i kno the meme doesn't specify characters but im Begging u 'harsh whisper' or 'in dreams' for annie and ortega
did you want something horny? because i wrote something sad.Â
16. â in dreams || annie albright x ricardo ortega | 1175 words [prompt list]
cw: medical horror, and iâm serious about that. buyer beware.Â
Here is tonightâs nightmare:
She is tied down so tightly she can hardly breathe. Thick strips of plastic are tight across her chest, ribs, arms, hips. This is a delicate process. They canât risk her squirming. Her head is practically screwed into place.
A lot of things broke when she hit the pavement, a lot of things that still arenât quite fixed. Things that will never be fixed. And the straps dig into the still-bruised skin, into still-healing cracked bones, every time she inhales. It would have been easier to put her out for this. There wouldâve been no chance of her moving, no need to strap her down. But they donât. They need to know whether theyâve fucked something up in her brain, so they need normal function to compare it to. Normal, awake function. And maybe they think the pain is good â what she deserves, making them go to all this trouble.
She had flinched a little at the sound of the razor, because it had been unexpected. She hadnât known why she was here. A heavy gloved hand had come down on her shoulder, silent warning. Theyâd run the razor across her head, and her hair, big dark ringlets, had fallen to her smocked shoulders, to the floor. One of the assistants had swept it up. Then theyâd fixed her head in place, to keep her still. She hadnât flinched at all at the sound of the drill, because sheâd expected that one.
It makes sense. Itâs easier to reteach than unteach. Easier to start from a blank slate than try to salvage what obedience is left in her, because theyâll never be able to make her perfectly compliant again. Not without removing every memory she has of ever having been free and human. This is a factory reset.
It makes sense and it knocks the breath out of her when it settles over her.
The walls in this room are clean white, slightly reflective. She can see the light theyâre shining into her head, but not her face, and not their faces. Moving shadows. Sheâs dying, effectively, isnât she? What is a man but the sum of his memories? What is left of her when everything she is is erased? Nothing. Dead.
She knows it wonât help, but tied down, head-blind, she has no avenues of resistance. So she wills it to work, anyway, and she thinks hard, like if she just concentrates enough, her memories will stay with her, despite it all.
First of her name, and the woman who gave it to her, who touched her hair and smiled warmly and called her Annie, she looked like an Annie, curly hair, so pretty. How rebellious, to be named. How powerful.
And then of Billie, of the Holiday variety. In the car with the woman who named her, in the deep darkness of the nighttime Mojave desert, this eager heart of mine was singingš on the car radio. In the kitchen (âmy kitchen, your kitchen,â ² poetry books on the shelf in the hall) and sheâs cooking, reducing down wine and lemon juice in a saucepan, chicken frying on the other stove burner. like bubbles in a glass of champagne ³ from the front room. Strong hand â warm, comforting, confident â on her hip, pulling her away from the stove and close to him. Her bare feet on linoleum. The smell of food and his cologne in conflict.
Bile rises in her throat. Ricardo, Ricardo, how badly she tries not to think of him. How she waited for what must have been weeks, waited for alarm bells to sound, for the compound to go on lock down, because the Rangers were here, Ricardo was here, he wouldnât forget about her, wouldnât let them take her.
And how the alarms never sounded.
Everything sheâd felt for him, all the admiration, the love, the trust â it all twisted into anger, or grief, or something more complex that she didnât have a name for. Something buried in her chest that hurt and hurt, worse than anything they could ever do to her.
Rubber gloved hand on her shoulder again. No words spoken. No words needed. Stop thinking, it says. Accept what is happening.
She retreats from Ricardo like a hand over a stove burner. It will be any second now. He left her to this fate. If sheâs going to go, itâs with Lady Day, and not him. How did it go? Baby, I donât cry over you. â´
 â
Annie punches him square in the jaw with surprising accuracy and strength for someone swinging blindly, and he lets go as quickly as he scooped her up, falls back on his elbow and rubs his race with his other hand. But he doesnât look hurt or angry, just concerned. A little scared.
âIâm sorry,â he says immediately. âI â you started thrashing and I didnât know what to do.â
âWell, not fucking that.â Lying on her side, she tucks her head against her chest, presses it against the sheets now damp with sweat, and she breathes. Chemical laundry detergent, fake linen scent, a little. Mostly Ricardo. Her heartâs hammering as hard as it can and sheâs near paralyzed, waiting for the panic to recede, swallowing down vomit.
âAre you alright? Are you going to be sick?â
âJust give me a minute, will you?â
And he does. He falls silent and lets her breathe, until her arms start working again, until her spine stops tingling in panic. The feeling is coming up again, that hurt, that ache, how he let it happen. She has to remind herself, patiently, like the mother of a fussing toddler, that he didnât know, that he wouldâve tried to find her, and wouldâve gotten himself killed trying, had he known. And that she would have suffered either way.
And she did suffer. They hadnât been able to reset her. They never acknowledged it. Never theorized why, at least not within her earshot. They just closed her back up and reprogrammed her the hard way.
She doesnât â she canât â dwell on it. She shoves the memories down, blinks back tears. She feels Ricardoâs hand on her ribs, tentative this time, gentle and warm, and when she doesnât shove him off, it slips to her back, skates up it, across scars and silky tattoos. And it helps, somehow. Despite the myriad emotional conflicts when sheâs around him, the simplicity of being there and being loved by him⌠helps.
Annie finally looks up at him, and he smiles, just a little, soft and genuine. âIâm sorry I hit you,â she whispers. âI â I ââ
âI know,â he nods. âI kind of deserved it.â
âYou didnât. You were trying to help.â
âHey, Iâve taken worse hits trying to help people I care way less about.â
She nudges his shoulder. âThat doesnât make me feel any better, stupid.â
Ricardo laughs. âRight. Sorry.â He leans forward and kisses her forehead, right between her eyebrows, and when he pulls back, it isnât far.
_______________________________
š billie holiday, lover come back to me
² anne sexton, for john who begs me not to enquire furtherÂ
Âł billie holiday, you go to my head
â´ billie holiday, baby i donât cry over you
