Lion Parmi Les Hommes

VIII

"L'avenir remodèle la mémoire du passé dans sa façon de recalibrer l'importance; certains épisodes sont avancés, d'autres perdent l'achat"

~Lion Parmi Les Hommes, Gregory Maguire

(Y/N) always thought dreams of sugar plums were an absolute hoax. At least, she had never had any. When she was young she had suffered from night terrors, for what seemed like hours she would scream into the inky darkness begging somebody to hear her cries for help and nobody ever seemed to come, nobody at all. The doctor had prescribed her sleeping pills, which only brought her nothingness, and she had been accustomed to that. Ten p.m. close her eyes. Nothing. 6 a.m. open her eyes. She always thought it was a little like dying for eight hours, suspended into nothingness until the alarm reminded her that she was still alive.

She missed the nothing now. It didn't matter how many sleeping pills she took, she remained awake in a ceaseless nightmare that she knew to be real, though she wouldn't admit that yet. Once she had taken the whole bottle in desperation, while her girlfriend slept unaware just one room over. She thought she might die, instead she just laid awake on the cold tile of the bathroom floor, counting the imperfections in the ceiling plaster until Marth had stumbled in early in the morning. She had laughed at (Y/N), bright and unaware, and had pulled her up from the ground, kissing her happily on the lips and ruffling (Y/N)'s hair. (Y/N) had kissed her back briefly, then turning to bury her face in the warmth of Marth's shoulder. The taller woman had asked if something was the matter then and (Y/N) had answered, "Nothing, I just wish it could be like this forever".

Marth had promised her that it would be.

(Y/N) had trudged up the stairs, limping more out of obligation than out of actual pain. She took her sleeping pills and then she went to the bathroom to brush her teeth. Her fingers were eerily steady as she squeezed the toothpaste onto the brush and she went to work scrubbing the plaque from her mouth, though she must have scrubbed too hard for the silence was broken by a sickening crunch and then blood was filling her mouth. She pulled her cheek back to look at the rotted stumps of teeth that didn't belong there. No, her teeth were strong, shiny, pearly white. She let go. Her eyes concentrated on the reflection in the mirror, the one she had become accustomed to, a trick of the mind. Hollow cheeks, sunken and dull eyes, covered in cloudy film, the same lilac dress dripping with water she had been wearing when-

(Y/N) hurried home from the grocery store. She had meant to begin to prepare Jean-Claude's dinner over an hour ago but they had been out of chicken and she hadn't had time to go to the store since she had called her mother earlier that day. She only hoped that he hadn't arrived home by now. Luck didn't seem to be on her side. She had jogged up the stairs and before she even had a chance to turn the key in the lock of their apartment, he was swinging the door open, fury etched into his delicate features, "Where were you? With that dyke? Thought I told you not to go back there".

(Y/N) shook her head quickly, eyes trained on the ground, "Of course not, we-we were out of chicken I just ran to the store".

Jean-Claude squinted at her and she instinctively shuffled backwards, he only huffed though and then turned back towards his artwork. (Y/N) scurried in, making sure to close the door quietly behind her and then she was off to the kitchen. She had been thinking about Marth a lot lately. She missed her friend dearly. Most days she would walk by the bookshop. Of course, she never went in, only peering through the windows for a moment before moving on. Marth was the strongest person (Y/N) knew, and she knew that Marth would have been furious with her for putting up with Jean-Claude. She put the chicken in the oven then, forgetting completely to set a timer. She had packed all of her things in suitcases. This would be the last supper she made for this man. (Y/N) resolved that she would seek out her old friend in the morning, maybe she could stay with Marth for awhile, she knew that at the very least the taller girl would be thrilled to hear that (Y/N) was leaving him. In all of her day-dreaming, she didn't notice the acrid scent of smoke until the alarm was whining loudly and her boyfriend was storming into the kitchen to pop out the batteries. (Y/N) quickly pulled dinner from the oven, though now it was beyond unsalvageable. Jean took one look at it before his features were engulfed with cruel wrath. (Y/N) backed closer to the stove, "Jean, I'm sorry, I didn't mean-".

He didn't listen, only backing her further toward the stove and grabbing her wrist in an iron grip and she fought against him, writhed against him but he was stronger, always stronger and she screamed as her pressed her delicate hand against the still hot burner, keeping it there for a full minute until the flesh was scorched and putrid smelling and only then did he let her go with a sneer, "Sorry, I didn't mean to". And then he was scoffing and storming towards their bedroom, the door slamming behind him with an echoing bang like gunfire. (Y/N) cradled her hand to her chest, sliding down until her butt hit the floor and then she was biting into her shoulder to muffle the cries. She thought she had been sobbing for hours by the time Jean emerged again, and she wished she had had the strength to leave because when the bedroom door did open, he was standing there with her packed suitcase in one hand, "What the fuck is this, (Y/N)? You trying to leave me?".

She had shuddered against the cabinets, shaking her head frantically, unable to meet his eyes, "No, Jean, no I would never, I was just putting some clothes in a bag to donate". And she smiled as convincingly a she could muster but it wasn't enough and he was dropping the bag in favor of grabbing her by her throat, lifting her so that her feet dangled off the ground and then throwing her to the floor again like a ragdoll, her face shattering against tile, blood smearing the pristine porcelain in crimson splatters. He didn't stop. She reached out an arm, trying desperately to pull herself towards the door but his boot came down on her fingers, bones splintering beneath weight and she tried to scream but the pressure of his hand around her throat had crushed her windpipe and all that came out was a pathetic rasping as tears streamed down reddened cheeks. (Y/N) tried to curl in on herself, knees pulled up to her chest but he was relentless, he kicked her ribs in until sanguine ink was bubbling past her lips and then he kept right on going until she wasn't making a sound anymore and then just like that, he was gone.

The next thing she felt was gentle fingers on her cheek and she pried her eyelids open the best she could past the swelling, meeting tearful oaken eyes that were so familiar, Marth. She wrapped thin, cold fingers around Marth's wrist, still burnt though she couldn't feel the pain anymore, begging with terrified eyes, tear-brimmed lashes, and a voice that quivered like leaves in the autumn wind, "Please, don't let me die alone". Marth smiled serenely at her, stroking red stained, matted hair back, seeming not to mind the mess even as (Y/N) coughed again, lips scarlet painted and trembling, "Please".

Marth only shook her head and leaned forward, pressing her lips firmly to (Y/N)'s temple, holding her tightly and she said nothing but, "(Y/N)", in the same tone one might use to coax a scared animal out of a hiding place.

(Y/N) supposed that that's what this was, a hiding place, and she didn't want to come out but she figured this was an okay place to admit what she knew to be true already, "This isn't part of the memory, is it? I died, but you weren't there. Nobody was there. I'm dead and I'm somewhere but nobody knows, nobody will know".

And then she was awake.