Photographs of Graves

No, not now, please, not now.

“Mom? Mom, are you there?”

Don't go in. Please, you know what's in there.

”Momma?

Something was dripping.

Don't go in, you stupid girl.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Water was running behind the door.

Stop it, Ari, don't go. Don't open it.

My small hand twisted open the doorknob.

”Mommy! Mom, no!”

Red was spreading across the floor, soaking up the bottom of my pants. Her withered face stared, cracked lips smiling.

”Mommy loves you... Mommy loves you...”

Twisting on the floor, getting tangled in the red. I couldn't escape. I had to get to the phone... Call an ambulance... I was ensnared, I couldn't get away. I shrieked, clawing out in frustration. It was holding me down, pressing against me...

I was shaken violently awake by a pair of hands gripping my shoulders. My eyes flew open and my oppressor appeared, Graves' face looming inches above mine. The red was gone, replaced by entangling bedsheets. My chest was heaving, sweat rolling down my spine and hair plastered to my face. I couldn't stop trembling.

She was dying on the floor. I had to help her.

That was a long time ago. She's safe. I'm half a world away from her.

I couldn't stop the tears that were rolling down my face. Graves touched my wet, fevered cheek, also panting.

“It was just a dream, Ari,” he soothed, “It was just a dream.”

He pulled me to his chest, cradling me as I continued to cry uncontrollably. The night swallowed us both up whole, shadows pressing in tightly all around the bed we sat on. I clung to his chest, lost in my past agony.

Fuck it. Fuck it all.

I had tried so hard to keep this part of me a secret. My broken side reared its ugly head, screaming in the face of Graves and taunting me. Torn pieces of my heart that I had recollected and sewn back together tumbled out of my aching chest onto Graves' lap, all my hidden damage suddenly there for everyone to see.

Damn it all.

Once I had regained my composure he took me out to his little kitchenette, moving silently past the room where Dan and Mikael resided. I wore one of his t-shirts like a dress and stood in the corner shivering while he made two steaming mugs of hot cocoa, placing one into my trembling hands. I held it meekly to my lips and drank slowly, eyes plastered to my toes.

A couple minutes later Mikael and Dan hesitantly emerged from their room, their heads bobbing out of the darkness like buoys on a moonlit lake.

“Hey, did someone get murdered out here?” Mikael asked. Dan just coughed. “We heard some shouting, and...”

“Night terrors,” I replied shortly. I took a long drink of my cocoa, avoiding eye contact and nearly draining the cup. The wall clock ticked loudly in the silence, the microwave chirped, and the refrigerator hummed.

I glanced at the little neon lights on the microwave. It was about four AM, too early to get up but too late to totally salvage a good night's sleep. I sighed.

“So, everyone want to go back to bed?” I said in forced cheerfulness.

“But you were calling out and crying...” Mikael raised an eyebrow. I shrugged.

“Like I said, night terrors. Sorry for waking you up, but I'm good now.”

My mother's limp body mocked me from behind my eyelids, phantom whispers still ringing in my ears. I wasn't fine. I probably wouldn't get much more sleep tonight.

All three men were regarding me skeptically, unconvinced but not quite sure how to reply. I walked to the sink with a little bounce in my step and complete avoidance of eye contact, plastering a smile across my face and jovially rinsing out my mug. I could feel their eyes boring into the back of my skull.

“I think we're good, guys. Thanks for your concern. We'll clean up, you guys get a bit more sleep,” Graves insisted, dismissing them with an offhand tone and a smile. They glanced at each other but obediently disappeared, sharing confused glances as they shut their door.

“Night terrors, huh?”

“From time to time.”

I turned to Graves, who was giving me a dour look, and pushed him aside about a foot so I could put my mug in the dishwasher. He ran a hand across my back as I leaned over. I ignored the shivers that ran down my spine.

“So what happened with your mother?”

I couldn't ignore that set of shivers.

“What did I say?” I asked.

“Enough. What happened?”

I turned away, the image of my mother's clutching fingers pressing against the glass pane of my skull. It was the last time I'd seen her, hand trying to reach through to me through that plexiglass panel of the psych ward. I could have gone in to see here. I could have. But I didn't. I shook my head.

“Nothing worth commenting on.”

“Bullshit.”

“I'd rather not talk about it.”

He was giving me that frustrated glare that I'd seen so many times over the last few days. I turned away, my bare feet pattering lightly on the shadowed tiles. I pressed into the shadows of the hallway, disappearing.

“Murphy.”

“I'm going back to bed.”

“Why won't you talk to me?”

“Because I still don't trust you enough.”

I blurted it before I could think, and the truth came tumbling out of my mouth even as I was trying to take them back. I might as well have verbally bitch-slapped him from the look on his face, a wince of pain masked by a gruff frown.

“Look, I'm sorry about the drugs. I'm sorry I lied. I already told you I don't want it to get between us-”

“Yeah, but it did. Just let it go, please?” My voice was a little too snappy. I swallowed. “Can we please just go back to bed?”

I didn't just feel like a bitch by this point. I felt like an super-bitch. I should have a cape or something with a big capital B. The worst part was I was being honest, so I didn't feel entirely unjustified. Graves probably thought I was unjust, but if he did he didn't say anything.

“... You know, you're allowed to yell at me if you think I'm being a bitch,” I offered. He raised an eyebrow, still saying nothing. After a few moments I turned away walking back into the bedroom. I curled up on the bed, pulling the covers up to my chin.

The bed felt way too big for me. Sure, I was having trouble forgiving the guy, and at the moment I was having trouble trusting him, but hell, I wanted to keep him around. My heart and my head were tangled in a wrestling match, vying for control of my feelings. It made my head hurt.

“Oh, what fools these mortals be,” I murmured. I'm sure good old Billy Shakespeare understood my tumultuous feelings. Even so, Shakespeare remained silent in his grave and the world gave no answer otherwise. I sighed, closing my eyes.

Somewhere between a second later and an eternity – I'll ballpark it at around ten minutes – the door swung open and shut again, creaking softly on its hinges. The bed creaked and moved, bouncing me lightly, before another warm form pressed against my side.

“Just so you know, I can survive a bit of bitchiness. I'm a big boy now, I shave and everything,” Graves mused softly. I gave a small chuckle.

“So, you admit I was kind of a bitch?”

“Depends. Did you mean it?”

That little knife twisted in my upper chest.

“Yeah.”

I could almost hear the knife twisting in him, too.

“So, you don't trust me?”

“Not that much at the moment.”

“Yet you're still sleeping in my bed?”

“It's complicated.”

He snorted.

“Amen to that.”

We turned toward each other, and I burrowed my head somewhere in the crook of his neck. The awkward anti-cuddling arm disappeared under the pillow above Graves' head, the other one petting my hair.

“We'll get past this,” he assured, “Even if it takes you being a bitch and me being a lying asshole. We'll get past it.”

Amen to that.

I closed my eyes again, giving another small chuckle before going back to sleep.