#schleep

It was late. It was always late, these days, when Nadia looked at the clock. She took off her glasses and rubbed a hand across her face. Her arm was killing her, and she was done staring at her computer. She needed to sleep. She needed to force herself to sleep. Going to the bathroom, she took something for the pain before she headed to bed. Rhiannon was already there, taking up residence on Nadia’s pillow. Nadia sat on the bed for a long moment, looking at the doorway. No salt. None on the windowsill, either. No salt anywhere in the house, except for some in the kitchen from the small bag Regan had first given her when she moved in. Other than that, the apartment was salt free, and several gentlemen from the city had come by earlier and carted off what was in the yard. She felt bad, hoped they hadn’t managed to get themselves cursed by whatever funky stuff was going on with the salt, but she was glad to have it gone. She felt bare, though, even if the apartment was supposed to be protected. She picked up the iron manacled she kept around the bedpost, shivered a bit as she held it in her hand. Nadia didn’t want her body to walk off without her. She snapped it around her wrist, the one least injured, and tried to get comfortable. She eventually managed to doze off.

Marley didn’t do loyalties. She had no loyalty to people, that just wasn’t how she operated. She’d been burned her entire life by people claiming their loyalties for her-- supposed parents, biological and foster, friends, caretakers, teachers-- and in the end, they’d all screwed her over. They’d all seen her for the monster she was and decided she wasn’t worth loving. So why then, was it, did Marley feel a pang of what could only be guilt as she crept through the night back to Nadia’s house. Evelyn had all but begged Marley to not feed on her, but a mark was a mark, and Marley had been working hard on this. And for this. And, besides, what was a little nightmare every now and then? If Nadia already had them, was she really doing wrong? Wasn’t it better this way, to feed from someone who already provided the food? It wasn’t an entirely convincing argument, but since the only person arguing back was herself, Marley let the thought settle and pushed the rest from her mind.

This would be fine.

Creeping into the house, despite the silence that followed her when she was neither tangible or visible, Marley stood at the bedroom’s edge. A wavering hand confirmed there was no more salt, a circumstance she had helped create herself. When she pulled her whole self through the door, she found Nadia asleep in her bed, shackled. That was certainly interesting. Moving to the bedside, she stood over her for a moment, as if hesitating. Then, she reached out, let her hand form into the tangible world, and pressed it against her forehead. The nightmare started immediately.

Chanting in Latin, loud and grating. Chains around her wrists, her legs. She could taste salt and blood. Nadia was strapped to the ground, unable to move. It didn’t stop her from trying, didn’t stop her body from lifting and struggling and, fuck, why why why? She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. A shadow loomed over her. She could feel its anger as if it was her own. And it was hers, wasn’t it? The shadow, instead of being banished like it was supposed to, like it had that cold night when Nadia’d been brought back to the land of the living, filled her instead, taking over that hollowed out space in her heart and head that it made its home for so many years. She was free, then, no restraints around her arms or legs, no chanting filling her ears. She wanted to go back, tried to reach desperately for the chains, anything that would stop her body from disobeying her, but it wasn’t hers anymore, not really.

“Look at you.” She’s in her apartment, the one in Arizona that she’d shared, hearing a voice that’s hers but not. Sunlight is streaming through the bathroom window, where she stood in front of the sink. She looked at herself, her blood stained hands that drip into the sink. There’s a knife on the counter beside her. Nadia knew where this scene went, should be used to it, the familiar patterns her feet take to the living room. It always shocked her, though, each body that she saw, each loved one that she knew she killed. She tried to hold on to the sink, her hands covered in the stuff but not leaving handprints, not that she noticed. “No, no, no,” she repeated, her eyes closed tightly, not wanting to go to the next horror scene.

Watching other peoples’ nightmares, Marley assumed, was the closest she’d ever get to an out of body experience. She didn’t always look, but curiosity often got the better of her. And with Nadia, of course it did. Curiosity was why she’d approached Nadia in the first place. And it was what was driving her now. The first scene didn’t make sense at first. Chains? Shackles? Chanting? It only made sense when Nadia fell through her own memories, crying as she picked up a knife. Possession. Whatever she had done, it hadn’t truly been her. Marley hadn’t known many ghosts in her life, had never needed to fear them. But Nadia’s fear now was visceral. It fed her well and it reminded her of Dario. And there was that feeling again, as she watched the world dissolve into black and a new one begin to form.

It didn’t matter how much Nadia didn’t want to go, in the end. It wasn’t her body anymore; she didn’t have control. She walked to the living room, bare feet sticky. She refused to look down, tried desperately to keep her head up, but she wasn’t in control. There was no control for her here. Bodies littered the room, familiar faces. Her parents, hands joined even in death, always a united front, even if it was against their own daughter. “Don’t come home” echoed in Nadia’s head, her mother’s voice, once so soothing, breaking her heart one last time. Beside them was her friend, her only friend before coming to White Crest, Brooke; Nadia couldn’t tell where the red of her hair ended and the blood began. She choked a bit. She didn’t want to keep looking. She couldn’t stop. Evelyn. Regan. Kaden. Alain. Arthur. Even Felix. Blanche. People she’d grown to know, care for. Dead. Always dead. It’d be merciful to not see them die, if she didn’t know that she was the one that killed them, didn’t feel it in the hollowed out parts of her soul. She felt her body become hers, momentarily, and she turned, stumbled to the door. It opened for her, and she was face to face with herself.

“Give it up,” the other Nadia said. “Just give it up.” As the doppelganger advanced, Nadia tried to retreat, even if she didn't want to go back into the hell of the living room. The doppelganger was stronger, more agile. She took Nadia, pinned her against the wall. It was like fighting the mime all over again, except this one wasn’t wearing greasepaint, and her words hurt more than the pressure against Nadia’s throat or the wound in her arm, open and raw.

Marley recoiled. She’d never had a reaction to a nightmare before, but the sudden turn of events, the swelling of emotions that came with the fear, made her pull away from them. She didn’t want to look anymore. She was reminded of Dario, what she’d seen in his memories. The pain she’d put him through, the look on his face when he’d woken up. She’d never hesitated before. Why was she now? She needed to concentrate. This wasn’t like her. She reassessed herself, drew in a breath, and pulled herself back into the nightmare.

It was all a bit too much, Nadia thought. A part of her knew this wasn’t real, knew this was just figment and dream. But rationale wasn’t in control. Control was in the hands of swirling emotions, pain and heartbreak and fear and disgust. Hers or about her, she couldn’t really tell. She was in a crowd of people, all of them screaming and fighting. Sounds and emotions came over her in waves, in crescendos. “Stop! Stop!” Nadia was screaming herself. So much so that she woke herself up, only to find that she couldn’t move. In her panic, tears streaming down her face and eyes darting around the room, for a moment, just a moment, she locked eyes with someone.

Being forced from a nightmare was always jarring. Marley hadn’t had enough time to react, still reeling from what she’d seen, from what she’d felt, from what she’d thought-- her eyes locked with Nadia’s as the girl sprung awake. Paralysis stopped her from moving, but not seeing. For a moment, Marley didn’t move, red eyes glowing in Nadia’s dark room. Then, she vanished from sight. Backed away from the bed and towards the door. She should just leave. She should just leave. But she stopped, and turned, and waited.

It took several minutes for Nadia to regain control of her body. As soon as she felt her fingers twitch to life, she jerked upright, pulling at the arm still chained to the bed. She cried out, gritted her teeth, and unlocked it with shaky fingers. She looked around the room, breath coming out in harsh pants. There was nothing there. Or, it looked like there was nothing there, but Nadia distinctly remembered red eyes, dark curls, a familiar face. Rhiannon had been startled awake by the commotion and was puffed up, hissing towards the door. Nadia looked but didn’t see anything. She was beginning to wonder if this was a new part of the nightmare, an added fresh hell to bother her while she was awake. Still, she looked towards the door carefully, heart still pumping too loudly in her ears and her own emotions too all over the place for her to even begin to try and pick up on anything else. “Hello?” she called out, roughly, not really expecting an answer but desperate to try something.