Only In Dreams
Disclaimer: Don't own these characters. R/R because you love me.
I think about it some nights. I just close my eyes and I can picture him so perfectly. I can picture his hair, golden and wavy. I always thought he had pretty hair, that it looked good on him. Of course I'd never tell him that to his face. No, the only thing that spewed from my mouth was snide remarks or straight insults. But he would always take them with a smile, a smile that could be considered contagious. And that would only make me hurl more obscenities at him. It was a game, a way for me to express the emotions inside me that were bigger than mere words and definitely too big for me to deal with. I can picture his eyes next, so blue and clear. Sometimes I would catch myself staring into those eyes and seeing something almost like another world inside him, a world that was devoid of the agony and pain that I have known all my life. I wish I had the kind of life he did, the kind of life where someone could be free with their emotions and confident in who they are. But there are doubts in my mind that still haunt me and that I can't shake.
I can picture his body next, tall and lean but still muscular. He was a farm boy, a corn-fed country kid. He believed in a lot of things I could never. He believed in hope and the bright side and all these other foreign terms I could never understand. But the one thing I could understand is the fact that he never quit. No matter how many times I would yell at him or curse him or threaten him with a dozen different ways of death, Sam Guthrie never quit being nice to me. I guess in some weird way it rubbed off on me, his eternal optimism, because I never quit on him, never stopped loving him even now. So why did he have to go and leave? Why did he have to quit when I needed him the most?
When I finish picturing him, I move onto simulated moments and sensations. We never had anything like a real relationship. We barely even had a friendship but on nights like this I like to pretend, to dream, that we were something more. I can almost feel his arms around me, his soft hands gently grazing my skin with a delicate touch. I begin to feel his lips on mine, so gentle because that's the type of person he was. He would've been gentle with me if I had let him get close enough to. I feel myself sink into his arms, confident that for once I can let someone else take care of me. I didn't have to put up the walls around him. I catch myself sighing in these moments when I lose myself to the feeling of sinking into his arms and surrendering myself to his care. It's such a pretty dream, pretty just like him. And as I feel the feeling of his lips on mine I feel something inside me crumble and melt.
On nights like this when I feel him, I hear his soft voice whispering in my ear. It's soft and low, the country drawl slipping softly into my ears and numbing all the pain that I feel on a daily basis because of my powers. Hearing his voice takes me back, back to the time we spent as teammates and as friends. Back to the feeling of staring into his eyes, the feeling of staring into a fantasy world that I longed to become a part of. I feel myself succumb to this incredible dream, this illusion that is so real I almost lose myself to it. But just as I become comfortable in his arms and so reassured by his voice, the dream fades and the reality intrudes. The painful facts sting me and force me awake from this blissful fantasy. Sam is gone, Sam quit on me. No more assurances that things will be better, no more of that soft country drawl lulling me out of maddening rage and into peaceful serenity. Sam is gone and all I have left are these simulated sensations and fake memories of a life with him that never really happened but that I wanted to happen so badly.
But the strangest thing occurs then as I feel the tears come to my eyes, the salt stinging me back into reality. His voice does not fade. His gentle, reassuring voice still whispers in my ear and tells me that I have to keep going. On some nights when I am lost in depression and anger, I tell myself that his voice is still just a dream and therefore an illusion that is not real. Yet deep inside me, I know it is real. As real as if he was still here, I can hear his voice comforting me. It will be okay again. I will be okay again. I begin to hear my own voice reaffirm his words. I'll be okay again. And that's when I realize the real truth. On nights like this, when I feel pushed to the edge of madness, it doesn't matter whether or not he's really there so long as I feel him with me. Maybe it is all just a dream but dreams are always nice to have and if nights like this are dreams then I'd rather not wake up from them.