NIKE -Blue Lock-

Nightmare

Nicole's pov

Your grip on me is gentle, careful, powerful. I can feel your hands under my thighs as you support me so I don't fall, my cheek in the crook of your neck as you calm heart beat lulls me to sleep.

"We must..."

"...unnoticed..."

"...drank..."

Your hands are cold against my warm body. It is a relief.
They touch me, brush me, caress me as if you really were trying to soothe me; as if you really had other intentions than pure personal pleasure.

"...Undress..."

"...cold sweat..."

"...change..."

I feel your fingers carefully lifting my dress. I feel your fingertips moving up along the skin of my legs, tickling my thighs, my hips, my ribs, my arms, as the fabric that protected me from your gaze leaves.

"...trembling..."

"...wounds..."

"...nightmare..."

Now, however, you only hold my hand. You are uncertain. I know you are uncertain. I can sense it from your reluctant grip on me.

And now you stroke my hair.
You pull it away from my face. You are cautious, almost as if you are afraid of what you are doing. Almost if you are afraid of the consequences of what you are doing.

Don't you want to hold me in your arms? You do when the alcohol becomes a nightmare. You hold me tightly, whisper I don't know what in my ear and soothe me with your breathing and your powerful body. I have never asked you to do that, but you always do. Probably for personal reasons. Probably for pure satisfaction and pleasure. Probably for a reward when I'll wake up.

Now, however, you are just covering me with a sheet that will never protect me from my own mind.

And now you are walking away.

And suddenly I understand you are not Oliver Aiku.

Nicole's consciousness

You are all victims of victory. Whether you win.
Whether you lose.

You are victims of the cruel and triumphant victory. And of her gun. And of her bullets that never miss the target.

I was watching them, the targets.

That was the only thing I could do: watch. Standing still. Powerless. Defeated. Helpless.

Watching. As the bodies fell to the ground like leaves in autumn.
Watching. As their eyes became empty like the top pyramid of an hourglass.
Watching. As their skins turned cold like a creature abandoned to fate in a cold night in winter.

One after another, like dominoes that can do nothing but plummet just because the first of them has fallen.

Watching. As the arm slowly extended in front of me.
Watching. As that finger removed the gun safety.
Watching. As that fingertip pulled the trigger.
Watching. As the bullet exited the barrel of the gun.
Watching. As that old man looked at me as if I were the most monstrous of monsters.
Watching. As he fell to the ground just like all the other leaves.

Only one tile was missing. Just one tile and the dominoes would be finished.

And I kept watching.
Watching. As her elbow bent.
Watching. As a genuine smile grew on her red lips.
Watching. As the eyes of my reflection silently thanked me.
Watching. As the fingertip pressed the trigger for a second time.