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Jul. 6th, 2019 07:00 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
intrntl_superassassinThe dream started with Frank’s brother Henry and the hunting knife he had stabbed me with. His words were Mark’s though. The words Mark had said to me for two years after my parents died, whispered in my ear and I had agreed with because I was twelve and I thought it meant he loved me. I'd been a stupid fucking kid but all I had ever wanted was love and attention. I thought that was what Mark was giving me.
“You love this.”
In the dream, Henry whispered those words in my ear before he slid the knife in, opening the scar that I'd gotten from the stab-wound on the night I'd met Charlie and Frank.
Dreaming about Henry stabbing me was enough to wake me up, my hand on the sidways V-shaped scar. I only had a moment to try to consider what sort of omen the dream was trying to give me before the stars were exploding behind my eyes. It was like cracking my head against the cement floor all over again. And again and again. I reached for the bottle of pills next to the bedside, fumbling my fingers past my gun to get the bottle. I hadn't had a nightmare like this years and still thought it was ridiculous a bad dream could trigger something like this.
I hadn't had a Migraine in months, either. I hadn't had one this bad since Chicago four years ago, and that one had knocked me out for three days. I rolled over, pressed my face into my pillow to get some relief from the dim light in the room. I thought briefly about putting a bullet in my head to stop the pain before it got too bad.
“You love this.”
In the dream, Henry whispered those words in my ear before he slid the knife in, opening the scar that I'd gotten from the stab-wound on the night I'd met Charlie and Frank.
Dreaming about Henry stabbing me was enough to wake me up, my hand on the sidways V-shaped scar. I only had a moment to try to consider what sort of omen the dream was trying to give me before the stars were exploding behind my eyes. It was like cracking my head against the cement floor all over again. And again and again. I reached for the bottle of pills next to the bedside, fumbling my fingers past my gun to get the bottle. I hadn't had a nightmare like this years and still thought it was ridiculous a bad dream could trigger something like this.
I hadn't had a Migraine in months, either. I hadn't had one this bad since Chicago four years ago, and that one had knocked me out for three days. I rolled over, pressed my face into my pillow to get some relief from the dim light in the room. I thought briefly about putting a bullet in my head to stop the pain before it got too bad.
