From Darkness

I dreamt of space. But a starless, thick space that seemed to move and feel on its own. I could feel it slithering around me, digging around my brain like a worm. The harder I fought, the tighter it held me. A smothering cosmic blanket. It thumped through me like a heartbeat, slithering through my body in my blood.

"Jo, wake up," someone said, but I swung back and cracked him on the chin with my elbow.

Then I straddled him between my legs and wrapped my hands around his throat. All I could see was his face peering out of that velvety darkness. But I wasn't going to drown. Not this time.

His hands moved to my arms as he tried to pry me off of him, but I couldn't let go. I could see he was struggling to breathe, and I wanted him to know what it felt like to be afraid like that. I could feel the Darkness slithering inside me again. Burning through my blood toward his face.

His hands squeezed my wrists hard enough to hurt them. Then the plates shifted. The arm made a digital whirring noise before it shot into action. The next thing I knew, he had me pinned on my back with my arms over my head. I couldn't move.

"Jo," he coughed. "This is real. I'm real. You're safe. I'm not going to hurt you."

"I know it's real!" I snapped. I tried to wiggle free of his grip, but now, he had the upper hand, and I'd never win against that arm.

"We're in Belarus," he said. "I'm not going to hurt you. I won't hurt anyone."

"You tried to drown me. I begged you to stop, but you wouldn't listen. I couldn't get away."

He stayed still while I struggled. I could hear him trying to regain control of his breathing. His hair had fallen into his face, and the room was dark. The Darkness slithered around away from me, slinking back into the shadows.

And then it all came back. As if he'd reached into the dark vastness and pulled me out. The woods. The branch. Belarus. Russell. Bucky.

"Oh God," I said. I went still and pinched my eyes shut. "I'm so sorry."

"How do I know I'm talking to Jo?" he asked.

"It's me. Belarus. Real."

"You gotta give me more than that."

"You like waffles," I said. "But you don't like whipped cream. And you don't like olives. You grip my pillow in your hand when we…."

"I got it."

He let me go and moved onto his side to catch his breath. He was lying on the blankets, and it was obvious he'd spent the entire night in the chair. At least until he woke me up. I wrapped my arms around my head. They were still shaking. I could still feel the memory of that Darkness sliding over me and into my blood.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, muffled by my arms.

"It's okay," he replied. "What did you see?"

"The dark." That's all I had to say. He didn't ask me to elaborate. "This is what I was afraid of. This is why I have to be on my own. I wasn't thinking."

"You offered me a home when I had nothing. What kind of person would I be if I made you do this on your own?"

I couldn't answer that. I listened to his breathing go back to normal and stayed hidden in my arms. I wanted to escape. I didn't want him close to me again.

But then he moved. He reached over to grip my shoulder. He pulled me to him, and I gave in without a fight, but I kept my arms tight around my head. He laid down beside me and pulled me to his chest. He took one of my hands away so that he could hold it to his heart. The other hand came around me, tight but not restrictive.

"I don't want to hurt you again," I whispered against him. His hand moved to the back of my head.

"You didn't."

I shut my eyes. His body was warm, and my heartbeat slowed until it was steady again. It was easy to believe it was real when he was with me. I felt safe in his arms. The panic faded into the darkness, but I still didn't want to fall asleep again.

"I could have killed you. And I hurt you with words," I reminded him.

"You didn't have control. I know what that's like. I knew how to make you stop. We'll work through it. It gets easier."

"You got me to stop this time. What if I get my hands on a weapon before I realize what I'm doing?"

"I can stop you."

"You told me you wouldn't."

"I lied."

"Promise?"

"Yes, Jo."

"You're not afraid of me?" He laughed. Not to mock me. It wasn't very loud—just mild amusement.

"Should I be afraid of you?" he asked.

"I would be."

"You know we've had this exact conversation before. But our roles were reversed. You had more reasons to be afraid of me than I do of you. And you've never been afraid of me."

That wasn't true. I'd been terrified. Every time. Even though it wasn't him. And now that I was free, I was learning to tell the difference. At least when I was awake. But in my memories, the girl had never gotten his eyes quite right. And the steady beat of his heart assured me that he was real.

"It's different," I said.

"The only difference is that I've always been a much bigger threat to your safety than you are to mine."

"Don't underestimate it. You saw what it did. And the only time I ever saw you lash out was when you were backed into a corner."

"I kept it from you. That doesn't mean it wasn't there. I got you to think before it went too far. If they come for me, Jo, they'll make sure I don't have enough time to think. There won't be anything you or anyone else can do to stop me."

"Are you afraid?"

"Terrified. But not of you."

"Then why do you want us to stick together? What if they come?" He took a deep breath as he considered his answer. I could feel his chest press against my cheek before he relaxed again.

"Because I think you know how to make me stop. Even if you're too afraid to do it."

"Hit you really hard on the head?" He gave another short laugh.

"I guess that's one way to do it. Just make sure you actually knock me out next time." I groaned and buried my face in his chest. I could tell he was just playing with me, but it still made me feel guilty. His fingers twisted in my hair again. "It'll be risky, but—we can't protect each other if we're apart. There are things more dangerous than you and me. We're stronger together."

I wasn't sure it would be enough. I could kill him without meaning to, and they could make him kill me. I couldn't remember a time, a clear memory, where he'd acted violently toward me by accident. Not like I'd just done to him. But there were moments when he'd been overwhelmed. When he pushed me into the counter the night we met. When he broke my bathroom mirror. Or the night he had a nightmare and tossed me off the couch. I wouldn't even count the times he shot me, though I'd never held him accountable for that.

Maybe I was just lucky, or perhaps he really did keep me from seeing what was there. The longest we ever spent together at once he'd been too injured to move. He left as soon as he could. And before then—he was in and out. We'd never cohabitated. We'd never had to depend on each other.

I wasn't afraid. Not of what he could do to me. If he did hurt me, it wouldn't be because he wanted to. But I had definitely wanted to hurt him. I'd wanted him to know what it felt like to not be able to breathe. I'd wanted him to die.

I didn't know what would happen if I managed to get the upper hand during an episode like that. I'd never be able to live with myself if I woke up one day and found him dead.

But I was pretty sure he'd said that exact thing to me once. It was his greatest fear too. And I guess I finally understand why he'd been so afraid to love me in the first place.