Sun Bleached Flies

Touch Me 'Till I Vomit.

The can hits the floor, gathering with the others that had been discarded. Radio drowning out the sound of tin colliding. His boot taps against the wood beneath it, hips swaying without rhythm. Movements sloppy. His purpose here long forgotten. Half a bottle of whiskey and a fourth of the way through a case of beer; he was very drunk.

Waking up to an empty space beside him was what he had expected, it didn't mean that's what he'd hoped for. It all had hit him at once. He didn't want her to leave. The week was drawing to a close too quickly. More than anything he wishes he could make her stay. A far contrast than the way he'd felt when she'd first arrived.

Avoiding her the whole first day she'd been here. Shutting himself off and taking no account of her existence. Until the Christmas night. A whole day of ignoring her useless by the second night. Inching her way into every corner of his mind; starting with a damn cigarette.

"You can make me stay."

Not looking toward the sound of her voice. This wasn't the first time he'd seen things that weren't there. Often when he'd get this intoxicated he'd hallucinate the preacher. Never anyone he wanted to see. Hearing his mother's voice once or twice.

"Egg."

Shaky hand reaching for his beer. He knows she's not here. Especially because she'd voiced his thoughts. Accustomed to the way his brain played tricks on him. Believing it to just be the way it dealt with things. It didn't mean he wouldn't give in. Live in the delusion.

"'Nyra." His voice comes out as a whisper. For a moment he swears he could feel her arms around him. Cheek pressed to his back. Gods, how he wished it was real. "Why didn't you stay?"

Fuck. He was truly losing it. Lips curling upward, laughing at himself. In essence, he was talking to himself then waiting for his own brain to formulate a response. Telling himself what he wanted to hear.

"You didn't ask me to."

Eyes fluttering shut. Allowing himself to believe that her hands were pressed flat against his stomach as she held him.

"You would've laughed in my face. Figured me out." Fingers pressing against the can in his hand, denting the sides.

"Perhaps I feel the same, Aegon."

"I'm sure." Stepping forward, losing the feeling of her touch. "You have everything. You're so put together and I'm supposed to believe that you'd want me?"

He could imagine the way she'd tilt her head and cross her arms. That familiar look of disappointment would be on her face. She'd tell him that he's too hard on himself. Intimidating and everything he wished he could be.

"Because you believe yourself to be nothing? Is that it?"

"You aren't suppose to argue with me." Huffing at how insane this felt.

"Why not?"

"You're not real. You are what I believe you to be."

Hearing footsteps draw closer, breath hitching at the soft touch on his cheek. Just as he'd remembered it.

"And I'm telling you I feel the same." Her voice sounds so close. He doesn't feel her breath against his skin, differentiating this from reality. "You know it's true, you just won't allow yourself to believe it."

"Won't allow myself? It isn't true." His brow furrows, leaning into the touch. Realizing it suddenly felt different. It felt — Rough.

"Aegon." Lowering his head, bringing his hands to his ears. That wasn't Rhaenyra's voice. Well, not entirely. It was broken, mixing with another. "Is there something you need to confess."