Prompt:
dhampirfangirl ASKED:
Could you write something about what Rose regrets? :)
You know what I hate more than just about anything? How sometimes, no matter how physically tired you are, you just can't sleep. For whatever unknown, mysterious reason, your mind absolutely refuses to shut down, making you think of things at the worst possible time—when you're completely exhausted and not equipped to deal with them. Unfortunately, it happens to me all the damned time, and I haven't got the slightest idea what to do to prevent it.
There's absolutely no physical reason for it; every time it hits, I'm hovering on the edge of sleep, wrapped up in Dimitri's warm, comfortable embrace with my head on his chest, drifting off to the sound of his deep, peaceful breathing and his heart beating against my cheek. That's when it happens. One second I'm on the verge of drifting off, then the next thing I know, my mind has kicked into overdrive, dredging up all the things I try so hard to forget—the things I force myself to lock away in a box, deep inside my memory. Things like the broken, tormented sound of Robert's voice when he saw his older brother—the only person he had in the whole, entire world—in a crumpled, lifeless heap on the ground. Sometimes it's that horrible, horrible moment when Jill was attacked. I see it playing out again, almost in slow motion, and I remember how torn I was, wanting to run over and protect the young girl that I had exposed to Royal life, but being unable to—because I wanted to keep her sister safe as well. I see the agonized, defeated look on Eddie's face as he stared down at her bloody body, and I know he's blaming himself, drowning in the same guilt he'd felt over Mason and the incidents in Spokane. Mason—oh God—that's another thing that haunts me. The way he came charging back into the house, intent on saving me. I've relived his final moments thousands of times, wondering what I could have done to get us all out alive, and I always come up lacking an answer.
Soon enough the memories switch and it's Adrian's turn. We're in the bedroom I'd spent my recovery in, and he's staring at me, his emerald eyes huge and filled with sorrow as he reels off the casualties I've left in my wake, his voice bitter and hollow sounding as he accuses me of destroying him—and I know each and every single word of accusation is true. Some nights I'll see the look of absolute hatred in Tasha's eyes as she pulls the trigger—not an accidental slip of the finger the way she claimed when protesting her innocence—but a deliberate, conscious act made by a woman determined to destroy the girl who stood in the way of her dreams; a girl she knew would give anything to keep her best friend safe, even if it meant dying to protect her. The shooting itself doesn't fill me with remorse, but the aftermath does. I wasn't the only one injured that day—all you have to do is look at her nephew and see how the memory extinguishes the spark in his bright blue eyes. He tries to hide it, of course, but one too many times I've caught him staring off into the distance with a lost, abandoned look on his face that makes him seem so much younger than he actually is. In those moments it's like I'm gazing at the little boy he used to be. I can picture how he looked on the night his parents came for him—and though I'd never admit it to anyone, it completely breaks my heart.
Then there's Lissa, my one time bond mate and best friend who's been left to shoulder the heavy weight of Spirit all on her own. I watch her, amazed at how she struggles so bravely to fight off the depression her element awakens in her. She tries so hard not to give the slightest hint when her strength falters, but I notice it, because I know her as well as I know myself, and it fills me with a deep sense of guilt—because that burden was supposed to be mine.
Out of all those things, as hard as it may be for anyone to believe, none of them are the worst. Each of them is horrible enough all on its own, but when they arise in my mind, eventually they slowly fade back into the dark depths of memory and I am finally able to fall into a fitful sleep. It's the nights when my mind turns to Dimitri and the things that happened between us… that's when I know I might as well get up, because sleep will never come. Again and again I see us on the bridge in Russia, my stake plunging into his chest. I see him slowly falling into the ice cold water below, and I feel my heart shatter all over again. Or I'll be transported back to that night—watching as Nathan latches onto his throat in the cave, and in an instant I'm left shivering, trying to repress the tears of self-disgust that well up in my eyes, hating myself for leaving him behind—because the truth is, he never, ever would have left me like that. If my imagination kicks in, the guilt just piles up a hundred times worse. It's far, far too easy for me to picture the man I love, his stern, handsome face smiling happily down at a small baby in a crib—to see him playing with a little boy that has his silky dark hair and warm, soulful brown eyes. He'll never have that… the children he dreamed of, and it's all my fault. He gave up on the one thing he wanted more than anything, just to be with me, and knowing that makes me realize how right Adrian was that day when he confronted me. If I were a truly a good person, I would walk away, leaving Dimitri free to find someone who could give him a family. But I can't. Even though I know it's the right thing to do, and even though his happiness means everything to me, I'm selfish—just like Adrian said. I love him too damn much to let him go, so I deserve every single bit of guilt that presses against my soul.
These are the things that play through my mind in the daylight hours when the Moroi world lays sleeping. Deep inside me there's an ocean of regret that tries to drown me when I least expect it, the powerful waves crashing down over me and filling me with remorse as its undertow drags me under, making sleep impossible. Maybe someday I'll be able to let go of the past…but right now, it's not an option, and a peaceful night's sleep seems like nothing more than a distant dream—one that will continue to evade me. It would be easy to wake Dimitri and have him comfort me, but I refuse to give in to the urge. Why? Because a little bit of suffering is nothing compared to the pain my choices have brought upon the people I love. I deserve every single sleepless moment I spend as penance for all the mistakes I've made along the way—and for all the mistakes I know I'll make in the future.