Asha's Arrival
by pari106
Disclaimer, etc, found in chapter one.
A/N: Ha! Bet you thought I'd forgotten this one, huh? (I am speaking, of course, to those of you who didn't forget about this one yourselves :P) But I've picked it up again... So please let me know what you think. Lots of gratitude to anyone who does. And speaking of gratitude...
Lots of Thanks: to afan, for your awesome betaing :) Thank you so much. Again ;)
Chapter Eight…
Have you ever had a recurring dream? Or should I say nightmare? The
kind that keep coming back, but you never realize it's about to happen again until it already has?
The first few days I spent at Logan's, recovering from San
Francisco…they were kind of like that, like one long, recurring nightmare. I was in bed the whole time. I can't even tell you, for sure, when I was asleep and when I was awake…everything seemed so surreal. I slept a lot, though; I know that. Sometimes I'd sleep for hours without a single dream…just dark, black nothingness so thick I had to fight to open my eyes whenever I came back out of it. Sometimes my head was haunted with images; memories. That's where the recurring nightmare analogy comes in. Every time the memories returned they returned the same way. And they were just as terrifying each time they did. Memories of that last, fateful day of the S1W…memories of Mike, dying in my arms. So much blood… Memories of all of them dying; all my friends. Memories of Park's face as I left San Francisco. And every time I woke up I woke up the same way. Drenched in sweat and breathing like I'd just run a marathon.
I never could break the cycle by telling myself it was all just a
dream. Because, really, I knew it wasn't. But it is over with…San Francisco is over with. Here at Logan's I'm safe now; I know that somehow, even though I still haven't had the chance to really talk to him. I know I'm safe by the look in his eyes when he looks at me; the comfort in his touch when he brushes a strand of hair out of my eyes, or gently shakes my shoulder to wake me for medication or food. I know that at least I am safer than I have been since the day Mike died.
But telling myself this didn't really help, either. At first. I guess
now I'm finally starting to come out of it. Out of the nightmare, anyhow. Doesn't mean my time awake is any less frightening, or that my time asleep is any less tormented, but at least I can tell the difference between the two this morning. At least when I
woke up …yeah, I was breathing hard again, yeah, my heart
still beat like it was trying to break free from my chest…at least I could understand why. I could understand and, as I sat there in bed, gripping Logan's bed sheets in tight, little fists…I could try to calm myself down.
Then I stumbled into his shower.
I remembered Logan having told me that this was his guestroom and bath,
and that I was welcome to use both. I remember him helping me into the shower at one point during this past week, but I don't remember much about it. Right now I still haven't quite recovered enough to be embarrassed about that either. The surreality remains. And everything I think, everything I feel and experience, seems to be thought, felt,
experienced outside myself. It's another stage of the shock I went into on Logan's roof the night I showed up, I know. And I know it will pass. But right now I'm not concentrating on that. As I showered this morning, I didn't concentrate on that. It was hard enough just concentrating on getting into the shower stall and getting some business done on two legs so shaky they could barely remain standing.
It helped that Logan's shower seems outfitted to accommodate a person
in my condition. There are bars on the wall, and a seat in its corner. I'm not sure about their purpose…unless Logan makes a habit of housing
traumatized and/or invalid houseguests. But regardless I'm thankful
for the convenience. I feel like I haven't walked in ages. I probably haven't. There's no telling how long I've been in Logan's guestroom,
sleeping off the terror.
Anyhow, that shower felt excellent. It felt excellent to stumble out,
clean and decent, to find some clean and decent clothing waiting for me in "my" room. I must have spent an hour under the shower's spray, lathering and relathering my body with soap. Now I'm sure the scent
has been permanently impressed upon my skin. And standing here in Logan's living room, looking out at Seattle, I'm reveling in the sensation of smelling like something other than sweat or dirt or blood. I'm reveling in the feeling of cleanliness, even if my mind feels no more clean than it had when I got here. And now, after having showered, I do feel a little more aware of myself and my surroundings. A little more alert.
Now I am suddenly aware of Logan sitting on the other side of the living room.
by pari106
Disclaimer, etc, found in chapter one.
A/N: Ha! Bet you thought I'd forgotten this one, huh? (I am speaking, of course, to those of you who didn't forget about this one yourselves :P) But I've picked it up again... So please let me know what you think. Lots of gratitude to anyone who does. And speaking of gratitude...
Lots of Thanks: to afan, for your awesome betaing :) Thank you so much. Again ;)
Chapter Eight…
Have you ever had a recurring dream? Or should I say nightmare? The
kind that keep coming back, but you never realize it's about to happen again until it already has?
The first few days I spent at Logan's, recovering from San
Francisco…they were kind of like that, like one long, recurring nightmare. I was in bed the whole time. I can't even tell you, for sure, when I was asleep and when I was awake…everything seemed so surreal. I slept a lot, though; I know that. Sometimes I'd sleep for hours without a single dream…just dark, black nothingness so thick I had to fight to open my eyes whenever I came back out of it. Sometimes my head was haunted with images; memories. That's where the recurring nightmare analogy comes in. Every time the memories returned they returned the same way. And they were just as terrifying each time they did. Memories of that last, fateful day of the S1W…memories of Mike, dying in my arms. So much blood… Memories of all of them dying; all my friends. Memories of Park's face as I left San Francisco. And every time I woke up I woke up the same way. Drenched in sweat and breathing like I'd just run a marathon.
I never could break the cycle by telling myself it was all just a
dream. Because, really, I knew it wasn't. But it is over with…San Francisco is over with. Here at Logan's I'm safe now; I know that somehow, even though I still haven't had the chance to really talk to him. I know I'm safe by the look in his eyes when he looks at me; the comfort in his touch when he brushes a strand of hair out of my eyes, or gently shakes my shoulder to wake me for medication or food. I know that at least I am safer than I have been since the day Mike died.
But telling myself this didn't really help, either. At first. I guess
now I'm finally starting to come out of it. Out of the nightmare, anyhow. Doesn't mean my time awake is any less frightening, or that my time asleep is any less tormented, but at least I can tell the difference between the two this morning. At least when I
woke up …yeah, I was breathing hard again, yeah, my heart
still beat like it was trying to break free from my chest…at least I could understand why. I could understand and, as I sat there in bed, gripping Logan's bed sheets in tight, little fists…I could try to calm myself down.
Then I stumbled into his shower.
I remembered Logan having told me that this was his guestroom and bath,
and that I was welcome to use both. I remember him helping me into the shower at one point during this past week, but I don't remember much about it. Right now I still haven't quite recovered enough to be embarrassed about that either. The surreality remains. And everything I think, everything I feel and experience, seems to be thought, felt,
experienced outside myself. It's another stage of the shock I went into on Logan's roof the night I showed up, I know. And I know it will pass. But right now I'm not concentrating on that. As I showered this morning, I didn't concentrate on that. It was hard enough just concentrating on getting into the shower stall and getting some business done on two legs so shaky they could barely remain standing.
It helped that Logan's shower seems outfitted to accommodate a person
in my condition. There are bars on the wall, and a seat in its corner. I'm not sure about their purpose…unless Logan makes a habit of housing
traumatized and/or invalid houseguests. But regardless I'm thankful
for the convenience. I feel like I haven't walked in ages. I probably haven't. There's no telling how long I've been in Logan's guestroom,
sleeping off the terror.
Anyhow, that shower felt excellent. It felt excellent to stumble out,
clean and decent, to find some clean and decent clothing waiting for me in "my" room. I must have spent an hour under the shower's spray, lathering and relathering my body with soap. Now I'm sure the scent
has been permanently impressed upon my skin. And standing here in Logan's living room, looking out at Seattle, I'm reveling in the sensation of smelling like something other than sweat or dirt or blood. I'm reveling in the feeling of cleanliness, even if my mind feels no more clean than it had when I got here. And now, after having showered, I do feel a little more aware of myself and my surroundings. A little more alert.
Now I am suddenly aware of Logan sitting on the other side of the living room.