marilyn thornhill x fem reader

blood

tw for (very brief) description of murder, blood, and panic attacks/nightmares

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That evening, you have a nightmare that feels so real, visceral and all-consuming. It shakes you so badly that you wake up with tears spilling over your eyelids.

You jolt awake, upright almost immediately from the terror with your cheeks wet and chest panting; on instinct to comfort yourself, you press your palm to your heaving chest, right over your heart, and clamp your other hand over your mouth- trying not to sob into the dark of your room.

Because this nightmare, this unfair fucking twisted dream, reminds you that you killed someone.

The memories rushing forth has this terrifying panic attack beginning to form, right where you always feel it, in the underside of your ribcage above your lungs. The nightmare sticks to the back of your eyelids, you can feel how you tore into Rowan's chest, the blood...the screaming. His flesh ripping.

Then you saw your shifted reflection for the first time in the glint of his glasses, so terrifyingly monstrous and disgusting, that you tug your knees to your chest and burrow your head in-between them just at the thought. But the thing is, you didn't even look different, not really; there was just this insane, unhinged look in your eyes. Blood splattering up into your face, onto your lips, your jawline, as you plunged and plunged. The weight of something, maybe a knife or a blade, or maybe it was just your hands, bearing down into him.

Your breath is picking up fast, you don't know how you're going to stop the next cry coming through from waking up Yoko.

You reach for your phone immediately.

You click Marilyn's name and put the phone to your ear, choking on a panicked whimper. You need her, you need her so bad it's debilitating. The phone keeps ringing and ringing and for a moment you fear she won't answer, that it's too late, that you'll just spiral into a mess, then-

"Hello?" Marilyn's voice answers. She sounds half asleep and her voice is warm and husky; then almost instantly this tiny, panicked whine escapes you, and you hear shuffling on the other end, like Miss Thornhill sat up in her bed in worry.

"Darling? Is that you?" She asks, voice tipping into that melting concerned tone she always has for you.

You're trying to answer, you are, but you're scared if you open your mouth you'll just sob. It's like Marilyn can tell you're panicking, can tell something's terribly wrong; you screw your eyes shut and hold tighter to your drawn up knees, tears steady down your face now.

"Baby," She starts, very concerned now, and you feel guilty and awful that you caused it. "You're worrying me. Has something happened?" Your throat bobs, this choked sound comes from your throat; a pathetic attempt at answering her.

"Are you safe? Sweetie," Marilyn breathes out, voice suddenly hard and worried. "Just tell me you're safe."

You nod, even though she can't see you, and hum affirmatively in answer. Miss Thornhill breathes out over the phone at the sound, you can almost see her doing that thing she does, where she closes her eyes and presses her hand to her heart in relief.

"Oh, god. Okay, good." She says, voice pitching back to something softer. "Can you tell me what happened?" Marilyn says, and she's using that lilt to her voice, the one that is so gentle yet so commanding; one that you have never, ever been able to deny.

You wipe your nose, wet with tears, with the end of your sleeve, and feel your stomach warm. "Let me help you, honey. You're okay," Marilyn soothes, and your breathing starts to ease. "You're safe."