Illusionshipping (Kujaku Mai/Yami no Marik)
. . .
He lurks in the shadows of her mind. Always watching. Always waiting.
When she sits in a crowded cafe and laughs at something her friend says, when she feels the warmth of bodies squished beside her in the booth, she is safe. But he is still there, watching her. Waiting for her to leave the warmth and light.
When she walks down the street, her heels clicking confidently against the sidewalk, and the sky is blue and clear and her lungs are full of good clean air, she is safe. But somewhere at the back of it all, she knows he's still there.
When night falls and she finds herself on the couch with all of the lights turned on, the television cranked up as high as it will go on some stupid sitcom and the radio blaring, certain to bring down all of her neighbors on her in the morning, she curls up on the couch and grips a pillow to her chest with her eyes squeezed shut, trying to pretend that she really is alone.
Trying to pretend that he's not standing there, grinning at her from the corner of the room where the lamp light will not reach, eyes rolling out from the shadows curled against the wall. Trying to pretend that the sound of the radio and the television drowns out his hollow laugh.
Every night, he stands there. Every night, she trains her eyes on the flashing television with a blanket yanked around her shoulders and a pillow suffocated in her arms as she tries not to see him.
She hates him.
She hates him for what he did to her.
She hates him for refusing to let go of her, even though she's been assured that he is long dead. That he can never touch her again.
And yet he still stands there. Waiting. Grinning, staring, watching, patiently awaiting her to lose her will and let her eyes droop. Waiting for her to sleep, because in sleep, in her dreams, he can touch her then. He can chase her across shadowy landscapes and imprison her in glass cages with sand spilling down over her face, slowly suffocating her, and he can stand outside and laugh as the scorpions sidle out of the sand to gnaw on her arms.
She tries not to look at him. She tries not see his smile. She knows he's not real, but he's still there. She will not fall asleep tonight. She must not fall asleep tonight.
Her eyes are already drooping. The television is not loud enough, not flashy enough to keep her mind alert. He is laughing, now, knowing that she is so close, slipping so close to his fingers, that he'll be able to reach her soon. Like every night before this one, he knows that he will have her again until morning chases him away. Like every night in the future, he will never leave her. Tormenting her for eternity.
It's been so goddamn long since she's just been allowed to sleep, without him stalking her dreams. She feels rage boil in her stomach. Rage at him for doing this to her. Rage at herself for not chasing him away.
Her eyes are falling closed. She is falling down against the side of the couch. He is stepping out of the corner of the room and reaching his hands for her throat as she drifts into dreams.
Is this her fate? To have him torture her every night, forever?
She feels something like a battle scream coiling in her throat, ready to strike forward like a snake.
No more.
His hands are around her throat. This is the part where she is supposed to scream. To sink into the inky blackness of her dreams with his laughs echoing around her. Like every night before. Like every night in the future, if he has his way.
She grabs his wrists instead. His eyes bulge and his smile slips. Her hands find his elbows and she digs her nails into the joints. In the surreality of her dreams her nails become talons, and they rip into his skin. This time, it's his scream that bleeds into the nightmare landscape—this time, it is his nightmare.
And if she has anything to say about it, it will be the last night mare.
He releases her throat and tries to escape her claws but it is too late, she has him held fast. Her hands are claws and her feet are talons; her back is sprouting feathers like the harpies she wields, the monsters that she trusts with her life. Sheis one of them now. She is the one who will don the feathers and claws. She is the one who will punish and destroy now.
He cannot escape her claws and his screams die as she reaches for his throat.
He is only an illusion.
He is only a dream.
She will rip him to pieces anyway if it means she'll get a good night's sleep.
Tonight is the night that he finally dies.
. . .
A/N: I have no regrets for this one. Rip him up, Mai. Next is Illogicshipping (Seto x Ishizu x Shizuka).
