Memories of Sleep
Author's Note-- I'm writing with the idea that Zander didn't come back after faking his death in the fire. 'Cuz that was just dumb, y'all.
Disclaimer--Nothing's mine, unfortunately.
The nightmares have almost stopped.
Sometimes I'll be able to manage a good four or five-hour sleep, lying above my blankets, letting the cool breeze from the window wash over my flushed and heated body. But most of the time I lie awake, guarded and wary. I watch the sky lighten and listen to the birds begin to sing, and I'm ashamed.
Ashamed because I'm still so frightened of falling asleep.
Port Charles is far, so far away from me. But most of the time I feel as though I haven't left. I'm trapped in quicksand, and the more I struggle to free myself, the deeper I sink.
I have a baby now. Sometimes instead of sleeping I think about that. I try to imagine what it looks like, but I can never get any farther than the tiny generic baby body. Its face remains little more than an unfocused blur. Hell, I don't even know if it's a girl or a boy. That kind of makes things difficult.
I wonder what kind of life it will have with Elizabeth and Ric. I know that Elizabeth will be a good mother but Ric worries me. Sure, he's intelligent and rich, but he's also deeply twisted. But I guess I'm not really one to talk.
I don't think I have a life anymore. But then of course, technically, I don't. Not as Zander Smith. He died in the fire at the Port Charles Hotel, and his soul escaped hundreds and hundreds of miles away, where it doesn't have a job, it doesn't have friends. All I have are memories.
Emily. My most loved, most cherished. I remember the first time I saw her, self-conscious and awkward at that rave. Although I had other things on my mind that night my eyes kept wandering back to her. She was so beautiful, despite the garish makeup and tacky clothes. I knew that that wasn't really her. It was obvious she was playing a game that night, one that she had lost badly. That whole thing had been severely fucked-up. I mean, if I hadn't been there when Sorel's men had tried to kill her...my whole life would be different. And, as I've wondered more and more often these days, maybe that wouldn't have been such a bad thing.
Port Charles was different from any other place I had known. Everyone there was so wealthy, so posh. I hardly knew what to do with myself. Being in constant danger certainly hadn't helped my cause. But with Emily there, I felt as though I had a purpose. She needed me to protect her, and I conveniently put aside the fact that it was because of me that she needed protection. But finally it got to be too much. I realized that I didn't want to be responsible for yet another death. I couldn't.
After she left I wanted to follow her. In my mind, she was supposed to be the center of my new, wonderful life. She had been everything I'd dreamed about in high school, someone beautiful and innocent and clean. I hadn't cared that I had idealized her, built her up into something so perfect that it was no longer human. She had only been in high school herself. She had been so young, so inexperienced. She had still been a virgin, for god- sakes. I hadn't realized what I was doing.
But eventually my mind cleared. I was making good money working for Sonny Corinthos who, at that point, I had stupidly and naively idolized. Things were better for me then they had been for a long time.
Sometimes I wish I could go back to that time. A time when I had been cautiously optimistic, had a couple of friends, and wasn't completely and desperately cynical. I never knew how good I had had it.
Then Carly.
Carly had been my passion and obsession. Someone who was completely and totally off-limits to me and yet someone who I couldn't resist. She was older, but not necessarily wiser. But she had made me smile, made me laugh. She had made me happy for so brief a time.
I get out of bed and stretch my arms through the window, feeling the crisp air caress my skin. What was the point of re-hashing all these old memories? If anything, it was counter-productive to what I was trying to accomplish. Mainly, a peaceful, dream-free sleep. But, like a stupid child prodding a sore tooth, I was unable to stop.
The return of Emily had kicked off my current downwards spiral, which had reached unprecedented depths, even for me.
I had been so happy when I first saw her. Ha. From the highest of highs to the lowest of lows. I can't even bear to think about those months, our fragile and faithless "marriage". And the whole time, her and Nicholas sleeping around behind my back. That had broken me.
After that, who cared? Certainly not me. I was a mess. Hooking up with Faith was the least of the stupid things I had done during that time. And now there was this baby...
Stop! I have to stop thinking about that. What good does it do? Better yet to pretend as though it hadn't happened.
"Zander?"
I close my eyes and rest my face against the window. I don't turn around.
"Zander...what's wrong?" Her voice, so tentative and uncertain, curls around me like wisps of smoke. A steady pain beats against the base of my neck, and my self-loathing returns full force.
I've taken advantage of her. I exploited what she felt for me and used it for my own gain.
What she thinks she feels for me, I correct myself.
I told her to throw her life away, to leave her family and friends, and she did. All for me. She is my one true act of pure selfishness. What I'm doing to her is sickning and unfair. But I can't make myself stop.
I turn around.
"Nothing's wrong baby. I'm sorry I woke you up."
She's so beautiful, lying there. It's hard for me to remember that she's only seventeen. I guess I don't want to remember, because it just makes what I'm doing even worse.
She crawls across the bed and grabs my hand, pulling me towards her. I smile despite myself.
I know why I begged her to leave with me. She had seen me at my worst, stood by me after I had been abandoned by all others. She was sweet and caring and beautiful. She was someone I wanted to love.
And I know why she agreed to come with me. Because she's young and impressionable. Because her family life pains her. Because some jackass had been giving her the run around.
Because she thinks she loves me.
"You didn't wake me. Now lie down, you need to relax so you can get some sleep." She begins to rub my tense muscles, giving me her version of a professional massage, which is surprisingly effective. I don't want to think of where she learned that. I roll over, and she trails her fingers down my chest before reaching my boxers, which she proceeds to pull off and toss across the room.
"Maxie," I whisper, as I run my fingers through her hair, giving myself over to her unbearable touch. "I love you."
And I hate myself.
Author's Note(I know, again!)--I'm not sure if I'm writing this just as a one-shot or something more. We'll see how it goes, I guess.