PHOENIX. [sequel to 067]

09. haunting nightmares.

after having dottore walk out on you, due to his little temper tantrum, which was you had been calling it to make yourself feel better, you drifted to sleep on the couch in his office. you had to lie to yourself, to make yourself feel better. the guilt of having upset him would eat you alive. the guilt of hurting him to that degree. he brought you back to life, after you died. and you acted as if it was nothing.

are you ungrateful? is that what it is? he brought you back from the dead, helped you go places, called those sweet names that made your heart flutter, and even let you sit on his lap in front of a goddess and what did you do? claim to not know him. sure, you have no memory of him, really,  but deep down you had to know him, didn't you? otherwise, why else would you have acted the way you did? you didn't allow him to kiss you, yet you sat on his lap. and let him, basically, flirt with you.

your body tosses and turns in its sleep. this strange dream of a child, with green hair and purple eyes, plagued your resting mind;

. . .

she stands before your body, in this dream-like world. the girl's hardly any part of your height and she looks up at you, her eyes full of .. anger? blood had been pouring down her chest rapidly and from the corners of her lips as she drawn closer to your dream body.

her hand sheepishly points out at you as her body croaks loudly. the sound rings in your ear as it gets louder.

and louder.

and louder.

and louder.

the croaking didn't cease as her finger pressed on your thigh. though, her hands looked battered and bruised.

  "i .. did this.." she speaks. her voice is hoarse and raspy as her finger didn't leave your thigh, where a large gash remained. blood poured from the room and your skin was turned outwards, allowing you to view the muscle, and wound, in its entirety.

despite the way the wound appears, you felt no pain. only an aching sense of emptiness.

her finger moves from your thigh to point at her deep chest wound, "you... you.. did this."

"you did this."

"you did this."

"you did this."

she continues to repeat herself quickly. her voice raises in pitch and volume each time it's repeated.

then she changes.

her face distorts. her eyes dragging downward like a bad computer error.

. . .

you wake up to the sound of the office door slamming open. sweat had pooled on your forehead and your breath was quick, and harsh, as you looked at the figure in the doorway.

he looked like dottore, but younger. and with scars everywhere. his hair's shorter and his eyes are brighter. there's a large scar on his forehead, along with a few other ones (small) around the same spot and his nose appeared crooked, as if it was punched and broken. a grin appeared on his face as his eyes laid upon your body, revealing a few missing teeth in his mouth.

you weren't given the chance to think about your nightmare, which is still on your mind, as his hand slams into the doorway. his fingers dig into the wood tightly and you see how ... the wood breaks under his touch;

  "remember me, darlin'?"