She's back in that room again. The gray walls, hard floor, huge mirror, all seem to mock her as she stands in the center of the room, knowing what's coming and yet unable to do anything about it.
Then he appears, materializing in a corner with a sadistic grin on his face. "My hands are cuffed this time, Alex. I think I'll change things up a little bit..." he adds, stroking the side of her neck.
...time breaks...
Then she's up against the wall and he's crushing her, killing her, and this time the chain between his handcuffs is across her throat, pressing with as much force as on the rest of his body
...time breaks...
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He sits at the table, that horrible, gray metal table, knowing what is about to happen but unable move to stop it. The world around him is frozen for a long moment, and he looks around him warily.
He sees a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye, and he twists his body toward it. There they are, both standing by the mirror but still unmoving. He tries to push his chair away from the table, to take advantage of this delay, but both chair and table seem glued to the floor. He can't budge either.
Then there is suddenly action, and the table flips on top of him. He pushes it away as fast as he can, knowing that these are the few seconds that will make all the difference. Maybe this time it will be different, if he can move fast enough, if he can think quickly enough.
He hears the crash of her body hitting the wall and catalogues in his head the sounds and images that will follow: the thud of her head against the wall. The crunch of many bones breaking at once. The gasping wheeze she tries to make . . .
Alex gasps and calls his name and he realizes that rather than moving swiftly, as he'd planned to do, he has been standing still next to the upturned table as if he were a spectator to the events taking place. He forces his feet into motion, feeling like he's walking through glue as he has to struggle with each step.
He's moving so slowly.
Too slowly.
Still five feet from reaching them, he sees that two things are different this time: there is no blood streaming from her head, and now the man is strangling her with his belt instead. How could he have gotten it off and around her throat so quickly without Bobby knowing? He starts to move again., and this time the glue feels thinner, less adhesive.
He watches her face redden from the pressure, then watches her lips take on a tinge of blue as the strangulation does its job. He's almost there. He can still save her.
He has to be able to save her. It's the only possible salvation for him.
He lunges for the two figures with all his strength . . .
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...time breaks...
Suddenly the chain is pried away from her neck. She forces her eyes to open, searching for the cause of this reprieve, but she sees nothing other than the brutish face of her attacker looming above her.
Then she knows he's here. She still can't see him, but she feels him, almost as if he's breathing quietly next to her. He's frightened, she senses, but not for himself. He's terrified for her. Terrified he won't be able to give her the help she needs.
And even through all the pain this attack is causing her, she feels a small spot of warmth somewhere inside her, where his concern for her gives her comfort.
Now she can see him. He simply flickers into being between one second and the next, standing between her and the man. He wraps his arms around her and pulls her head into his shoulder, enveloping her body in his much larger one. He becomes a protective cocoon for her, and she tries to disappear into him.
The man screams, in a rage at being denied his prey. He beats his handcuffs against Bobby's back, but Bobby simply lowers his head over hers and continues to protect her.
Suddenly the man is gone and it's only them, staring at each other. He doesn't release her from his embrace, just runs one hand up her back until it's cradling her head and tells her, "You're safe. He can't hurt you anymore."
Safe . . .
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Alex's eyes opened slowly this time, rather than flying open in the face of terror, as her other dreams had made them do. She could still feel herself shaking, but it was much less pronounced than it usually was.
Strangely enough, she wasn't afraid.
So she just lay still for a moment, trying to assess her situation. Home, bed . . . alone in the room with the man . . . handcuff chain . . . Bobby.
Bobby!
He was here, she realized. His body was curled around hers, one arm around her just above her hips, the other under her head as his head rested by her neck. She moved slightly and felt his lips make contact with the back of her neck.
So much for all his good intentions, she thought as the day's events began to come back to her. Of course, she had no intention of pointing this out to him. In fact, she just wasn't going to wake him up at all. He was protecting her in the dreams, and in reality his body enveloping hers made her feel equally safe. No way was she going to wake him up and lose that comfort.
Besides, he seemed to be resting peacefully, too. She wondered if she appeared as a savior in his dream the way he appeared in hers. She almost laughed at that, at the thought of trying to stretch her body to cover all of him at once, but she forced the laugh back for fear of waking him.
His lips brushed her neck again, this time with a little more pressure. I could definitely get used to this, she decided as she moved her head slightly forward to allow him better access. And if this is the Vicodin talking, then they should be marketing the stuff as an alternative to Viagra!
Allowing herself a quiet, contented sigh, she snuggled back against his body, dropped a gentle kiss on his casted hand, which lay next to her head, and closed her eyes again.
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He knows that he's not supposed to change things. That's been the rule for all of the dreams; he can't change or stop the horror. He can't even close his eyes.
Well fuck that, he decides as time freezes for all three of the people in the room while he's mid-lunge. He's willing to do almost anything to spare her the hurt and suffering he knows this attack will cause. Even if it doesn't follow dreamland rules, he's going to do it.
He has an advantage, he tells himself. He's witnessed this attack so many times, from so many angles, and at so many different speeds, that he knows exactly what types of movements the man will make and when.
He just needs to get there in time.
Time...
Time restarts and his feet hit the ground next to the attacker. He tackles the man with all his weight and all the force he can muster. The two men hit the ground together.
There is a dull 'thunk' as the attacker's skull impacts the floor.
Bobby stands, sparing only a second's look at the man who caused this. He looks to where he had seen her a few seconds ago and finds the top of her head. She's sunk to the ground, hand on her neck and struggling to suck in a breath. He crouches in front of her and watches for a moment.
She'll be ok, he realizes. There is already a thick line of bruising circling her throat, and it will only get worse. But she's breathing.
Now he can finally breathe too.
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Bobby returned to consciousness a few seconds before he decided to actually open his eyes. The terror the dreams brought him sometimes took a second to crash down on him after he woke up, and it was better to just wait for it.
But this dream had been . . . different. Completely different.
He'd saved her.
He opened his eyes and saw hair and bare skin in front of him. What . . .? He tried to remember. Alex's apartment . . . her fear, his reaction . . . their decision to nap together. He had fallen asleep at least a few feet away from her, he was sure of it.
Well, he certainly wasn't that far from her now. In fact, the distance between them could probably only be measured in a unit with an obscure Greek name that she'd make fun of him for knowing. He was wrapped around her . . . like a cocoon.
Where had that thought come from?
She felt soft. He moved his head slightly to the left and found himself looking at her neck right below the corner of her jaw. Her skin was paler than he'd realized and without thinking, he pressed his lips against it with the vague idea of testing its warmth.
She tasted good. How the hell could a neck taste good? He should move away - touching her might wake her up.
He didn't really want to move away. What was the harm in a little spooning, considering the fact that it seemed to be quite healthy for both of their sleeping habits?
He'd lay here a little longer, he decided. Then he'd worry about extricating himself from her body.
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He was awake. She could tell. She'd felt him kiss her jaw, then felt his shoulders tense up. She should consider her options before making any move to let him know she knew, she decided. So she relaxed slightly and rested her head more deeply into the pillow.
And began to think.