Again, I place a warning on this chapter. Oliver is still dreaming in the second half.
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After his shower, wearing only his boxers, he walked on silent feet into the bedroom. Felicity was waiting on him, lying in the bed, wearing one of his t-shirts, and looking so very sexy, with her tablet and her sharp eyes. He could tell she was admiring him, and it felt good. And, it was nice to not have to cover up, not to hide the scars, the memories from her sight. She had assured him repeatedly that the scars didn't brother her, and he felt free not having to cover the scars up, to not be ashamed of the scars, to be bare chested.
He knew she was waiting on him because after a lot of discussion, she had convinced him that he needed to treat the soccer team like a mission, needed to do recon on HIS team. And that was the way she thought of it. They were HIS TEAM.
So, the more he knew about his team the better. So, for days, he had been doing recon on his team, and she had been keeping notes for him. He had been out tonight following several of them, and now, she was waiting on him, to debrief, to share with her. It was becoming a pattern, a life for them.
"Recon went well?" she asked brightly, her eyes sparkling, shining with anticipation. She is enjoying this, he thought, and yes, he missed being the Arrow, and doing recon on these teens was like a breath of fresh air. It was just what he needed, what he craved, and what he wanted.
"Yeah," he said, drinking in the sight of her bare long legs, and he felt his blood quicken, felt his desire peak for her.
Oh how she turned him on.
"Who's first?" She asked cheerfully, and he could tell Felicity missed him being the Arrow too, missed the thrill of having a purpose, a mission. And he knew she was taking HIS TEAM very seriously. She had been drilling him unmercifully and learning twenty's people's bios was harder than he thought it would be, for he got them mixed up sometimes.
Flopping down on the bed beside her, he reached and feathered his fingers down her long bare leg and back up, just a whisper of a touch, just a promise of things to come. Oh, how he loved being able to touch her. He didn't know if he would ever take the fact he could touch her for granted, since he had waited so long to touch her, ached so long to really touch her.
Grinning broadly, she said, "Quit, Oliver. First practice is in six days, and first game is in six weeks. We don't have much time. So stop touching me because you aren't good at multi-tasking when it comes to sex, for you are a guy, so you get one minded and just want sex. So, homework first, sex later," and she kicked his hand playfully away, but her foot was now touching his bare leg.
Yet, he knew she was right, he would throw soccer homework right out the window and go straight to the sex part if he kept touching her. However, he didn't say a word about her foot touching him, for he liked it, no, he savored it. No, he wouldn't stop her from touching him. Ever.
"This is homework." He said, still wanting to tease her, as his hand caught her cheek and he said, "And you're my home, Felicity." And his hand softly skimmed her cheek, as he tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.
Yet, she gave him that look, over her glasses, which said, 'I mean it,' so he stretched out beside her and let her be, knowing he would get to really touch her later, so he could wait.
"So who did you follow around in the dark tonight?" She asked cheerfully.
"Nick Mitchell."
"Let me find his file." Her fingers flew across the screen, and he saw Nick's picture come up on the screen just before she pulled the tablet against her chest and ask, "And he's in trouble for what?"
She was quizzing him and he smiled. Then he imagined the 16-year-old high school junior, who was short and stocky with red hair and wire framed glasses.
"Vandalism. He's my artist. Got busted for spray-painting repeatedly. Likes to mark his work, which gets him busted. Not exactly smart on his part."
"If he was smart he wouldn't be in juvenile court and be court ordered to play on your team. But the artist is Stan Markton. Now what's Nick Mitchell's in trouble for? Try again."
"Alright. Dealing pot. One possession charge. Two times tobacco possession in the last year at school. Fails the drug test every time they test him. And if tonight is any indentation, he's still dealing and testing him this week would be a waste of a test."
"Bingo and why am I not surprised?" She said dryly. "Okay, what else do you know about him?" As she sat up and laid the tablet against her knees, he watched the t-shirt hike up, showing just a small amount of red panties, while greatly improving his view of bare flesh, and he licked his lips, thinking about later.
"Oliver? I'm waiting here. Is he still smoking?"
He forced himself to concentrate before he said, "Yes, Nick is still smoking cigarettes. A habit he is about to give up if he wants to breathe, when we start training or the running is going to kill him and about seven others."
She gave a small laugh and said, "You're right eight of them smoke. And I would say that the campaign to keep teens from smoking doesn't seem to be working. So, go on," she said as she typed on what he thought was a way too tiny keyboard. His one hand was bigger than the entire keyboard she was rapidly typing on. How did she do that?
"Nick works part time job at a grocery store. He sacks groceries and pushes carts, mainly in the evenings. No parents, mom is gone to who knows where and dad's in prison as a repeat offender, dealing pot mainly."
"The apple didn't fall far from the tree here."
"Yea, but it looks like he is helping to support his grandparents."
"Which are mom's or dad's side of the family?"
"Mom's. No wait. It's Stan that is living with mom's side of the family. So, Nick lives with Dad's side of the family and he has two younger sisters." He was ticking the list off in his mind. "Nick's grandfather is sick, and from the looks of it, he isn't long for this world. Grandmother works cashier at the same grocery store. And even though he's 16, he walks and rides a bike, probably because he doesn't own a car."
"Well he probably can't afford the insurance. And you're wrong, Stan lives with his aunt. It's Dean that lives with his grandmother, on his mom's side. How much probation does he have left?"
"Grr, okay Stan lives with his aunt. He's the joyrider, who stole a car at the mall and then passed out in it? Right?"
"No, that's Drew McAdams, public drunk, joy riding. Back to Nick. How much probation does he have left?"
"I give up. A lot? Come on, do I have to know that?" He scrubbed him face with his hands and said, "There too many of them and I can't even keep their family lives straight. How about, I'll just ask you when I want to know how much probation they have left." And he tilted his head at her with look he hoped said please.
"You know your charm doesn't always work, and I'm not your executive assistant, Oliver."
"No, you're my partner. So, work with me here."
He gave her a look and a slight grin and she said, "All right, the answer is nine months."
Now his smile was real and he said, "Right, until Nick gets busted again, which could have been tonight. Both for possession of pot, tobacco, and for dealing."
"Well, you're going to reform him. Right, Oliver?"
He wasn't so sure he could reform any of these kids, so, he let the silence stretch out, until Felicity said, "Okay, moving on. Next kid you followed tonight."
Lacing his fingers behind his head, he said, "Scott Wells, 17, senior. Richest kid on the team. Drives an awesome 2009 Super Bee. It's orange, rather, that year was was made in 'Hemi Orange Pearl Coat' only, with a limited production run of only 425 cars. I so want his car."
"What is it with men and their cars? It doesn't impress me."
Now, her fingers were dragging down his side, and he inhaled sharply but played along, savoring her touch. Playing, easily with his boxer's waistband, her fingers swept lower, and his breath caught, before he said, "Well, his car impresses me. I want his CAR. It has a 6.1L engine and is a muscle car. It's better than he deserves."
"You can stop right there because you are talking a foreign language when you go talking cars. Just go on and speak Russian and be done with it."
"Okay, Ты моя жизнь, мое сердце," he said, as his hand reached out to touch her check, and she leaned into his hand, and he smiled, as his heart contracted and warmed. Oh, how he meant what he had just said, so meant it. She was so his heart now.
"Now, I really don't know what you said, but I know that you're such a guy sometimes, especially about bikes and cars. Who knew? So what did you say in Russian? It sounded so sexy. Tell me in English."
Her mouth moved suddenly to suck the nape of his neck, and he exhaled before he replied, "I said, you are my life, my love. And I mean it, Felicity. You are."
"That's sweet, Oliver."
"And Felicity, if you don't stop sucking my neck, I'm going to touch back, and I'm not going to stop, and we are going to be done with soccer homework, for you are so good at making me crazy. Who knew?"
She laughed and he smiled, as she said, "Oh, I knew and I've thought of you a lot, Oliver. Okay, talk about the kid not the car." And she leaned over and nipped his ear and whispered the words, "You just wait, you're going to love the things I am going to do to you later, after we finish debriefing."
And his blood rushed, as he said, "I tailed Scott to the projects, watched him move some pills, he probably stole from his parent's medicine cabinet, to some kids on the street. Then I tailed him back to his nice home, in his very nice orange muscle car. He's a spoiled little rich boy and the only one with two parents that are still married."
"And you don't like him."
"I never said that."
"You don't have to. It shows in your voice, in the way you describe him. He's rich and is selling pills, so, maybe, just maybe, he reminds you of Thea's drug dealer, the one, you know, the one you told me about on the plane."
He leaned in and inhaled her scent before he said, "Maybe."
"No, maybe? Admit it, Oliver. You don't like him. Maybe, he also reminds you too much of you. "
"Okay, you're right, I don't like him. He is too much like me. Just like me when I was young, except I wasn't selling pills. He has it all, and he is just wasting it. Just like, I had everything, and all I did was party it away until the boat sank and then my entire world was devastated for years. I was a stupid fool when I was young."
"And it's sad that you have 20 kids and most of them live at the poverty level and this wealthy guy is wasting his chance, blowing off what he thinks he deserves. I get that. Wait where are my numbers?" Her fingers flew across the screen and she said, "You should learn this. Most of your team lives in low income housing, five come from the middle class, and lived on the other side of the tracks, so to speak, even though I realize that there are no tracks, since this is a fishing slash tourist town." She was talking with her hands and that so turned him on that it was all he could do to hold back, not to throw her down on the bed and just take her hard, but he managed to smile, when she stopped, frowned at him and said, "What, Oliver?"
"Nothing, go on," he said with a grin, for if he told her what he was thinking, he would make her blush.
"So that means 14 are poverty level, 5 are middle class and one is like you, RICH."
"Okay, got it. 14 poverty, 5 middle class and 1 Richie Rich, though I admit I liked the comics more than him."
"I'm ignoring that comment. And who knew you read comics?"
"When I was a child, Felicity. And four of my team is for sure selling drugs. I am going to have to do something about those kids even though their just moving pills and pot. You're not got going to be on my team and sell drugs or do them."
"Well at it least it isn't chemicals, Oliver. They could be dealing crystal meth or coke."
"I know, but dealing drugs is still breaking the terms of their probation, and I'm trying to care about these kids. I want them to have a chance to do something different. I want to give them a chance to not go to jail."
"I know you do, so did you learn anything else tonight?"
"Tyler's girlfriend is very pregnant." Eyeing Felicity's stomach, he remembered that tonight when Tyler had put his careful hand on his girlfriend's huge stomach, Tyler had smiled, like he was in awe. And something deep inside had touched him, and he had wanted, what he knew he could never have. Then he had wondered, why he did he think he could never have a child?
He had thought, he could never have Felicity and love and here they were. And it was, so very crazy, but it was the best life he had lived in a really long time. Touching her, breathing her scent in, sleeping with her, just being with her, so grounded him, make his life so real, so good. He didn't know how he deserved this? But he just hoped that he could just have a few more days of this, of such happiness. Even if the dreams came at night, this time in his life was so good, so very good.
So, for just a second, for the second time tonight, Oliver gave some thought to someday having a baby with Felicity. He understood that someday Felicity would want a child, that maybe he would want a child, too.
It was natural. The human race was made to procreate. It was a major part of a human's DNA, and he understood that.
He glanced again at her stomach, and without saying a word, his hand reached and feathered across her stomach, and then he quickly released her. Carefully, his hand swept up her side and then away, and he wondered what it would be like to watch her carry his child, to have what Dig had. It was foolish, but he suddenly ached to be a dad, to be responsible for a baby, a child, and, unexpectedly, as he lay in the bed with her, safe, content, and so comfortable and happy, a baby really didn't seem so totally impossible.
Yeah, maybe he could do a child.
"You've got goofy grin, Oliver. What are you thinking about?" And her smile was like sunlight to him, for it warmed him.
But, he pushed those foolish, fantasy filled thoughts away and lied to her, afraid to broach the subject, as he said, "Tyler's, girlfriend is due pretty soon, and Tyler looks like he is trying to help support her, though she is still living at home with her mother."
"And what else do you know about him? I've got his file pulled up now."
She was quizzing him, just as she had been the last few nights. Twenty kids were a lot, and he was trying to figure each of them out, trying to understand their situations.
For days now, he had been watching them, keeping to the shadows, to their rooftops, outside their windows. He had been sneaking around like he knew how to do best. He had scoped out their neighborhoods, and, yes, their homes, and he had been in each of their bedrooms. Most of them were pure teenage boys, and lived in dirty bedrooms, that they shared with other siblings.
Clothes, trash, and smelly shoes where thrown about the floor in most of their room. He had seen it all. Rooms that held unmade beds, and smelled like teenage boys and stale pizza boxes. A few of their rooms were passable, beds made, trash and clothes off the floor, proving that someone, mainly grandma's he had noticed, was making them pick up their rooms. But then some of their rooms held liquor bottles hid under the bed and stashes of drugs.
He had been beyond not pleased about that.
Phil Rice was one of them drinking, and Phil was really drinking. He had been busted for passing out at school twice, once at 10:00 AM. Teacher found him passed out in the bathroom, hugging the toilet. And, he was only 15, a sophomore. A solid C student, which meant he could be a solid A student if he didn't go to school drunk. His dad was raising him and an older brother. Mom had died of cancer a couple of years ago, and Phil was drinking pretty heavy, but then so was his dad from the amount of empties in his trash. The inside of their apartment was a hellhole. Someone, maybe more that one had beaten their home up. Phil's home was filled with fist sized holes in the drywall, lots of holes in the walls, and broken things were thrown on the floor. There broken dishes in the sink. The entire place was a real war zone that no one had bothered to clean up, so either Phil or Dad, the brother and maybe all, were angry and violent.
"Oliver, where are you? We are talking about Tyler."
"Right." He forced himself to concentrate, and said, "Tyler is the only one of the 20 that is a single child. He has decent grades, a requirement to be on the team."
"Warren thinks all of these kids have a shot at going to college."
"Yea, right, if the stars all aliened, and the moon turns blue."
"That's a bad attitude, Oliver." And she threw a pillow at him, and he easily tugged the tablet away, tossed it on the bed, and wrestled her beneath him.
She smiled up at him with her hair spread around her like gold and said, "Homework, Oliver. What is Warren trying to do with this program?"
But, he was tired of this homework. No, he wanted to play now, wanted to touch her, but he said, "I know. Warren is trying to change their lives, to give them a choice other than the dealing and the drugs. Warren is hoping that they would use their brains and become productive citizens. And for some insane reason, he thinks playing soccer will change these teenagers' lives."
Trying to kiss her, he groaned when she turned her head and said, "Correct. No, I mean it, Oliver, homework first. Warren thinks if they are a part of something good, something that gives them pride in themselves, that they might want more out of life. Now, tell me about Tyler." But she was threading her fingers through his hair and rubbing the back of his neck, and he was finding it hard to focus.
He nibbled her neck and then said, "Tyler. Got busted for shoplifting cold meds at the super center and was so nice about it, he didn't even get banned from the store."
"Which never happens. Three of your other team players are banned for shoplifting at the super center. Do you remember their names?"
"No. But I know that Tyler works at the pizza place, cooks and does prep. He mainly lives alone, since his mother tends bar and works late nights. Tyler comes home to no one, and maybe that reason he doesn't seem to mind his girlfriend being pregnant."
"It's just so young to be having babies. How old is she?"
He lifted his mouth from her skin and caught her eyes before he said, "I'd say about 16. And yes, it's sad. And what's really sad is Tyler is the fourth of the team that already has a child or one on the way. And I can't see where any of them have the finances to support their children."
"I know, Oliver."
Yes, that part of his recon had shocked him. Here, he was a man, and he couldn't truly fathom having a child with a woman he loved. And here were these kids, not yet out of high school, on probation, some of them on double probation and the possibility of real jail in their near future, and they were making more kids for society to raise.
The cycle was starting over.
"Oliver, you're tired, for you keep zoning out." Felicity pushed him off of her and reached for her tablet.
He rolled over and stretched and yawned. She was right he was really tired. He hadn't slept well in days and it was strange how his body was craving more sleep. He had gone years on little to no sleep and had never really missed sleeping. But after just a short time of sleeping 5 to 7 hours a night next to her, he really missed the rest, missed waking up refreshed. This only a couple of hours of sleep a night was draining him. But his dreams were really bad right now and sleeping was to invite the dreams.
She placed the tablet on the bedside table and then turning to him, she said, "Okay, Oliver. It's been three nights. Let's talk about the dream. I know they you're locked in a cage, a small cage."
"Felicity, no."
"I know you can't talk about this, ever. Heard that one more than once. But you know what else do I know?"
"You're not listening, Felicity."
"No, I'm not." She smiled at him then moved into his space, into his arms and her scent engulfed him. He sighed and shut his eyes. Hoping, though he didn't believe in hoping, but he was hoping she would let it go.
Then she shot hope right out of the water by saying, "Okay and I know this concerns the scar on your chest right here." And his eyes snapped open, as she suddenly laid her hand on the thick scar on his chest and his flesh flinched beneath her hand.
He didn't mean to pull away from her, but suddenly he was in survival mode, and he jerked away from her touch. And in bad form, he dumped her off his chest, as he sat straight up and pushed her away.
Felicity landed on her back and looked up at him like had lost his mind. Instantly he felt guilty, and said, "Sorry, I didn't mean to do that, to push you away like that."
"Oliver, are you in pain?"
She sat up and reached for him and touched the H on his shoulder and this time he ripped himself from her touch, and moved totally away from her, with the sharp words, "Yes. Just don't touch either of those scars right now. I can't stand it."
The memories came unbidden. His breath was becoming ragged, as thoughts of Hedeon's knife slowly touching his mangled flesh, images of being chained, being helpless, the cages, the slowly ripping living pain were flowing through him. Just that quickly, he was back there. He could almost smell his own blood.
"Oliver, calm down. Breathe, use your good memory, find your control."
"I'm in control." He said savagely, wanting to believe that he was, even if it wasn't exactly true. "I've just been having phantom pain lately. I know it's not there, but I can still feel it. I can ignore it most of the time, but, please, just don't touch those scars. It's like they are fresh again. Like he just cut me."
"Who, Oliver? Who cut you?"
"I can't talk about him. I can't. Don't try to make me relive those days. I don't ask you to relive when Cooper went to jail, when you thought he died."
She had removed her hand, but when he looked at her face, she looked like he had struck her, and he instantly regretted his sharp words.
Running his fingers through his hair, he tried to fix his ugly words by saying, "I'm sorry, I snapped at you. That was hurtful and this is not your fault. I know I'm pushing you away, right now. I just can't handle you touching those two scars for now. It will pass. It always does."
"How did you get them, Oliver? Who gave you those scars? This is what you're dreaming about isn't it?"
He said nothing.
"So that's the way you are going to play it?"
"That's the way it is." He couldn't tell her. He couldn't share such darkness with her, that side of him.
"Maybe these memories are coming back because you're stressing over the team? Maybe coaching isn't such a great idea after all?"
"No, I want to do this. But, yea, maybe the stress is causing the dreams. I don't know. I'm just tired."
"That's because you're not sleeping again. What is causing this, Oliver? What was the trigger this time? We need to figure it out."
"I don't know. All I know is it started a few days ago."
"Are you using the Imagery Rehearsal Therapy? Are you trying to rewrite, telling yourself you can break free of the."
"I'm trying, okay?" He interrupted her before she could say the word cage. "Just leave it alone. Stop pushing me about it." Anger was curling in his belly and his words were becoming sharp again.
"Hey, it's okay. Can you kiss me? Let me help you forget?"
"Yeah, I can try." He slowly placed his lips on hers and pretty soon, her skin, her smell, her pleasure, all that was her, was all that mattered, and the bad memories went away, and he embraced the pleasure that was her, that was them, and he tried to wash away the bad memories that were festering just under the surface.
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Stitch by agonizing stitch, he slowly suffered though each pull of his tortured flesh, as Hedeon painfully reopened the gaping wound on his chest.
"Ask me," he demanded of him.
"Take out my stitches." He hissed the words at him, and those words hurt almost as much as Hedeon's blade.
"No, Oliver, that is a demand. Ask nicely."
His blade's tip pulled on the stitch, and he was going to break his teeth, as he clinched his teeth together, fighting the intense pain, the overbearing pain. But instead, he said, with his spit flying, "I'm going to kill you."
"Do you want to go back in the cage? ASK!"
"Please, take it out." His anger was exploding inside him, raging, so hot and bright, as if it were burning him up.
"That's better." And Hedeon flicked his wrist removing the stitch, making him stifle his scream, as he pulled through flesh that was healing, flesh that was attached to the stitch, so it hurt more taking the stitch out.
"I swear I am going to kill you." And his spit flew.
"Tough words. Ask me to take the next one out."
He was well aware of the four men that surrounded him. His senses had been on hyper full alert for a while. His adrenaline was rushing, pumping through him. The men surrounding him were getting lax now, believing he was not going to attack, believing that he was just going to continue to take this, to let Hedeon continue to cut him.
Hedeon leaned in to torment him again, and his will, to hold back, to not attack, broke.
Knocking the knife from Hedeon's hand, he snatched the man's arm and threw him at two men behind him, knocking them all to the floor, like bowling pins, knocked here and there. In a smooth motion, he jumped to his feet.
With a roundhouse kick, he took out one of the men still standing and grabbed his taser in mid-air. Using the taser, he dropped the other man beside him to the floor, and then kicked him in the head, putting his lights out.
By this time, the third and fourth men had regained their spots, they were smarter, for they backed away from him.
"Come on." He motioned for them. "And you, I'm coming for." He pointed, as he lit the taser and blue fire jumped.
"Take him out. Don't just stand there, take him out."
The man on his left moved, and he hooked the man's leg with his ankle and clobbered him with the taser, probably breaking his nose on the way down. Jumping, he avoided the other man's taser just before the taser found his skin. Spinning on his heel, he tasered the man then threw him against the wall, kneeing him in the head, for good measure.
Two more men entered the door and the first man engaged him. He moved, grabbing the man's taser as he kicked him in the balls and away. Now, he had two tasers, and he wasted no time using them to take the other man out.
Dropping the tasers, he went after Hedeon. Backing him against the wall, Hedeon was screaming, "Shoot him. Shoot him," and clawing at his chest, as he was choking him, choking the very life out of him.
Suddenly a small pain exploded on the back of his shoulder, and using his forearm on Hedeon's neck, he pinned the man against the wall, as he reached and pulled the dart from his shoulder, throwing it to the floor. His hands moved to snap Hedeon's neck, to finish the job, but his body was suddenly failing him, muscles seizing, even as he saw the floor coming up to meet him, his muscles already refusing to respond.
But he didn't pass out. He was just paralyzed, and he was struggling to breathe.
"Oliver, can you hear me? Roll him over." He could feel the hands rolling him, feel his body, but he couldn't move, couldn't even blink.
Hedeon face came into view and the panic inside him screamed.
"Oliver, are you still in there? Yes, I can see you are. Well, since you want to act like an animal you've been shot with curare to stop you. Do you know what that is? I understand you can't answer so let me enlighten you. It's from certain plants. Very special plants that if used in just the right dose can just paralyze and not kill. As you see, I think we have the right dose, since you are finding it hard to breath but you are still breathing."
Please let him die, he thought, for he knew Hedeon wasn't going to be quick.
"You think you can attack me? Bad idea." Hedeon slapped him, and he felt the pain but couldn't move a muscle and fear engulfed him whole.
Hedeon began to run the knife's tip over his skin. He could feel the blade not cutting, yet, as the man said softly, "Let me teach you about curare, because you are never going to forget this experience. First let me tell you, I seldom use the various plant extracts so early in a relationship. So this is your fault, since you attacked me, so you forced me to step up my timetable, so to speak."
"Curare was first written about in the fifteen hundreds by Sir Walter Raleigh, no less. So it's been around for years. It originates from Central and South America. The South American indigenous people used curare as a paralyzing poison because it didn't taint the meat. They shot their prey with arrows or blowgun darts dipped in curare, which led to asphyxiation because the animal could no longer breath."
Oliver thought that Hedeon's words were practiced, that he had done this many times before, for the words were polished and he was like a statesman, pausing for effect.
And it was working, oh, the fear that was building in him, along with the anger, and the darkness in his mind was horrid.
"But don't worry since you're still alive, then you're going to live. The dose is low enough your respiratory muscles are still contracting. And let me remind you that your pain receptors are still working too." And he cut his chest, and he could only scream in his mind because his mouth didn't work.
"Still with me, Oliver? Here let me shut your eyes, it's hard on the eyes not to blink. They tend to dry out." Hedeon's hand closed his eyes that were too paralyzed to blink and the darkness was so much worse that the light, for now he was blind too, and he knew Hedeon was adding another layer to his agony for now he couldn't see the blade coming.
"Smell, Oliver. Curare smells rather bitter because it is made from the plant's roots."
The smell was earthy and one he would never forget, as pure terror was engulfing him.
Hedeon's voice donned on, "In the 1940s, curare was used several times during surgery. The doctors had mistakenly believed the drug to be an analgesic or anesthetic, where instead it seizes the muscles. However, the patients reported experiencing the full intensity of the pain during the surgery. The doctors didn't know when they were cutting them that their patients were unable to move or do anything about it, since they were essentially paralyzed. But I know, Oliver."
He cut his chest again, and he screamed in his mind.
"The only bad part of this, Oliver, is you can't scream for me this time. And the rest of you can leave us, now. I'll deal with each of you later for letting him attack me."
And he heard the footsteps walk away and the door closed and knew they were alone. Alarm totally smothered him, as he felt the blade in his chest as Hedeon said, "I'll teach you to fight back, to try to attack me."
He came straight up in the bed, hyperventilating, gasping, and covered in sweat, his body slick with it. Heart racing, fear pumping like liquid through his veins, he tried to return to now, to leave that horrific time behind him. No, he never forgot the smell of curare, and that fact had later saved his life when Dead Eye shot him, and he was able to take the antidote in time, but that was the only favor Hedeon ever did for him.
Felicity murmured, somehow she had slept through this dream, for she only turned in her sleep.
He tried to rest, tried to calm his breathing, but his panic was so overwhelming that he had to get up.
No way could he stay in the bed. Slowly, quietly, he crept from her bed for the third night in a row.
It was a little after 3 AM, and he could sleep no more tonight. Quietly, he dressed to run.
Felicity turned over and he froze. She had been very clear of what she thought about him getting up in the middle of the night, but there was no way he could sleep, so again, he crept from the room, taking her tablet with him. As he crept through the kitchen, he left her a note, and then leaned the tablet against the microwave where she would see it, just in case she woke up and came looking for him.
So far, he had been lucky and she hadn't caught him. Returning around dawn, he would climb in the other shower, and then he would erase his message from her tablet, close the program and replace the tablet in exactly the same spot she had left it by the bed. Soundlessly, he would then climb back in the bed with her. Later, he would set his alarm for 6:00 AM and after his hair had dried, he would wake her up by making slow love to her, and afterwards, in complete exhaustion, he would catnap for a little while, until it was time to get up and go and watch someone from his team go to school. It wasn't the best plan, but it was all that he had right now, and he had been doing it for three nights now.
Grabbing the soccer ball from the corner, he silently opened the door. He had been working the soccer ball. Learning to kick the ball up and down the beach and learning how to control the ball. Soccer wasn't his strong suit and controlling the ball was harder than he thought it was going to be. So, he needed the practice, for he had to be better than his team. He was going to make this life work for them. They were going to make a home here. He need, no ached for a home, and he had to believe that the dream would run its course and things would get better.
Yes, he needed a home and so did Felicity. He, so, thanked the heavens that Felicity loved him. He didn't deserve her love, because he was so damaged, past hurt, past scarred, but he was so very glad that she thought he was worthy of her love. And he no longer knew what he would do without her.
He worked the ball up the sandbar and then back again, over and over. He would prefer to hit the punching bag, he had hung on the porch earlier in the week, but that would wake her. Using his fists, put him in the zone, and he would forget to be quiet if he punched the bag. So instead, he chased the soccer ball, as he ran the beach for hours and tried not to think about his time with Hedeon but the memories were still there. So when the sun came up, he quietly crept back into her bed and later fell off in an exhausted sleep.
#####OQ#####
Opening his eyes, he saw the small mesh wire, and Hedeon's face came into view.
"Since you can open your eyes, I'd say the curare is wearing off. And I warned you, Oliver. And I'll give you one more warning. If you want to act like an animal and fight me, I put you back in the cage."
It took a moment to get his voice working but he finally said quietly, "You're right I'm an animal, an animal that should have just snapped your neck, but I wanted to watch you die slowly. I won't make that mistake again."
Hedeon rather colored then said, "I warned you not to fight back."
"And, I warned you that I'm going to kill you. Next time, you won't be so lucky? You're making a serious mistake keeping me alive. I'm going to stop you."
"And you are still threatening to attack me? And, I thought you were smart. Well, Tsk, tsk. I think I will give you some time to think about what you have done, Oliver. All you have to do to avoid punishment is to do what you are told. But since you didn't, I'll see in three days. Yes, I think three days, and we'll try again. Nite, Oliver."
And Hedeon turned the light off on his way out, and plunged him into complete darkness, not only in the room but in his mind.
So, he lay in the darkness, his body cramping in misery, his chest a living throbbing raw surface of pain, as he inhaled sharply, and with every breath he could smell his own blood. His hand when it would finally move again reached and touched and found blood. With every beat of his heart, he seemed to go further into the darkness within him. His body was trembling from the cold, the pain, and he was so hungry and thirsty, as he screamed his total rage into the darkness.
"I'M COMING FOR YOU. JUST FOR YOU. I'M GOING TO KILL YOU. I SWEAR IT." Then he pulled himself into a small uncomfortable ball and tried to sleep.
#####OQ#####
Voices came through the darkness.
"You're bleeding him out."
"It's only been a day. I told him three, so he's not getting out for two more."
"He'll be dead in two. When was the last time he had something to drink? Look at him, he's dying. Don't you see how gray he is? Do you know why he hasn't pissed on himself? It's because he's dehydrated, and he's still bleeding. Oh, never mind, just let him die. Tomorrow, probably tonight, you can have them carry out the corpse. It will save me problems later."
Good, he thought as he reached for the darkness again. It was easier.
"Oliver," someone was saying his name. But he didn't care. It was nice in the darkness.
"Come on, drink. You need to drink."
Wet was being poured on his mouth. And unable to help himself, he opened his chapped lips and the water filled his mouth and he swallowed. But he was still in the cage, still in pain, and he turned his head.
"Come on, again."
"No, let me be."
"No, drink." And the water filled his mouth again and against his will, he drank, for his body refused to spit it out. And the blackness reached to meet him again, until he woke up fighting the confining space, kicking the walls savagely, walls that didn't give and his motion only added to his pain. But that didn't stop him, the pain was becoming a part of him now, he could bear the pain, and he was embracing it, and owning it. But then the fury, the rage inside of him at the unjustness of his life, of how this kept happening to him, had him screaming, and screaming, his mind filled with pure darkness.
"Oliver," her voice was sharp, high pitched. "You're not there. Oliver, stop fighting. Oliver, wake up. Come back to me."
He realized he was screaming and sitting up in the bed. She was saying something to him, but he couldn't focus.
The sun was shining, she was dressed and standing by the door, her face drawn and pale. Somehow, his alarm had not worked, and he had let himself go into REM sleep. And his dream had scared her this time. The fear was there in her face. For just an instant, he had let the animal out and it had frightened her, and the guilt that attacked him was intense. Placing his head in his hands, he snarled at her, "Go away, Felicity."
"No, Oliver."
"I mean it, just please give me some time, some space."
The bed dipped and he knew she wasn't listening to him. AGAIN.
"Don't touch me right now. Don't ask me."
"Okay, I won't. But, come on, get up, and take a shower, cause you are really sweating. What is it with you and sweating, buckets, you can sweat buckets. Me, I have to really work to sweat. And I can't say that I really like to sweat. Ick," And he looked up to see her make one of those Felicity faces at him, and he knew he was awake.
"Now coffee's on and I'm going to try to cook your breakfast this morning."
"Really?" In shock, while his mind was scrambling to grasp the fact that it seemed that she was just going to let the dream go for the morning.
"Really." There was her smile that he felt she reserved just for him.
"Yes, because I love you, I'm going to try to make pancakes. Youtube doesn't make it look that hard, and we have a mix. So, come on and hurry and get up. Because, I might need you to come and rescue me if I get in trouble."
And then she winked at him and climbed off the bed and left him sitting there in wonder that even though, he had just frighten her, Felicity had just assured him that she still loved him. And he knew that she was trying to make him feel better, trying to have a normal life with him, and he wasn't sure if he had ever loved her more than right now, even if she burned his pancakes, which she probably would if he didn't hurry up.
"Oliver," she was hollering, "How hungry are you? Hurry up and come help me find the syrup."
And he rolled out of the bed, knowing that with her beside him, he could face another day, and, yes, another night too.
#####OQ#####
Thanks for the read. Love to hear from anyone that wants to drop me a note. And yes, we are about to meet the team.