Venom

037

She was back in that house.

Back to that cold night.

Back in his embrace.

They were laughing, then he was leaving with trash bags in his hands, then she was following him.
Then bang.

Sharp. Air-slicing. Slow. Fast.
One
Bang.

Now tears stained her green eyes, blurred her vision, cut her cheeks.
Her ears rang. Her feet struck the tear-spotted cement. The sound her kneecaps made when they hit the ground was so similar to the gun's bang. A shiver ran up and down her spine.

She was whispering a name. Or maybe she was screaming it. Or maybe she was just shouting nonsense.

The scenario shifted, the layout melted and thick, dark walls built up around her.

She was in a room. The smell of moss and dirty water filled her nose.
The corpse was still spread out in front of her, her legs drenched in blood.

Her voice echoed in the room. She was just saying a name, over and over again. And again.
And again.

But... No. Who-?
Why him?
Why here?

T-T-T-
No. Not T.
D.

D-D-D- "Dean." Over and over again she said it. Four letters. Not five. "Dean, Dean, Dean."
Not Tyler.
Dean.

Dean? Why Dean? Dead? Killed. By whom?

There. Black clothes, no face, shiny golden ring with a ruby on top of it. Oh. Him. Oh.

"Dean, Dean!" she kept shouting. Her throat hurt. Knives sliced her vocal cords. Pain. Make it stop. Her heart ached.
Dean
Dead
Here.
Why him? Where were they? Why Why Why. "Dean!"

A gasp slashed Helen's throat. She jolted up, coated in...in... She rubbed her hands all over her body, taking them in front of her eyes. She blinked.
Sweat. Not blood.
She sighed, her lungs burning.

Swallowing nothing, Helen forced her feet out the bed and walked out the door of her personal room in Dean's apartment. This time, she was there with no handcuffs or restrictions. Dean gave her this room so she could have privacy.
Dean.

Drying the sweat from her face, she silently - but quickly - walked across the various hallways and rooms, barely glancing outside the living room's windows, noticing it was still night.
Her feet kept sticking to the cold floors, but she kept walking, ignoring her complaining knee.

His bedroom's door was half open. She slipped inside easily, making no sounds. Was she even breathing? She didn't know.

The next few seconds were not commanded by her will.
Somehow, she found herself looking at Dean, still, asleep.
Asleep. Not dead.
Then she was walking again, circling the large bed.
For whatever reason, she was crawled up in his bed a minute later, her back almost touching his. She could almost feel his body heat melting with hers.
Corpses don't emanate heat, do they? No. Good. More proof that Dean wasn't dead.
As if his soft breaths weren't proof enough.

She didn't cover herself up with blankets or duvets. She just closed her eyes, breathed, and slept.

~~~

When the alarm went off at five thirty, Dean let out an annoyed groan. He slipped a hand out of the warm douvet and slammed his palm on his phone, shutting it off.
He turned on his back, moving from his right side to his left, ready to let his arm stretch over the empty mattress.