Another Young Justice fic.
Again, I'm not sure where it came from, or where it went. Lots of mistakes and what not. It's also written in present tense, something that I never, ever do. So, it will be weird.
Disclaimer: Don't own YJ.
Please, please review. I do like comments on my work.
Enjoy :).
He takes in a deep breath. That had been the seventh time this week and it wasn't even Friday. He remembers the sick feeling in stomach, the aftermath of the sudden shock. His stomach turns. All of a sudden he feels so ill. He feels the clamminess of hands against his face, the cold sweat dripping from him. He feels as if his stomach is about to vomit back up everything he had downed in his last meal. He swallows the feeling, hoping it will pass. It does.
This had to stop. It was tearing him apart on the inside.
With a cautious step forward he blinks, just in case she's still there. Still watching him, still following him. But she wasn't. A sigh of relief escapes his mouth as he continues forward, unsure if he does, or doesn't really want to see her again. But he doesn't get a choice in the matter, she is gone.
He questions why he had even got out of bed. It was too early and he was way too tired to be dealing with this. That's right, he had needed water. Cold water. Icy cold water. His thirst wasn't quenched by the room temperature liquid from the tap. His mouth had been so dry that it was like swallowing sandpaper over and over. After eight glasses, a litre, of ice water, his thirst had been satisfied. Finally. Then on his – no.
He needs to focus, he reminds himself. He needs to get back into his room and back into his cool bedroom, with the air-conditioner on full blast. He needs the security of his comfy mattress and light weight sheet. That's what he needs.
He slips into his room, closing the door gently behind him. A tired half-hearted smile graces his lips at the sight of his bed. He slowly shuffles to the bare bed, with its quilt strewn half across the room along with the flat sheet. He crawls from the bottom of the bed to the top and lets his body collapse into the therapeutic mattress. He feels his muscles relax and the slightly cool breeze from the air con brushing lightly across his skin.
He lets his eyelids droop, ready for sleep. He wishes for this new insomniac behaviour to cease. He wants a decent night's sleep. He wants to sleep without thinking about her, without dreaming about her. His thoughts now start and end with her. Sleep used to be a refuge. Now, it was a nightmare, ironically. He used to be able to sleep dreamlessly for hours and hours and actually arouse feeling refreshed. Now, it would take hours to doze off, followed by hours of vivid dreams that seemed to add to his body's fatigue. Sometimes horrific images were featured, flashes of blood and gore filling his vision. Sometimes the images were heaven like, too beautiful for mortal eyes. Sometimes the wake up calls were harsh and frightening, others more deep and emotional. Then, his sleep would end, until the next attempt another, almost twenty hours later.
He wants his brain to switch off, but it can't. It has to keep going, keep thinking.. keep seeing. It can't switch off like that anymore. Past images always reoccur, which sends his brain into stress.
Come on, he mentally drones to himself. Just sleep.
On impulse, he snaps his eyes open.
If he weren't so used to it, he probably would have leaped off the bed in fright. The familiar sight of the long haired blonde lies in front of him. Her face is solemn, but strangely serene. Her eyes are that beautiful shade of honey brown that he loves. Her long blonde tresses are untied and free flowing, cascading beautifully down the nape of her neck, down her chest and piling onto the sheets of his bed.
She is dressed scantily in a short white camisole and matching white briefs. Her body is toned and slender, her muscles flexing slightly as her limbs shift and change ever so slightly. Her lips are soft and inviting, parting slightly. He can almost feel her warm breath.
He can almost hear the words being whispered from her lips.
She smiles. It makes him melt. He can sense the stress leaving him as he watches her smile so freely, so innocently and so lovingly at him. It makes him feel so pure. For a moment.
Then he remembers. She is dead.
The warm flush of emotions he is experiencing suddenly vanish into thin air.
He squeezes his eyes shut, wishing she would just disappear.
It was hard enough dealing with her death, but now, he had been reliving her almost every day since exactly seven days after her death. She had appeared exactly a week later. He thought it was a one-time thing; however that was not the case. It became regular. Once a week later, then twice the next, soon it would become three times a day, twice, if he was lucky. Now it was bordering on four after that little appearance.
Maybe he's lucky. Seeing the dead girl that he loves every day, appearing to him like a dream. Maybe. Many people would wish for that. Many people would kill for that. But he is torn. The emotions that evoke inside of him every time he sees her are painful. They are so deep and inconsistent. They can leave him depressed for hours or in a state of complete euphoria. He loves seeing her, but.. the pain is unbearable.
He wishes she was still alive.
He realises he had been squeezing his eyes shut so tight that it's beginning to hurt. He releases the pressure for a moment, and he feels it. It's wet, and it's slowly sliding down his cheek.
He can't bear to open his eyes, just in case. Just in case she's still there, watching him, watching him break.
He misses her. More than anyone could possibly imagine.