"You were my only friend"

For Bookerbeth Week, Day Seven: Sleep.

Elizabeth, fully awakened, doesn’t dream. Not quite. She does something else.

In sleep, her mind exploded.

When she was awake – when she existed within whichever reality corresponded to the piece of herself that she was – there was a single state, anchored by her presence. The other states were there. She knew of them, and she could touch them if she wished, but they remained apart, held in check by the roaring force of her will.

Will in dreams was a different beast. Slippery. She didn’t know how to hang onto it, and there was no one to teach her.

She drifted through the universe. It convulsed, and she was swallowed by it. The current of possibility churned around her, lapped at her, surged over her and sucked her down. Stars, then. Stars, everywhere.

She saw them begin. She saw them end. She saw them open up, felt the sting of their radiation, and when they wrapped themselves around her, she fell into her own vibrant, chaotic pocket of eternity.

Hello, all! I know it’s been forever, but I’ve been working about 5-6 days a week, and my free time has been swallowed up by all the costumes I’m making for New York Comic Con. Also, this particular chapter is a bit of a doozy, with a surprise POV change! It wasn’t feeling quite right, so I had to sit on it for a while, but I figure it’s alright, though some of the justifications are a little muddy, in my opinion. Anyway, enjoy!

Read on AO3 here.

Booker stumbles into their apartment later in the morning than usual. Elizabeth watches him carefully from the bed, having only just snuck in from Will’s an hour earlier. He’s silent as he sheds his coat, but she notices the haphazardness in the way his shirt is tucked. A deep red stains the top of his collar, and she tenses at the prospect of blood, but as he passes the bed and heads towards the washroom, she catches the symmetrical impression the stain forms. Lipstick.

The door to the washroom clicks shut, and Elizabeth turns on her back, staring up at a crack in the ceiling. She knows she has no business feeling jealous—what Booker does in his free time is his alone. If he finds his happiness in the warm embrace of another woman, another woman that isn’t her, who was she to complain? In the wake of his rejection of her, she thought maybe it was his own guilt or faults that squandered his affection. She hadn’t considered the fault might lie with herself—with her physical appeal or lack thereof, her youth and naivety, her lack of experience and maturity.

She should’ve known that he would turn to a call girl instead for comfort. She should’ve known that all their time spent, all the demons fought, wouldn’t be enough to sway his affection. She should’ve known. What an idiot.

This is part of my rough draft, which I’m going back over & finalizing. I’m extremely obsessive over how I write, which is why it’s taking me so long. Considering this is rough draft material, it is subject to change, but I’m very excited by the few who were interested. So, this is for you guys. Besides, I feel like the world needs more Booker x Elizabeth. Any feedback is welcome. Enjoy!

~

“Why not make it interesting for myself?” He thought somberly. Each thought of Elizabeth that passed his mind would warrant another gulp of whiskey. He slumped into the chair & pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to keep thoughts of the girl at a safe distance. He tried thinking about New York. But that reminded him of where he started. “Bring us the girl, & wipe away the debt.” Drink. He tried thinking about the stinging ache in his shoulder, but that only made him think of Elizabeth keeping his wounds safe from infection. Drink. He begged the feeling of burning whiskey to scorch his thoughts. It worked momentarily as it slithered unforgivingly down his throat. It was such a familiar & comforting sensation. His throat burned, his chest felt of heavy heat. Each breath felt almost like a razor blade gliding into his lungs, resurfacing the memory of his baptism upon arriving to Columbia. Damn that preacher, Booker cursed internally. He remembered seeing a bright blue sky hang above him once he awoke coughing, laying in the cool spring. Of course, that brought remembrance of Battleship Bay. Thinking of being submerged in the cold blue of those waters. Spiraling down, down, so far down he was unsure if he would breathe again. But then, he did. The color blue stained his mind. Stained his lungs. Stained his sanity & morality. Even a handful of hair & eyes clenched shut couldn’t wash away the stretch of infinite cobalt. Such beautiful eyes, much better than a blue sky, with an immeasurable depth he wished to drown in.

Her eyes.

(( Hi everyone! I didn’t have time to write a drabble for today and wasn’t really going to enter anything because I wasn’t thaaaat inspired by the prompt until I remembered that La Belle Fleur Sauvage by Lord Huron gives me strong Bookerbeth vibes, so this is kind of an ode to that in a way. I haven’t written in a poem for forever and I’ve always preferred my loose-cannon free-verse style, I just hope it’s conceivably a poem to someone other than myself and that it’s not too unbearably shite. So here’s “flower” for day five of Bookerbeth week~ )) 

Like the rarest of orchids   She bloomed in the face of adversity, High above the clouds   Where her beauty was hidden    Hidden from the world   Alone and stifled    Full of life and colour, She dreamt of gardens where she could belong.

If he had ever been anything of value   That time had long since passed, His existence was one of spite    Like a weed, relentless   Living in the thrill of a fight   Alone and stubborn    Full of pain and regret, He dreamt of release from deeds gone wrong.

The path was treacherous   Murderous  No man had ventured here before, He found where she had been planted    Pulled her up from her roots    Uttering empty promises of jardins   And of growing towards the sun.

No sooner had she been dug free   She saw the ugliness of man, Her colour faded to shades of grey She wilted, as if she could not see the sun The radiant orchid   Still wild and untamed    Was not what it had once been.

In her presence, he blossomed And fell for the rare fleur Swore he would protect her  From hell-on-earth.  In his presence, she languished. But fell, too,  Swore she would save him Move heaven and earth.

‘Plant me wherever you are,   Because wherever you are shall be home to me’ They clung desperately   But when the floods came    They withered   And died 

Hi, all! Day three’s prompt is “New York”!