gasping in bed, staring into the night darkened room, hoping he wouldn't fall into a dream once more. He might also tumble out of bed, attempting to disentangle himself from the sheets, but usually pulling his duvet half across the room before he managed, and hurry across the hall and into Alice's room, closing the door softly behind him.
Sometimes he'd just stand there, in the door and breathe in deeply of her scent. Sometimes she'd wake up, sitting and staring at him. Usually he'd rush to her, awake or otherwise, and hold her (or her hand) and reassure himself that she was real, and there, and soft, and calloused, and real, and hot, and sweet-smelling, and beautiful, and powerful, and real. She wasn't a dream, she wasn't some eldritch abomination, she wasn't a memory or soul fragment, wasn't anything but Alice.
Dearly beloved Alice. Not his, just loved by him, he was willingly hers, but he could never claim her. He would never want to do anything but to love her, protect her, know she was there with him... Know that he would always want to have her there. And forget what had been done to her.
He'd remarkably often fail to notice how she tried to clutch at him in her sleep.
I'd forgotten I'd written this. Huh, what do you know. Then again, haven't exactly been writing much lately. But this was written, like, six months ago.
Anyway, please review and tell me what you liked/disliked. =)