I literally have no idea what my plans are for this piece. Guess I'll just follow inspiration as it comes and see where it takes us.
Elliot rarely slept soundly. There was no rest in sleep—only the nonstop replay of memories he'd rather forget. Dreaming meant remembering, and there were so many things he desperately wanted to forget. And now, every time he closed his eyes, he saw her. Rita. Buried in a shallow grave on the shore.
That's where his dream began. At the beach. He was pawing at the sand, desperately hoping but secretly knowing she was gone. His mind conjured up images of her eyes locked in terror and her accented voice pleading with her attacker.
He did everything he could, but he couldn't save her. He couldn't save any of them.
The dream morphed, and he found himself chasing a gurney down a hospital hallway. In his dream, he knew the outcome. Kathy was dead. Murdered because of him, and he couldn't save her. He fell to his knees on that sterile hospital floor, anguish threatening to consume him. He felt himself suffocating beneath the pressure on his chest. Maybe he was dying. Maybe that would be okay.
But then there was a gentle hand on his shoulder. He knew her touch without turning. She came to save him, like she always did. She never failed him, even when he constantly failed her. He turned, but his saving grace, his Olivia grimaced in pain. Her hands gripped her side as blood escaped through her fingers.
He jumped up, but she had already fallen to the ground, and they weren't in a sterile hospital hallway anymore. The white walls morphed into the brightly colored walls of a familiar diner.
He dropped down next to her, pawing at her clothing, desperately trying to find the source of the bleeding, but he couldn't find it. His hands were completely saturated in blood. Olivia's blood. He yelled out in frustration. He needed to save her. He would not let her die like this. He had to save her.
But he couldn't stop the hemorrhage, and like Rita's body buried on the beach, Olivia's warm features faded away. She was gone, and he failed her.
He failed them all. Every. Single. One.
He jolted up in bed and pressed a hand firmly against his chest. A dream. It was nothing more than a dream. Then again, Rita was still dead. Kathy was dead.
He dropped back into the pillows, and the springs of the old mattress bounced a little from his weight. He slowed down his breathing, consciously sucking slow, even breaths into his lungs. His adrenaline began to wane, but he didn't want to close his eyes. If he did, the haunting images would drag him deeper into darkness.
For a while, he studied the outdated popcorn texture on the ceiling, but the distraction was short-lived. He rolled onto his side and reached for his phone, lying on the honey oak nightstand. He held the phone in front of him. It took a minute for his eyes to adjust to the bright light of the screen.
When he could finally see it, he scrolled to his text messaging app. Pinned at the top was her name, Liv.
His thumbs hovered over the keys as he waited for the words to come to him. He typed a steady stream of flowing thoughts.
Hey. I got your message. I'm sorry I didn't call back. It's just this case... I know what you are thinking. I'm suspended. Why the hell am I working a case? It's a long story. Remember Rita? Nevermind. It's too much to go into in a text. Maybe I should just call. I should, but it's 3 a.m., and I'm hoping you are sleeping. You deserve sleep, Liv.
I should sleep, but I can't. I can't stop thinking about all the stupid ass decisions I've made, and I can't stop thinking about how I hurt you. I'm sorry. God, that sounds so trite, but I am. I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm sorry I keep hurting you. I wish I was different, but maybe this is just who I am. A person who hurts the ones I love. I'm probably not good enough for you, Liv. Actually, I know I'm not good enough, but I can't stop myself from asking you to give us a shot. If we give this a chance... I know we could be great. We always have been. Shit. It looks like I wrote a novel. I really should sleep. Maybe sleep will make things more clear. Or maybe I'll get lost in the land of my worst mistakes and my biggest failures. I don't know. Sleep doesn't really bring me peace anymore. Maybe I've seen too much. Maybe we've seen too much. Good Hell. I'm done. I'm not writing anymore on this stupidly long text. I dunno what I'm asking. Maybe call me soon? I promise to pick up. Bye Liv.
He laid his head on the pillow and rolled onto his back so he could hold his phone above him. The send button glared at him from the corner of the screen, taunting him and daring him to grow a set and send it. His finger hovered over the arrow, and he closed his eyes. One minute movement could send his deepest thoughts to the woman he loved. The press of the button. He stared at the screen for another minute as his mind vacillated between caution and jumping in feet first. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then he locked the phone screen, tossing the device back to its original position on the nightstand. Maybe one day things would change, but it wouldn't be tonight.