Book Two : Aveline. | Slash Fanfiction

chapter thirty-one

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THIRTY-ONE - 1992, London.
Day Six ; Please, Sweet Cheeks

HAD IT HAVE been a few weeks earlier, the coming of his vividly horrendous nightmare, then perhaps it wouldn't have riddled him so horrifically, with his clothing drenched sweatily, his hair clung to his face as though a freshly run bath had been endured. Saul struggled to breathe through the tangle of curls, matted down to his cheeks and his neck, and his ragged chest, aching something nasty as he lit up the last cigarette from the empty packet. Making a mental note that he needed to purchase a new packet of cigarettes, Saul rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands, exhaling the smoke with a loud breath, before swinging his legs over the side of the couch, staring blankly into the space of the floorboards.

Perhaps, he thought, the dream was a sign. Maybe this unbelievably realistic vision, was in fact, everything he'd ever feared - only it was reality, this time. Not a simple notion of worry. Nothing had happened thus far, however, and Saul found himself crawling with unusual anxiety, trailing the tips of his fingers, tingling down his forearms until his entirety was consumed in an uneasy, sickly feeling. After a moment or so, Saul was met with the bitter taste of the cigarettes filter, scrunching up his nose and tossing the bud elsewhere, with a soft sigh and ruffle of the hair.

The dream - the vision, the prediction, whatever the fuck it was - couldn't meander it's way from his trail of thought. And so, with the darkening, blue, thoughts blanketing him thickly, like a tangent of syrup, Saul felt his feet trudge heavily, slowly, toward his emergency stash of Whisky. This morning, this afternoon - he wasn't sure of the exact time, and the curtains were drawn closely - called for an emotional abundance. Saul needed to lose himself, however it may be, but he needed to do it - and he needed to feel the numbing nothingness fast.

The bottle cap hardly bounced from the floor as he attached his mouth to the lip of the glass, guzzling it's contents with a sincere burning feeling to grace the back of his throat, igniting a fuzzy feeling to swell within his stomach and a light sensation to rocket his head.

Flashes of crimson blood, trickled upon his hands, continued to pester his mind, as the reminiscence of the dream plagued his head repeatedly. From the incapability he felt to touch Aveline, to hold her closely and protectively, and pull her away from the immediate danger; to the raw, impossibly loud and racketing scream and cry that erupted from his throat, gnarly enough to jolt him awake and tear the scene of murder from his watery gaze. Aveline pooled in a ring of her own scarlet blood, lifeless and unreachable as Saul cried out repeatedly, stirring and yelling upon the bed.

It's only a dream. He muttered to himself, as his eyes swelled with pained tears, with the bottle guzzled between his trembling lips. It was only a dream.

Beneath the Hotel room key, between Saul's blurred vision, he noticed a note, with scribbled yet pretty handwriting scrawled upon its contents. Picking it up delicately, he withdrew the bottle from his lips, eyes scanning dryly along the paper. Saul, he read, a soft grin emitting on his mouth as he glanced over the badly drawn smiley face, just beside it.

Duff, Iz, and Stevie dragged me out before I could say goodbye. Hope you're not too mad. I don't know where they're taking me, or when I'll be back, but don't miss me too much, Shit Head.
-Leanie <3

Now he knew it was simply a dream. Though his chest still felt heavy, and his orbs were still watery, and his lips tingled fondly, with the bottle only half-full. He decided, foolishly so, as he crumpled the note softly within his hand, that he needed something numbingly strong, to ease the pain. He needed something to rid of his worry, and to pant a picture-perfect false reality, to get through the day without Aveline by his side.