Even In The Grave, All Is Not Lost

The Vow

[Trigger Warning: physical assault, strangulation, attempted rape, self-harm, dissociation. All takes place in a flashback.

The description of physical assault starts after: 'The force knocking the breath from her as gravity won out' and ends here 'when Luna's senses returned to her'. The description of attempted rape starts after 'Taking stock of the rest of her senses' and ends here 'Steadying her breath' OR here 'Luna was so tired of everyone thinking that' to be extra safe since there's a stray sentence that might be triggering for some people. If you need to skip over these sections but want to know what takes place just leave me a comment :)

Please be safe.]

. . .

'Something scratching its way out

Something you want to forget about

No one expects you to get up

All on your own with no one around. . .'

- Little House by The Fray

. . .

When John left, the lightness seemed to flee with him. Luna watched it depart out the door as it shut. After that, the darkness closed in again.

The last day and night had left Luna's feelings in suffocating disarray. Without John to distract her, it was hard to breathe through them.

But she had to.

She had to breathe.

(for the moment, there was no other choice)

Inhaling, Luna began to take stock of her body, her physical senses: her limbs still burned with the ache of sickness but not nearly so fiercely as before; her tongue felt parched and desperate for water - that, she could remedy promptly; there was a twinge in her hand that sharpened with movement - the catheter, still firmly attached, even if the line had been removed; her skin was gritty, caked with dried sweat - some of it not so dry; her singlet clung damp in places - when she shifted the air blew across her skin, cutting a path of goosebumps; the flesh along her neck and back still raged - Luna suspected more of the blisters had opened up in the night, could feel the hiss of their sting. . .

Slowly, with each catalogue, she felt herself begin to calm. Her findings were not comfortable - many were painful - but they grounded her. Welded her to the present. Where she needed to live. Where she had to live.

Luna had never shied away from physical pain. That was a battlefield she'd been trained to walk with ease. And over the years she'd learned not just how to endure physical discomfort but how to use it.

Pain was a tool like any other.

(Raven hadn't learned that lesson. Luna was glad that she hadn't)

Eyes straying to the bedside table in search of a glass, she spied the bowl of water and crinkled facecloth resting beside it.

Well, that explained more than a few of her nightmares.

She couldn't blame Raven, considering she'd never told her about what had happened on the rig. With A.L.I.E.. Had never told anyone, in fact. Especially not any of the specifics.

Reaching for the glass, Luna grimaced at the weight of it. Only half full, it carried the mass of a giant lamprey. Her arms trembled as she took a small sip. Just to quench her thirst. She didn't want to risk encouraging her stomach to throw a tantrum again, and suspected that Abby would be forcing fresh intravenous fluids on her soon enough anyway.