Time Limit - f.h

9 | Power

XANTARA
•1963•

TW: Violence / light torture

The rain fell in a repetitive pattern. Falling. Crashing. Stopping.

Falling. Crashing. Stopping.

Falling was the best option. It wasn't silence, it wasn't loneliness.

It wasn't overwhelming.

It just tapped, tapped, tapped.

"Tara,"

The same voice had been behind me all day. Sometimes it would talk for longer, sometimes only a breath. The response was always the same, but after 24 hours of silence, I hummed.

That was what they needed. What they were waiting for.

Five came and sat in front of me.

I was cowered, small and frail, on the hard floor beside Elliot. Overtime, I had released his forearm, but had left slight nail dents in passing. I had leant my back on the coffee table when I was tired, but never dared to close my eyes.

Darkness was war.

"Tara,"

My wary eyes were instead fixed on something far ahead of me- something past the wall, past Dallas, anywhere away.

"I got you a tea,"

This was the ninth tea I had been brought so far. All went untouched, growing stale in the air.

"Tara," he whispered again.

Like the rain, the word flowed from his mouth like a tap tap tap-

I nodded. He continued.

But he couldn't find anything to say.

Instead, he remained still and took my hands in his.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Silence.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Silence.

"It should've been me."

My voice broke at the sudden use, the candid, vehement words tearing through my mind.

"It should've been me."

It was continually breaking. The floods of tears had returned and I was quickly pulled around to Five's chest.

"It should've been me!"
"Tara,"
"It should've been me!" I cried, grabbing his shoulder as the only stability I had whilst he stroked my hair.

The more I said it, the more realistic the situation became.

Elliot was dead.

____

"Thanks," I mumbled subconsciously.

Five sat opposite me on my bed, carefully slipping on black gloves over my softly trembling hands, holding them like a delicate glass. I listened to the record player scratch over the familiar notes of Ray Charles and sipped the eleventh tea I'd been given that day. I gently and loosely tied the dull ribbon that acted as a belt for the wool, black trench coat I wore. It travelled down to my knees, showing the bottom half of my tights and my chunky boots.