Obscura ~ Age 16

It was dark when Dave awoke. He felt clammy. He reached up and pulled the damp washcloth from his face. The fuck?

Dave sat up and looked around the apartment. Rose was sitting in the armchair next to the couch, legs tucked up to her chest. He couldn't see her face clearly, but he thought she was sleeping.

When did he fall asleep? He certainly didn't remember it. After they had argued, there had been a long silence, of course… and then… Was that when he drifted off? During the awkward pause?

Dave stood up and stretched. What time was it? He looked down at Rose. What kind of face was she making? Did she have the nightmares, too?

"I can't sleep with you staring at me like that, Strider."

"Shit. You're awake."

"How observant." Rose slid her feet back to the floor and rubbed her eyes, stifling a yawn. "Are you feeling well? Has the panic abated?"

Dave made an odd face. "Fuck, man, it was—"

"My fault, yes. I'm not arguing with you about that. I will still maintain, however, that what I did was necessary." She smirked. "Well. Perhaps I was acting more out of my own interest than yours." She pushed herself off the chair and walked over to stand beside him. She was still gazing at his face with muted curiosity.

"No shit." Dave looked away.

"Nevertheless, I know now." She chuckled. "You're actually really expressive, aren't you?"

"Dammit, Rose."

"I know, I know. You don't want to talk about it." Rose sighed. "And here I thought I'd be able to put my vast psychological knowledge to some sort of use."

"Fuck. I'm not your patient and you're not Freud."

"Have you never played 'Let's Pretend'?"

"For fuck's sake, stop making fun of me. Seriously, man, how many ways are you going to try and ruin my life before you go home."

"Contrary to what you believe, Strider, I'm not trying to ruin your life. I'm trying to help you." She frowned slightly. "Doesn't it feel better to be with someone who knows? You don't have to hide behind those shades any more, at least not when you're with me."

But Dave liked hiding behind his shades. He was naked without them. "No."

"You're just being stubborn."

"I'm really fucking not."

"I can't help you if you don't stop fighting me."

"I don't want your fucking help, Rose, because there's nothing wrong."

"You're in denial."

"Look." Dave looked down at her, eyes narrowed. "This is exactly why I never wanted you to find out."

She met his gaze. "But you knew I would, didn't you? Besides," she smiled thinly, "you're the one who told me."

"Fuck. I was drunk. How many times do I have to fucking say that."

"However many times it will take you to believe it, I expect."

"I don't have to believe it, Rose. I know it's true. I had a massive hangover the next morning—headache, nausea, the works."

"Alright. I will accept that you were drunk when you messaged me. Your text seems to point in that direction, anyway."

"Good."

"However, I don't think you were as much in a haze as you seem to believe."

"Fuck, Rose. I thought I was blind because I was wearing sunglasses in the dark. How fucking brilliant do you think I could have been then. And then I lost them. Do you know where they were. Where I found them the next day. They were on my head, Rose. They were on my fucking head."

"I think you experienced a moment of clarity."

"Clarity. You think that was clarity. That was drunken, semi-conscious stupor, that's what it was. You're just trying to spin it so that you can go all Jungian on my shit and I'm not going to have it. Fuck, Rose, stop trying to play therapist with me."

"I'm not playing therapist, Dave," Rose replied, sounding a little irritated.

"Oh yeah. Then what are you doing."

"I'm trying to be a good sister, dumpass. And friend, not that you seem to think that's very important." But Rose could see the strained look in his eyes and so let up.

"Oh."