MEMORIES

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by say_lar111

by say_lar111

October 3rd, 1979

Memories are all that I know now.

Drifting Drifting Drifting

He unlocks the door to my room. Before I walk in, he grabs my wrist. Spins me to face him. The cameras in this hallway do not have a red light flashing. They have been momentarily disabled. His hand is cold, and wraps all the way around my wrist, fingertips overlapping.

"A word of advice, love," his blue eyes bore into mine. "It's easier to play along."

He lets go of my wrist just as the camera lights start flashing again. The door closes behind me, locking itself shut.

Falling Falling Falling

"I saw what you did to Two yesterday," Peter mutters under his breath as we pace down the hallway. "Quite impressive. Two has been terrorizing the other subjects since he got here." He spares me a glance. "A question, love. Why would you do something like that—for Eleven?"

Dying Dying Dying

Someone touches my shoulder gently enough that it doesn't hurt, but rough enough to cause me to spin around, removing my sunglasses with one hand. I will destroy—

The voice makes me stop. "Y/N, love."

It is calm, yet menacing. "You have two seconds to tell me who caused those bruises. Or there will certainly be a problem."

Drowning Drowning Drowning

Grab him by the collar and pull his lips towards mine. It is nearly the exact same as my dream. Fire and ice at the same time, cold and hot, and then his hands slide around my waist. The surprise I expected from him isn't there. It is as if I am completely see-through–predictable as hell. But maybe I could just be dreaming again and none of this is actually happening and I'm going to wake up and regret ever going to sleep, and–

Peter's hands slip lower, controlling my hips and waist. His eyelashes flutter against my face, and there is nothing and everything and nothing and everything. There is nothing lovely about this. It is purely driven by desire–possibly madness–and possibly a little bit of everything in between. He smirks against my lips, pulling back to study my face. His hands dip up my shirt, stroking bare skin. I resist the urge to gasp.

None of it could've been real.

Right?