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8 || nightmares

alexa, play gasoline by halsey

DAY 8

        A tumultuous bellow ripped Amelia from her sleep. 

        Her eyes opened rapidly, heart thumping harshly against her chest, as an alarmed gasp escaped her lips. James wasn't sleeping peacefully how he was when she fell into her slumber, quite the opposite now, as his forehead collected sweat droplets while his head jerked around. His lips were parted as he repeatedly mumbled something under his breath, his brow scrunching up apprehensively. Whatever he was dreaming about must have been not good. 

        "James," she whispered softly, trying to wake him from his night terror, as she leaned forward tentatively. 

        "No, don't."

        "James," she repeated, louder this time, shifting onto her knees on the couch cushion to hover over him. "You're dreaming." 

        "Don't. Please." 

        She placed her unsteady hands on the sides of his face. "James, wake up." 

        She noticed the tears that had streamed down his cheeks, hitting her skin, as his eyes suddenly flashed open. His pupils dilated as he uncontrollably grasped her arms, pushing her off of him, and slammed her body down against the couch. With her arms pinned against her sides, she helplessly watched his jaw tense up and relax a couple of times as he struggled to climb out of the fog that inhabited his brain. 

        "It was just a nightmare," she cooed as softly as she could, hoping to calm him down. "It's okay now." 

        His chest expanded roughly with each breath he sucked into his lungs, his damp hair clinging to his cheeks, as he blinked slowly a few times. The grip on her arms remained tight.

        "What were you dreaming about?"  

        "Don't do that," he warned in a raspy voice. 

        "You should talk about it. Talking through your nightmares can make it less likely for you to keep-"

        "Stop fucking talking," he cut her off harshly, loosening his hold on one of her arms to hold himself up by propping his hand on the couch cushion beside her face. 

        James was used to frequently waking up this way, he was unfazed by this occurrence by now, but he understood that Amelia wouldn't feel the same. He mentally kicked himself for falling asleep in her presence to begin with. This would be another thing she would dig and dig about to get more information. 

        "Are you okay?" she asked him faintly, using her free hand to comfortingly place in on his forearm, a tactic she used to calm down her patients. Maintaining eye contact, a friendly voice, and some comforting touches could establish trust between a doctor and the patient. 

        "I'm fine," he snapped, pushing himself away from her and sitting up straight on the couch where he was positioned before. 

        He could feel the anger bubbling up inside of him the more she pried, the more she tried to comfort him. But he was mostly angry at the way he always reacted to her looking at him, talking to him, or just being in the same room as him. The same, dirty thoughts always flickered through his mind - or maybe he just wanted to have his hands around her throat again.

        "You're crying." 

        His jaw tightened. "Do you ever just fucking listen?"

        Amelia shifted from her lying down position until she was sitting up next to him. Her head dropped slightly in hopes to make him look at her. "Bucky, I'm trying to help you."

        The scent of her warm vanilla perfume mixed with the wine on her breath was driving him crazy. The aromas swirled around in his nose, making his head spin, frustrating him even more. He wanted this infuriating, beautiful woman all over him. 

        Without warning, he lunged forward, pushing her back down onto the couch as an angry grunt erupted from his throat. "There are other ways to help me that don't include you ... speaking." 

        The hooded look in his blue eyes made her realize exactly what he was talking about. If his wide frame hadn't been smashed between her legs, she may have had the common sense to push him off of her. Instead, she unintentionally let out a tiny squeak at the feeling of his weight trapping her against the cushion. Before he could say something sarcastic, she attempted to reclaim the quickly escalating situation. 

        "That's temporary, James. You'll feel better until that high fades ... and then you're right back where you started." 

        "I don't care." 

        "I care," she whined in annoyance, she pleaded with him with her eyes. "I don't want to temporarily fix you. I want to permanently fix you." 

        "But releeease," he murmured huskily, lowering himself until he was right next to her ear. "Ah, that would definitely help." 

        The sound of need in his voice shockingly sent goosebumps trailing down her spine. In this moment, as she felt his warm breath trickling against her skin with his body pressed firmly against her own, she found it very difficult to think properly. But this wasn't what she came here to do, this wasn't the job she had promised everyone she would do. 

        Amelia's nostrils flared fumingly as she realized she was just a fraction away from being tricked by James Buchanan Barnes. She knew she was better than this - her work was more important to her than anything else. 

        Placing her hands on his toned chest, she shoved as hard as she could. She hadn't expected him to move very much, but it was enough to get her point across as she hissed, "No." 

        The urgency dancing around in his orbs briskly disappeared as resentment took its place. With an enraged scoff rumbling through him, he thrusted himself away from Amelia as he stood up from the couch. His mouth popped open, as if he was about to say something snarky, before slamming it closed again, his tongue sucking his teeth in annoyance. 

        James gave her one last troubled look before retreating to his room.