In reality. Out of reality. In, out, in again.
"Is this real? What's going on? If I died now, would it matter?" Ariadne frequently asked herself these questions.
Check your totem. Check again. Again.
Check again.
It was habit now. "Could I be fooling myself? I am just repeating the habit?" Ariadne frequently asked herself these questions.
After the Ficsher job, she had gone back to Paris. Back to school. Back to the routine.
She had taken to predicting the days: Wake up. Remember (Dreams, Inception, Arthur, Reality, Arthur.). Go to school. Come home. Don't sleep.
Everything was stuck on repeat. Every day was the same.
Ariadne knew – she knew – that there was something wrong. Something was out of place. She, herself, she was out of place. She was dreaming. She had to be.
Her totem was tricking her.
~vOvOvOvOvOv~
She watched. People going one way with the light, heading back with the dark. Back, forth, back, forth.
She considered her mind to be very unoriginal.
~vOvOvOvOvOv~
She was falling behind in school.
Where are your sketches? Why don't you eat? Is there a problem at home?
Questions, questions, questions.
You'll fail this class. You won't finish the year. You'll miss your chance.
Warnings, warnings, warnings.
She thought of Professor Myles. But she couldn't go to him: he was not real. What help would he be?
~vOvOvOvOvOv~
Ariadne knew. She knew what had to be done. But she couldn't bring herself to do it. She didn't own a gun.
~vOvOvOvOvOv~
Ariadne walked outside. Everything was grey. The sky loomed over her like a cage. The air was heavy, making it hard to breathe. She walked back inside. The stairwell had grown smaller, threatening to crush her. She felt like she walked twice the stairs up as she did down. "Paradox." The walls in her apartment had faded, the floor seemed less solid. Her silverware looked dull, as did the cooking knives.
She's not going to classes today.
~vOvOvOvOvOv~
She was staring at her wall. She was not eating. She was not sketching. She was debating reality.
Ariadne noticed a sound. Knock. She ignored it.
KnockKnockKnockKnock.
With a sigh, she got to her feet and ambled over to the door, a disgruntled expression on her face.
Ariadne opened the door and looked up into dark, worried eyes.
"Arthur," she breathed a look of disbelief. "This doesn't happen. Where's the routine?"
Arthur looked down at her. Ariadne was indeed having trouble. Ariadne had lost weight – a lot of it. She was paler, her eyes hollow-looking. This was not Ariadne. This was not the Ariadne Arthur had fallen in love with.
His face was etched with lines of worry. "I'm so sorry, Ariadne."
Her face kept the disbelieving look. "What for?"
"I've been watching you. You're not handling the transition well."
She didn't speak.
"I couldn't contact you. Two week rule, remember?"
Two weeks? It had only been two weeks? It had felt like months, so many months.
"Time must be very, very fluid in dreams." She thought.
Arthur stood there in the doorway, watching her. She moved to the side, hand on the door – inviting him inside.
Arthur briskly walked in and looked around. The sink was filled with dishes; there were random articles of clothing littering the floor. A trail of water was leading from her bathroom in the hall, to the bedroom, to the main room where he was standing. An apple core was sitting on the window sill. Books were strewn about, sketchbooks torn and shredded on the floor. A knife was sitting precariously on the edge of the table.
She had drawn on the walls. Not building or layouts: People.
Arthur could pick out Cobb, Eames, even Saito. Mal was always drawn with the lines "Is this real?" underneath.
Arthur picked out his own face the most. Him, in a suit. Him, holding the PASIV. Him, standing over her with a comforting expression. Him, holding his dye. Him, eyes shining and gun drawn.
He turned back to Ariadne. She had closed the door and walked back to the middle of the room, frowning. "Arthur projection?" she asked herself. "It has to be."
He walked over to her, put his hands on the tops of his shoulders. "Ariadne."
She looked up at him, feeling his breath come down and wash over her face. She closed her eyes.
"I don't think you're real." She said.
It was worse than he thought. Arthur's eyes narrowed. "Ariadne, you've got to listen to me. You're not dreaming. This is real."
She shook her head. He stepped closer, bringing both hands up to cup her face.
"This is real, Ari. You are not dreaming." She continued to shake her head.
"Ari, Ari," he said softly. Arthur brought his forehead down on hers. "This is real. I'm real."
She shook her head violently back and forth in his hands, tears streaming down her face.
Arthur fought the urge to reach and wipe the tears away. That would be going too far - Ariadne was in enough trouble without him bringing in his feelings.
"No," she said, backing away from him. Arthur held his arms still in the air around where Ariadne used to be. "No, this is Limbo. You're not real. You're my mind. You're trying to trick me!"
"No, Ari," Arthur dropped his arms. His face was full of emotion. "How can I prove it to you?" He stepped closer, she backed away.
"You can't."
Arthur was in turmoil. "She thinks I'm lying, that I'm a projection." Arthur didn't know what to do. What could he do? She was Mal. Arthur silently gasped.
She was Mal.
"Please, Ariadne, you have to believe me," his voice sounded desperate.
He stepped forward, she stepped back.
"Stop it! Just stop!" she picked up her totem off the floor and threw it across the room – hard- at Arthur. "You're liars!" He ducked quickly and heard the silver Bishop hit the wall behind him.
"I can't take this." She walked over to the window, yanked it open and stuck her head out. It was a long fall.
Arthur's heart missed a beat. They were on the eleventh floor.
"No!" He flung himself across the room, towards the window.
Ariadne felt a heavy weight hit her, bringing her back inside and to the ground.
She looked up. Arthur was on top of her, pinning her to the floor.
His hair was askew and his tie had fallen out of his vest. Ariadne couldn't help but notice how beautiful he was. How she had fallen for him. How she loved him, but she wouldn't tell. Because he couldn't possibly feel the same way.
"Arthur." His name on her tongue was more than he could take.
He bent down and kissed her. She squeaked beneath him and he backed off, but still pinning her to the floor. She was looking up at him with a startled expression. His heart crumbled.
She was at a loss for words. She gazed up at him, noticing the sadness in his eyes. This only made Ariadne cry harder, closing her eyes and biting her lip.
Arthur released both her hands and brought his finger to her face, wiping the new tears away. "I made her cry." He was ashamed with himself.
Arthur started to get up, not wanting to hold her prisoner anymore, only to feel a tug around his neck. Ariadne had her small hand wrapped around his tie, pulling him closer to her.
He brought his face close to hers, stopping just before their noses touched. "Is this real?" Ariadne whispered.
"Yes." Arthur said, looking her straight in the eye.
Ariadne reached up and tentatively touched her lips with his. Arthur didn't move.
She brought her hands to his face.
Arthur kissed her back, taking her lips in his own, slightly rougher than before. She didn't object.
Ariadne could feel – feel – Arthur's assurance. She knew then she wasn't dreaming. This was real. Arthur was real.
Arthur broke away, taking a breath. He looked down and said, "Do you believe me now?" He rolled them over on the floor, so that they were laying side-by-side, facing each other.
When she saw him, she knew. "Yes."
He gathered Ariadne in his arms, cradling her to his chest as silent tears leaked down her cheeks.
I didn't realize until now that I put a rhyme in here... FACEPALM. Reviews? Pretty,pretty please?