free2bealways
Master Mischief Maker
Brooklyn shook her head and groaned. There were too many credits in her account. Zach. Stop making this harder than it already is.
She wiped the screen out of her vision and it disappeared. That was one of the perks of bullets: free feed access. You could also count it as a downside.
The past two months had been a blur of bullet trains that ran underground between cities, metro systems, nightmares and food Brooklyn couldn’t taste. The nightmares that had all but disappeared in Zach’s arms were back and worse than ever.
Fatigue clouded her ability to think and forced her eyes shut. She couldn’t sleep. Her mind wouldn't stop spinning, swirling, taking her a thousand places she didn't want to visit. She rested her head on the window and let the subtle vibrations of the bullet be her world for the moment. Around her, the hum of conversation sounded far away.
She didn’t remember getting off the bullet, didn’t remember walking up into the sunshine. Couldn’t have told you which streets she turned down. Only when someone splashed water from a fountain on her, did her eyes focus. The boy laughed as he sprayed more water at his friend.
The park could’ve been anywhere, for all Brooklyn noticed as she walked the paths curving around trees and green lawns. Flowers were in full bloom, but she didn’t notice them either. Her eyes stared ahead of her, almost unseeing as she kept walking. It was like opening your eyes underwater. Everything is there, but fuzzy. You can’t determine distance.
She turned when she thought she heard someone call her name. She couldn't imagine who would know her here. There was a man running toward her. She was too numb to be afraid, to worry about what his plans might be for her. Besides, she wasn't in any danger, regardless. She watched him flicker as he got closer. He looked almost like…almost like James. But that was impossible.
James shifted in and out of Brooklyn’s view as he ran toward her in flashes that looked like black fog. She stared at him, at his smile, the dark hair whipping around his head. It was impossible that he was here, right here in front of her after all these years. He couldn’t be real. This is what happened to people when they started to crack, wasn’t it?
The ground beneath her was solid. The sun was warm on her face. The branches of the trees around her danced to their own rhythm. James was a thing of shadows, only mostly visible. He couldn’t be real.
She closed her eyes to block out the image. It was because she was here in this city. That had been a mistake. She never should have come back…she couldn’t let herself think the word home. She’d been trying for long to wipe that word from her vocabulary altogether. It was like Narnia, where everyone but her knew where to find the wardrobe. For her, it was always just out of reach.
A wall of warmth collided with her, nearly knocking her to the ground, but strong arms wrapped around her. This. Is. Not. Real.
“Brooklyn!”
James never yelled. This was impossible. The arms pulled her tight against a chest. They swung her around. She kept her eyes closed. When she was back on her feet, a hand lightly touched her chin, tipped her head up far past where James’s face would be, if he were actually here. Which he wasn’t.
“Brooklyn,” the voice said, more urgently. It sounded so much like her James that her chest hurt at the sound of it. This voice was deeper, but there were notes that reminded her so much of him.
“What’s wrong? Aren’t you happy to see me?” the voice asked. There was an edge to it now. “Brooklyn.” The arms around her disappeared abruptly and she staggered. A hand steadied her, then let go.
It wasn't going away. Her eyes snapped opened. The man in front of her was taller than the James in her memory. The lines on his face were more defined. His arms were muscled in a way her James would’ve only been able to dream about.
“You’re not real,” she whispered.
He laughed and pulled her close to him again. “You had me worried for a moment there. I didn’t think you recognized me.” He hesitated. “Or you know, didn’t want to see me…”
“Of course I recognize you. You always know who people are in dreams.”
His smile faltered. “Um...okay. I'm not even going to pretend I know what that means." He paused. "Hey, have you eaten today? There's this great Chin--"
“I don’t know.”
“That’s not a good answer.”
She shrugged.
They were both quiet for a moment.
"If you prefer, I can show you my apartment. You can make whatever you want." He smiled at her.
When a long moment had passed and she still hadn't spoken, just keep starting at him, he said, "You don't have to..." But she didn't respond to that either, so he said, "Brooklyn?" He waited. "Brooklyn are you okay?"
You didn’t always need to answer figments of your imagination, did you? They just knew things. He would already know what was wrong. He was probably asking because some weird part of her wanted to talk about it. Just not the conscious part.
After another long moment of silence, he wrapped an arm around her waist and began moving them in some direction, opposite of where she’d been headed. It was okay. If this was where she lost her mind, if this was…insanity? Death? Then it was welcome. There were only two other people she wanted to see more than James, but she didn’t let herself dwell on it. James was perfect.
He lead her to an apartment in a nicer neighborhood than one where they’d grown up, but a far cry from the nicest part of town. The glass building sparked in the sunshine. With the sun at this angle, it was almost blinding.
“Brooklyn, you’re really scaring me. You haven’t said a word,” James said as they waited for the lift to reach the correct floor. “What’s wrong?”
Brooklyn had her arms wrapped around James’s waist, her face pressed into his chest. She breathed in a scent she knew all too well. If only this could last.
The door to an apartment opened for James as he approached it and he pulled her inside. He pressed her into a chair at the kitchen table and dropped a sandwich in front of her. The window overlooked a park.
“Sorry. I never learned to cook like you. This is what we have,” he said. He dropped down into the seat next to hers.
But she wasn’t hungry. At least, she didn’t think she was. Maybe this fantom knew more than she did.
James wrapped one of her hands in both of his. “Brooklyn, please say something. What’s wrong?”
“Have you really changed so much? Is the girl I knew anywhere in there?” he asked.
When she didn’t answer, he sighed loudly and dropped her hand. She sat there for a moment. He glared at her. But the longer she sat staring, unfocused at the window, the more his glare softened.
“Are you tired?” he asked. When she didn’t answer, he said, “Damnit Brooklyn! I can’t read minds!”
She giggled. He sounded so much like the James she remembered just then.
“Yes, it’s hilarious.” He rolled his eyes. He pushed his chair back from the table and the plate in front of her disappeared with a soft squeak of ceramic on glass. Something shattered and James cursed. Then he slammed something.
He pulled her to her feet and wrapped an arm around her again, leading her deeper into his apartment. He passed an open door to a bathroom and a closed door before one at the end of the hall opened for him. He ordered it to lock behind him.
He pushed her into a sitting position on the bed and pulled the faded purple bag off her shoulder and set it on the floor. He slipped off her shoes. When she was lying down, he draped a blanket over her and turned back toward the door.
Don’t go.
He reached the door in three strides.
“Please don’t go,” she said quickly. Figment or not, she didn’t want to be alone. Lying down, wrapped up in soft blankets, Brooklyn had an even harder time focusing. The world was as fuzzy as her head. And she was so tired.
He froze, just in front of the door. He hesitated for a moment, then moved to sit at the foot of the bed.
“Come here?” It was something she used to say when they were younger and having a sleepover in an emergency housing unit [a futuristic tent-like thing] out on his mom’s balcony. Her mom’s boyfriend had the habit of coming into her room after her mom had gone to bed, but with James’s arm wrapped around her, she felt safe. Something she didn’t feel when he wasn’t holding her, even if there was no way for him to get into James’s mom’s apartment. They’d had a lot of sleepovers. His mom used to think they’d get married one day. He used to turn so red when she said that. It always made Brooklyn laugh. Then he'd turn even redder.
James looked at her for what felt like an eternity. She would’ve wondered if he didn’t remember or if maybe he didn’t want to since they weren’t kids anymore if he were really here. But her figment would want this too. It was part of her.
“Brooklyn…I don't think--”
“Please?”
He rolled his eyes. “Scoot over.”
She moved out of the way and he put an arm around her. She rested her head on his chest. He squeezed her tightly for a moment before relaxing.
How very different and much the same it felt. It was stupid since he wasn't real, but it still felt safe in his arms. Figment or not.
Her eyes closed. She was asleep before she could think anything else.
She wiped the screen out of her vision and it disappeared. That was one of the perks of bullets: free feed access. You could also count it as a downside.
The past two months had been a blur of bullet trains that ran underground between cities, metro systems, nightmares and food Brooklyn couldn’t taste. The nightmares that had all but disappeared in Zach’s arms were back and worse than ever.
Fatigue clouded her ability to think and forced her eyes shut. She couldn’t sleep. Her mind wouldn't stop spinning, swirling, taking her a thousand places she didn't want to visit. She rested her head on the window and let the subtle vibrations of the bullet be her world for the moment. Around her, the hum of conversation sounded far away.
She didn’t remember getting off the bullet, didn’t remember walking up into the sunshine. Couldn’t have told you which streets she turned down. Only when someone splashed water from a fountain on her, did her eyes focus. The boy laughed as he sprayed more water at his friend.
The park could’ve been anywhere, for all Brooklyn noticed as she walked the paths curving around trees and green lawns. Flowers were in full bloom, but she didn’t notice them either. Her eyes stared ahead of her, almost unseeing as she kept walking. It was like opening your eyes underwater. Everything is there, but fuzzy. You can’t determine distance.
She turned when she thought she heard someone call her name. She couldn't imagine who would know her here. There was a man running toward her. She was too numb to be afraid, to worry about what his plans might be for her. Besides, she wasn't in any danger, regardless. She watched him flicker as he got closer. He looked almost like…almost like James. But that was impossible.
James shifted in and out of Brooklyn’s view as he ran toward her in flashes that looked like black fog. She stared at him, at his smile, the dark hair whipping around his head. It was impossible that he was here, right here in front of her after all these years. He couldn’t be real. This is what happened to people when they started to crack, wasn’t it?
The ground beneath her was solid. The sun was warm on her face. The branches of the trees around her danced to their own rhythm. James was a thing of shadows, only mostly visible. He couldn’t be real.
She closed her eyes to block out the image. It was because she was here in this city. That had been a mistake. She never should have come back…she couldn’t let herself think the word home. She’d been trying for long to wipe that word from her vocabulary altogether. It was like Narnia, where everyone but her knew where to find the wardrobe. For her, it was always just out of reach.
A wall of warmth collided with her, nearly knocking her to the ground, but strong arms wrapped around her. This. Is. Not. Real.
“Brooklyn!”
James never yelled. This was impossible. The arms pulled her tight against a chest. They swung her around. She kept her eyes closed. When she was back on her feet, a hand lightly touched her chin, tipped her head up far past where James’s face would be, if he were actually here. Which he wasn’t.
“Brooklyn,” the voice said, more urgently. It sounded so much like her James that her chest hurt at the sound of it. This voice was deeper, but there were notes that reminded her so much of him.
“What’s wrong? Aren’t you happy to see me?” the voice asked. There was an edge to it now. “Brooklyn.” The arms around her disappeared abruptly and she staggered. A hand steadied her, then let go.
It wasn't going away. Her eyes snapped opened. The man in front of her was taller than the James in her memory. The lines on his face were more defined. His arms were muscled in a way her James would’ve only been able to dream about.
“You’re not real,” she whispered.
He laughed and pulled her close to him again. “You had me worried for a moment there. I didn’t think you recognized me.” He hesitated. “Or you know, didn’t want to see me…”
“Of course I recognize you. You always know who people are in dreams.”
His smile faltered. “Um...okay. I'm not even going to pretend I know what that means." He paused. "Hey, have you eaten today? There's this great Chin--"
“I don’t know.”
“That’s not a good answer.”
She shrugged.
They were both quiet for a moment.
"If you prefer, I can show you my apartment. You can make whatever you want." He smiled at her.
When a long moment had passed and she still hadn't spoken, just keep starting at him, he said, "You don't have to..." But she didn't respond to that either, so he said, "Brooklyn?" He waited. "Brooklyn are you okay?"
You didn’t always need to answer figments of your imagination, did you? They just knew things. He would already know what was wrong. He was probably asking because some weird part of her wanted to talk about it. Just not the conscious part.
After another long moment of silence, he wrapped an arm around her waist and began moving them in some direction, opposite of where she’d been headed. It was okay. If this was where she lost her mind, if this was…insanity? Death? Then it was welcome. There were only two other people she wanted to see more than James, but she didn’t let herself dwell on it. James was perfect.
He lead her to an apartment in a nicer neighborhood than one where they’d grown up, but a far cry from the nicest part of town. The glass building sparked in the sunshine. With the sun at this angle, it was almost blinding.
“Brooklyn, you’re really scaring me. You haven’t said a word,” James said as they waited for the lift to reach the correct floor. “What’s wrong?”
Brooklyn had her arms wrapped around James’s waist, her face pressed into his chest. She breathed in a scent she knew all too well. If only this could last.
The door to an apartment opened for James as he approached it and he pulled her inside. He pressed her into a chair at the kitchen table and dropped a sandwich in front of her. The window overlooked a park.
“Sorry. I never learned to cook like you. This is what we have,” he said. He dropped down into the seat next to hers.
But she wasn’t hungry. At least, she didn’t think she was. Maybe this fantom knew more than she did.
James wrapped one of her hands in both of his. “Brooklyn, please say something. What’s wrong?”
“Have you really changed so much? Is the girl I knew anywhere in there?” he asked.
When she didn’t answer, he sighed loudly and dropped her hand. She sat there for a moment. He glared at her. But the longer she sat staring, unfocused at the window, the more his glare softened.
“Are you tired?” he asked. When she didn’t answer, he said, “Damnit Brooklyn! I can’t read minds!”
She giggled. He sounded so much like the James she remembered just then.
“Yes, it’s hilarious.” He rolled his eyes. He pushed his chair back from the table and the plate in front of her disappeared with a soft squeak of ceramic on glass. Something shattered and James cursed. Then he slammed something.
He pulled her to her feet and wrapped an arm around her again, leading her deeper into his apartment. He passed an open door to a bathroom and a closed door before one at the end of the hall opened for him. He ordered it to lock behind him.
He pushed her into a sitting position on the bed and pulled the faded purple bag off her shoulder and set it on the floor. He slipped off her shoes. When she was lying down, he draped a blanket over her and turned back toward the door.
Don’t go.
He reached the door in three strides.
“Please don’t go,” she said quickly. Figment or not, she didn’t want to be alone. Lying down, wrapped up in soft blankets, Brooklyn had an even harder time focusing. The world was as fuzzy as her head. And she was so tired.
He froze, just in front of the door. He hesitated for a moment, then moved to sit at the foot of the bed.
“Come here?” It was something she used to say when they were younger and having a sleepover in an emergency housing unit [a futuristic tent-like thing] out on his mom’s balcony. Her mom’s boyfriend had the habit of coming into her room after her mom had gone to bed, but with James’s arm wrapped around her, she felt safe. Something she didn’t feel when he wasn’t holding her, even if there was no way for him to get into James’s mom’s apartment. They’d had a lot of sleepovers. His mom used to think they’d get married one day. He used to turn so red when she said that. It always made Brooklyn laugh. Then he'd turn even redder.
James looked at her for what felt like an eternity. She would’ve wondered if he didn’t remember or if maybe he didn’t want to since they weren’t kids anymore if he were really here. But her figment would want this too. It was part of her.
“Brooklyn…I don't think--”
“Please?”
He rolled his eyes. “Scoot over.”
She moved out of the way and he put an arm around her. She rested her head on his chest. He squeezed her tightly for a moment before relaxing.
How very different and much the same it felt. It was stupid since he wasn't real, but it still felt safe in his arms. Figment or not.
Her eyes closed. She was asleep before she could think anything else.
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