Archive of Our Own

The painfully nostalgic song rattles in Darlene’s ears through her headphones. Recollection flashes behind her eyes. The crooning of the organ distorts in her mind, accompanied by a pounding that resonates from the back of her skull. She exhales – heavy – her irritated nose sniffling away. Her pupils are shot to hell and opening them worsens the pain in her head. From her spot on Angela’s old bed, she catches the sight of a figure resting in the doorway. She’s bathed in the cool afternoon light that seeps in through the windows. Wispy fiery locks contrast against Darlene’s cold hazy world and trigger goosebumps down her arms. “Dom—” The name catches in her throat – she chokes on it – and it comes out strangled, pathetic.

“Darlene…” Dom coos. Her voice is sweet and tender. Darlene isn’t sure if it’s the way she says her name, or if it’s the drugs that make her want to retch. Darlene squeezes her eyes shut and swallows that nausea back down her throat. The agent approaches through the fog and takes a seat on the bed beside Darlene. The mattress shifts and gives under Dom's added weight. Darlene swallows hard and forces herself to open her eyes again. Black pools bouncing across Dom's knees before finding the courage to meet hers. Fully expecting to be greeted by a glare of disdain—but there's nothing but tenderness in Dom's gaze. Darlene thinks that a cold scowl would be less painful than this. 

“I—I swear to god, I didn’t mean for you to- to get wrapped up in all of this shit.” She cries, her voice rough with a certain amount of forcefulness that she places behind her words.

“I know Darlene…” Darlene’s vision blurs as the image of the ginger shifts in and out of focus. Those amber locks encapsulating the entirety of her vision. Her weary eyes screw shut again; heat ricochets through her veins. The warmth amplifies with the sensation of Dom’s lips suddenly upon her neck. She can feel her hot breath cascade against her, sending her nerves into pleasurable spasms. A pithy whimper creeps from Darlene’s throat as Dom plants kisses against her skin. The scent of the countryside and blood is thick in the air and sends Darlene reeling. But she finds herself grounded again when Dom’s mouth meets hers in kisses that are all entirely too soft. It isn’t what she deserves. Their tongues meld coyly; Dom tastes of alcohol and sickly sweet candy—artificial. Phantom limbs of past pleasures.

Dom shouldn’t be here. Not after what she did. Darlene tries to speak out – makes a feeble utterance against Dom’s mouth, but doesn’t have the strength to pull herself away. She gravitates towards Dom like a dying star to a sun, her hands lost in her warm hair. Their lips part for just a moment, granting Darlene a chance to speak.

“Dom—this—this isn’t right. After what I did to, to, you.” Her words slur and stutter out like a failing car engine desperately trying to start up. Dom’s hands cup her face and she can feel her skin sweltering under her touch.

“You have to stop feeling guilty.” The agent’s voice blends with her brother from earlier that morning in a strange harmonized fashion – as if they were both speaking at the same time. It furthers her disorientation. The world is pirouetting uncontrollably around her and she can't find any crevices to grasp and steady herself. Free fall.

“Wh—what? What did you say?” Before Darlene can follow that up, Dom has her pinned against the bed. Her strong sturdy hands wrap themselves around Darlene’s neck – tightening and restraining her air supply. Darlene writhes pitifully under Dom’s weight, her hands clinging to Dom’s. The past warmth and security those hands once granted her is gone.

“You are a terrible person.” Darlene’s eyes flutter open and through her dizzy haze, she can see Dom hovering above her. Her expression is cold, somber – no glint of the tender anxiety from the intimate night they shared together. Darlene swallows hard and wheezes – her lungs heaving desperately for any morsel of oxygen. “Live with that. Die with that.”

Darlene gasps awake—shooting straight up in Angela’s bed—her body drenched in a cold sweat. Her chest rises with heavy breaths as she drinks the air in. Conscious or not, tears well up in her eyes and spill out between panicked gasps. Darlene’s hands fly to her neck, pressing against feverish skin. Dom’s familiar hands are no longer there – just the cord of her headphones which must have gotten tangled around her as she rolled in her sleep. She trembles, shudders as she unwraps the cord and sets her phone back on the sheets of the bed. Darlene draws her knees in close to her chest and she wraps her arms around herself – tucking her face away from the world as she sobs into the hauntingly empty apartment. John Prine still echoes on in her headphones.