The Fault is Not In The Stars But In Ourselves

To Live--Actually Live

Theo woke up gasping for air, his lungs burning, his mind fuzzed from lack of oxygen. His eyes flew open, frantically, and he found himself in a dark room on top of a mattress, a blanket lying loosely on top of him.

He woke up. Theo grasped at his chest, his hand tightening around his shirt as his heart slammed against his chest. His shirt was... was dry. He was alive.

His heart was thump, thump, thumping against his chest, harder, faster. It hurt!

.... He was alive.

Theo looked around frantically, gasping desperately for more and more air. He.. he couldn't get enough. He could barely get any at all.

He was alive, but it was starting to feel like he was dying right then and there–survived the bridge just to die in some... some random room.

A blurred figure appeared over him–a young woman with long dark brown hair that fell into her face as she looked down at him.

"Theo?"

He knew that voice. He heard it every night before he went to sleep. A voice that often sang his name in two long syllables, light and haunting.

Oh.

Oh.

Oh, no.

No... he... he did everything he could. He tried to run. He tried to protect her. He jumped off a bridge to save her. He... he couldn't be back here again, with her standing over him and him struggling to breathe--with him trapped against his will as she...

No.

"P-please," Theo gasped out, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. "Pl...please."

His world tilted, started to blur all the more as he struggled for oxygen.

"Shhh," Tara breathed, reaching her hand down towards him.

Theo flinched backwards, trying to move away, but was trapped on the bed.

"It's okay. You're okay. It's okay." She grabbed his arm, moving his upper body so he was in a sitting position. Then, she grabbed something off a side table and began to shake it. He vaguely recognized the sound of an inhaler, the unique click, click, click as it moved in her hands.

She placed the mouth piece to his lips. "Deep breath, yeah?"

Theo didn't want to listen–to do as she said, when all it would likely cause was death. Still, Theo took a deep breath as Tara pressed down on the inhaler. Air rushed into his lungs, and he held his breath for five seconds before releasing.

As soon as he was able to breathe, his vision began to clear and he looked up with teary eyes to see—Tara. Tara Raeken. Except... Not really. Not exactly. Not his Tara, anyway: not the Tara with waterlogged features and knotted hair and a ripped open chest cavity. This wasn't even young Tara, the one he went back to save–the one he had let die once upon a time.

No, this was Tara. She... she was older, the same age as the Tara who had haunted his nightmares and his time in the Skinwalker Prison, but she was alive. There was color in her cheeks, and her chest was intact. Her hair was brushed and styled. Pretty.

Real.

.... Alive.

"Tara?" Theo asked, his voice coming out gravelly–dry.

"It's okay. Just a nightmare. You're okay." She offered a small smile, brushing a bit of hair out of his eyes. "You're okay. You're safe. No doctors in masks to get you tonight, okay?" She hesitated before helping him lay back down, then kneeled down next to his bed. "Just... just try and sleep, okay? Scott wants to have a pack meeting in the morning."