electric

again

a/n: gonna be honest not a lot happens in this part, and it also might suck more than the first one did. its basically just more of gray's bs. its been sat there collecting dust while i oohed and aahed over whether to actually post it but i do in fact want to keep writing this story so i do have to post it. sorry!

After that first night, Gray had awoken with her head spinning and her heart pounding from that awful dream. She'd found herself still on the bathroom floor, slumped over the toilet, her arm covered in drool and her glasses hanging off her face. The smell of vomit was overwhelming, and as she raised a weak arm to push her glasses back onto her nose she blinked wearily down into the toilet bowl. What she'd thrown up was still there, and had sat there all night, for she'd forgotten to flush it away. A new wave of nausea washed over her, and she turned her head away, drawing herself up on her knees properly and reaching up to flush the toilet. Once the contents had been flushed away, she felt a little better. Gray took hold of the sink with both hands and used it to pull herself up, up onto her feet. When she was upright, she swayed a little where she stood, her head reeling, her body aching, clinging onto the cold porcelain with everything in her. She lifted her head, and though her vision was slightly blurred, she looked into the mirror above the sink. The woman in the mirror looked back. Mascara ran in streaks down her face, and she was incredibly pale. The sight of herself reflected here in the mirror in such a state reminded her of that dream she'd had, and she quickly averted her eyes, reaching for the faucet. She turned it in her hand, and cold water spilled out. As she removed her glasses and set them aside, she wished she could turn off her brain, take hold of it like the faucet and twist it tight to stop the thoughts. Her hands cupped together under the stream of water, and the basin of her palms quickly filled up, and she tried to think of anything else but she just couldn't. Not even when she splashed the water on her face did her mind empty. She repeated the process, washing her face, and she thought on. The dream she'd had was frightening, but now she was finding it difficult to figure out where the dream had actually started. Maybe she'd fallen asleep in that chair by the window; it certainly wouldn't have been the first time. When she'd had a drink she was prone to falling asleep anywhere. Perhaps she'd dreamed seeing his car turn up, dreamed watching him drag that person inside. She pressed a towel to her face, gently patting it dry. Yes, that would be it. None of what she saw actually happened. This was what she told herself as she replaced her glasses on her face, took her toothbrush and began brushing her teeth, though as soon as she dared glance back up at her reflection, she knew she was lying to herself. It was a hope, that was all. Hope that she'd dreamed it all, a hope because the alternative was far scarier.

She stared into her own eyes. All right, so maybe she did see it happen. Gray's mind searched for a rationalisation, but couldn't come up with anything sufficient. Perhaps that person her neighbour had taken into the house was his wife or girlfriend, perhaps they'd been to a party and she'd drank a little too much and he'd taken her home. Somewhere, somewhere from deep inside, from some dark place inside her, she heard a laugh, and then a voice spoke up. Yes, of course, it said, mean and dripping with sarcasm, because if your girlfriend had passed out you'd shove her in your trunk and rake her across the concrete and brick. The voice was familiar; it came to her when she felt the stupidest, and she felt stupid very often. It would berate and mock and as much as she didn't want to admit it, sometimes it was right. This time was one of those times. She spat out the frothy mixture of saliva and toothpaste into the sink and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. It was a stupid thing to think, she knew that now for the voice had shown her, but in her desperation to come up with some kind of explanation, it was all she'd had. Now, there was nothing. She would have to face the other thing.

As she tore her eyes from her reflection, Gray turned from the room and exited it, closing the door behind her. Her hand found its way to her hair which was messy and fell bedraggled over her shoulders, and she fiddled with a strand of it, nervously winding it around and around her finger. The door to the front room, where she'd been sitting last night, was still open. As she neared it, she slowed, and before she stepped through the doorway she peered inside. Her eyes scanned the room, looking everywhere for something out of place, something wrong, someone to be there, him to be there. There wasn't. Everything was as it had been. The record was still crackling in the corner, the curtains still drawn, the chair still by the window, the bottle of gin still open on the table. A sigh of relief escaped her. Softly she padded across the carpet, winding her way around the couch, making her way to the window. When she passed the lamp that was still on, still bathing the room in its orange glow, she switched it off. She too lifted the needle from the record player, and screwed the cap back onto the bottle of gin. There she stood, before the curtains, and she took each of them in her hands. Ever so slowly, she pulled them open. The window was still cracked, and the blinds still so wide that she had an unobstructed view of the street. It was grey out there, dark and dismal. Autumn rain pattered down from the heavens and somewhere outside, a grackle was shrieking and clicking from its treetop. His car was still there. Gray pressed her lips together, and reached through the slats, closing the window. She turned from the window again, and her eyes drifted upward to the clock hanging above the television. It was midday, the hands on the clock steadily creeping toward one o clock. Her hand found her way to her hair again, and she raked her fingers through it, sighing deeply. Now, she thought, she'd better change and brush her hair. She'd feel better afterward. Making to leave the room and head for the stairs, she took a look around the room again, when her eyes came upon the phone. At this, she was stopped in her tracks. Her eyes wide, she stared at the phone, as if afraid of it. In a way she supposed she was. Upon seeing it, she was reminded of the other thing. She couldn't have avoided facing the other thing forever- the electric. The recollection of that feeling, that terrible, wonderful feeling came back to her all at once, and she almost lost her balance. It sickened her to think of how her body had responded to thoughts of such violence, such absolute depravity, and that really, it had been what had prevented her from calling the police in the end. How weak she must be to be swayed from doing the right thing so easily. That feeling, one she was so used to having rack her body when sweat plastered the sheets to her skin, when one hand clung to her chest and the other had disappeared down the front of her underwear having reared up inside her at such a moment disgusted her all over again. Even recalling it, she could feel her skin flushing, her thighs tensing and pressing together. Then, Gray shook her head wildly. She needed to clear her mind of such filth, such wrongness. She glared at the phone sitting on the receiver. It wasn't too late to make a call. All she had to do was pick it up, dial the number and it would be done. It would be over. Her mind would clear of this mess. Still she glared. Then, she turned and walked out of the room.