electric

tangible

a/n: sorry for not updating this in forever. been struggling with lack of motivation but that's neither here nor there. i took so long uploading this part as i thought it was shit so i let it rot and didn't finish it, until now. i still think it sucks but at least it's here!

The sheets were warm and wet with sweat and tangled around her legs when Gray finally awoke with a start, inhaling a shuddering gasp as her eyes shot open. After the river dream, her mind had muddled through the rest of the night dreaming up vague images and sounds, each as nonsensical and terrifying as only the conjurations of the unconscious mind could be. She sat up against the headboard, pulling her legs up to her chest and holding them there for a while as she let the uneasiness fade, her eyes flickering around the room. It was light outside the lace curtains that hung over her bedroom window, and past the pulse in her ears, she could hear what sounded like a crow cawing away out there somewhere. The neighbourhood was always very quiet, she thought, except for the birds. There always seemed to be one or more, singing or screeching or cooing, and she liked that. As she sat there, listening to the crow, her mind harkened back to the bird from her dream, that mourning dove. Gray rubbed her eyes, put on her glasses, and slipped out of bed. The significance of that little brown bird was not lost on her now she was awake.

Gray hadn't wanted to take a shower, initially- the thought of being in water this morning made her feel nervous- but she forced herself to. It was one of those things she found herself neglecting sometimes, especially when her brain was as occupied as it had been. She couldn't leave it any longer, though, not having woken up covered in sweat like she had. She supposed that really, it was better than if she'd had to have taken a bath instead. The idea of having to submerge her body in water made her palms sweaty even though she knew, realistically, that she couldn't drown in her bathtub. It wasn't deep enough, to begin with, so it couldn't and wouldn't happen. Still, the dream stuck in her mind, draping and sticking over her thoughts and ideas like a cobweb. So a shower it had ended up being. It was midday when she found herself downstairs again, staring up at the clock on the wall with a furrowed brow and a frown. Even with what she got up to when she went to bed the previous night, she went to sleep pretty early, so why hadn't she awoken early too? Perhaps, she thought as she drew the curtains back from the window, that because her brain wasn't used to such early nights, it had decided to really make the best of it and get as much sleep as possible. That thought made her smile as she ran a hand through her still-damp hair, pushing it back from her face. If that was the case, then she couldn't blame her brain; it probably wouldn't get a sleep like that again for a while now. She'd be at the window tonight again, ready to watch until her eyes couldn't any more.

As she was taking the discarded remains of her meal from last night to the trash bin in the kitchen, it occurred to her that if she'd be at the window, she should probably check that she had something to drink; it wouldn't be the same if she didn't- it was part of the routine. She typically checked the liquor cabinet whenever she suspected it was running low, but now she was thinking about it, she couldn't recall the last time she'd actually done that, and that worried her. After having scraped her leftovers into the trash, and having put the plate into the sink for later, Gray made her way back into the front room. She crouched down in front of the cabinet in the corner, the one that her record player sat upon, pulling the door open to see what she was working with.

Almost nothing. Several already empty bottles sat collecting dust on the first shelf, and on the second there was a bottle of vodka containing barely a shot of liquid. At once Gray felt the familiar tug of anxiety inside her, her throat going dry, because it was clear what this meant, and what it meant was a trip to the liquor store. It meant she would have to leave. Go out there, outside, and do it all alone. She felt sick at the thought. With one hand, which had begun to tremble shortly after she realised what she needed to do, she scooped the empty bottles into her arm, holding them tight across her chest. With the other, she wrapped her fingers around the neck of the bottle of vodka and pulled that out too. Both hands full, Gray rose again, and lifted a foot behind her to close the cabinet door. She'd closed it rather more forcefully than she'd intended, and it clattered loudly as it swung shut, making her flinch. She exhaled shakily, taking a moment to gather all the composure she could muster up, and then set the bottle of vodka down beside the record player. Her arm still full of empties, she walked back to the kitchen, back to the trash. She stepped down on the pedal of the trash bin, and the lid swung open for her. She dropped one bottle inside, thinking. She always hated having to face her own anxiety, if it could even still be called that. It had grown so that in the past few years, that word seemed too paltry, too much of an understatement. Every time she stepped foot out of her own space her body reacted as though she were being hunted for sport; it would sicken her, make her hyperventilate, make her totally melt down. There would be tears, and sweat, and shaking and above all, there would be fear. She dropped the second bottle into the trash, flinching again, this time at the noise the bottle made when it hit the first. Gray had always been anxious, in some capacity. Anxiety had been not a friend to her, but certainly a shadow to her for as long as she could remember. Like a goat tied to a tether, it never let her wander too far. But this? This was something different now. The way it had changed, coming to disallow her from the outside world almost completely, kept her feeling both safe and trapped inside her home.