Robin holds my wrists above my head, but then leaves me. But I can't move. It's as if he's secured me to the wall with invisible restraints, and though I frantically twist and struggle to free myself, it's no use. And then Sam has rematerialized, but he's walking casually down the street, unaware of any danger. Robin sprints toward him, and I open my mouth to scream a warning, but my voice won't work.
No! Sam! Look out!
But it's too late. Robin is on him in a flash, and they fight, both landing punches, until Sam is flung into the street and an oncoming car screeches ominously, unable to stop in time.
Oh, God! Sam! No!
I bolt up in bed, my eyes darting around the moonlit room, gasping in terror as Sam coos that it was just a dream, that I'm okay. And that he's sorry, he'sso sorry.I try to catch my breath as I wonder what he's sorry for, until I realize he's sitting atop the duvet, as if he's just run back to bed to wake me from my dream. He must have gotten out of bed, unable to sleep, surely still rattled from Robin's attack.
I fling my arms around his neck and weep quietly against his chest, absolutely mad with relief that Sam is here, that the dream wasn't real. That his fate didn't mirror Cam's.
Not yet, my subconscious whispers unkindly, and I blanch.
Sam continues to whisper words of comfort, but I say nothing. This was the worst dream I've ever had.Losing Sam. How could I possibly survive such a thing? After everything I've already survived. Surely everyone has their limit of heartbreak and grief before their heart simply refuses to continue to beat.
Sam asks if my nightmare was an especially bad one and I just nod against his chest. He has no idea. Perhaps worst of all is that it echoed my darkest fear, and that I know that fear is not unfounded.
Eventually I calm, and we settle back into bed, Sam promising he won't leave me while I sleep again. He castigates himself for doing it in the first place, and I want to tell him it's okay, that it isn't his fault, but I can't find my voice. And even if I could, I'm not sure I could bring myself to lie to him. Because I know if he'd stayed with me, he'd have kept the nightmares away.
****
It's morning when I next wake, and Sam is still fast asleep, though I've no idea what time he finally shut his eyes last night. I know I should let him sleep, so I gingerly slip out of bed and pad to the bathroom to wash up. I shower thoroughly and creep back into the bedroom, where Sam stirs a little, but remains asleep, and I pull on his boxers and my camisole from last night.
Sam stirs again and I still until he turns over and settles. He was such a restful sleeper the few times I slept with him, and it unnerves me that he's tossing and turning now. He mumbles something in his sleep and I tiptoe closer to the bed. It's then that I notice his beautiful features are screwed up in distress.
Should I wake him?
"No," he mumbles, his body tensing. "Away..."
Suddenly he thrashes violently onto his side and kicks at the covers. "Don't touch'er!"
My jaw drops in horror and I jump onto the bed and start shaking him. "Sam! Wake up!" I beg, but he pushes me behind him and kicks out again at some invisible attacker at his front.
"No!" he cries.
I shake him desperately. "Please, Sam! Please wake up! You're dreamin'!Please!" I plead with his unconscious self.
His eyes shoot open suddenly and shoot around the room like he's still trying to locate the attacker, and I just gape at him with wide, tear-filled eyes. I see the moment he realizes he's been dreaming and understands where he actually is. His hand flies to rake his hair and he closes his eyes again to get his bearings. The entire sight is positively heartbreaking.
So this is what it's like for him to witness my nightmares,I realize with profound despair.
"You're okay," I whisper shakily.
Sam blows out a deep exhale and, eyes still shut tight, nods vaguely. He rallies to pull himself together before composing himself to ask ifIam okay. I glare at him incredulously and he sighs.He starts to sit up but I push him gently down and settle on his lap, raining soft kisses on his cheeks, forehead, lips, even his eyelids.It's all I can think to do.
He takes my face in his hands, brushing my few fallen tears away with his thumbs.
"It was about me?" I ask hesitantly, though I already know it was. He doesn't answer me, he just turns to his side, repositioning us both so that we lay side by side, facing one another.
His knuckles brush over my bruised cheek and he winces.His fingers trail down to my neck, and I read in his sorrowful expression that he sees the bruise there too. His fingers continue their route over my shoulder, and his gaze follows them. "I love this shoulder," he murmurs.
"You...what?"
"I never realized how sexy a shoulder could be. Until I came to your house that day. You know, when you offered to let metaste your muffin," he smirks wickedly and I blush.
I'm vaguely aware that he's trying to distract me from his nightmare, and that he's succeeding. "You were wearing that NYU sweatshirt that fell over your shoulder, and I couldn't stop staring at it, thinking it was the most perfect fucking shoulder I'd ever seen. Andthat I'd like to lick it... not that I didn'talsowant to lick your-"
"Sam!" I giggle, shoving at his chest playfully before swiping a residual tear from my cheek.
