Breathe For Me (For Me 1: Xander)

Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

Darkness surrounded her. She couldn't see. Couldn't breathe. But she had to try. She had to keep trying. Diving deeper into the darkness, fumbling to find him. To help. But she was useless. Useless against the weight, the lack of light, the burning instinct pushing her to the surface...

She woke--gulping in a deep breath, her lungs screaming to burst. But she wasn't screaming aloud. She'd not been able to scream. It had all been blocked inside. Her screams had only sounded in her head.

Wide-eyed she stared in front of her, her fingers twisting on the sheet at her side.

Light. It was light.

Reality--the day--flashed back. Her decision to work from home. Lunch. Xander.

She flinched again, then froze. He was right behind her--a furnace of heat and hardness. Oh hell. A different panic washed over her. Please, please let him still be asleep. Please don't let him have woken when she'd stiffened. She didn't want to admit to the nightmare, definitely didn't want him to think she was a total nut job.

She listened, holding her breath again so she could hear. His breathing was regular and smooth but his arm banding across her ribs tightened infinitesimally. It was such a slight increase in pressure she wasn't sure if it actually happened or not. She remained as still as she could, but his warmth and evenness slowly seeped into her again. Relief swept through her as she recognized his relaxation. He hadn't woken. Her vulnerability remained hidden. He wouldn't know, wouldn't ask. And she was cocooned in an embrace. Alive and, for once, not alone. She covered his strong forearm with her hand. The demons driven away by the light, by company.

But inside the torment remained. It might have been a dream today, but that night all those months ago, it had been real. And while she was safe now, the man she'd loved then, wasn't.

Xander counted, keeping his breathing regular, even, deep. Some nightmare she'd just had. She hadn't cried out, hadn't thrashed around the bed and punched him by accident or anything. Instead she'd curled into even more of a ball, shaking like some terrified kitten, her entire body twisted in an expression of raw pain. Agony.

Her jaw had clamped shut and she'd seemed to contract in on herself until it was too much and she could hold it in no longer. She'd woken with a harsh gasp, as if she'd not breathed fresh air in eons.

He'd felt her shock as she'd stiffened. Then she'd caught herself and gone completely silent--catching her breath again, he'd almost been able to see her listening for his breathing. She hadn't wanted him to know.

He could understand that. He'd never wanted anyone to know the fears that had once made him hide. So he feigned sleep now with regular, deep breaths, working hard to keep his body relaxed. Eventually she settled again, resting her hand on his arm, keeping it tight about her. Only then did she relax, finally falling asleep again.

While he lay awake.

He knew nightmares. He knew the extreme vulnerability those first few seconds upon waking, just before you realized it had been a dream and that you were safe after all. For years he'd had dreams like that--too many to count. Trapped in icy dread, fear, futility. He knew what it was like to hide and hold your breath until your lungs burned, for fear of being heard.

You can't leave me. You'll never get away from me. You and the brat. You're mine.

Always he'd woken covered in horrible cold sweat and with a racing heart that took too long to settle. He mightn't have had one like that in while, but that didn't mean he didn't remember. Some things could never be forgotten. Not least the real memories that served as muse for the nightmares.