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I turn over in my bed for what has to be the hundredth time. The air is pleasantly cooled with air conditioning, and the sheets are soft and clean, but I still can’t seem to fall asleep. The second I close my eyes, my mind is plagued with blood and stags and death. Your death, my death, Abigail’s death…countless different times and different ways. I try to meditate the way you taught me to but my mind can’t be bothered to slow down or relax. I shift my legs again, battling the odd desire to run. I can’t explain it, but it’s there. Maybe if I do, I’ll outrun my nightmares and finally be able to fall asleep. At this point, even attempting sleep is useless. I shove off the covers angrily and pad out of my small room. The house is dark and terribly quiet. I have no idea what time it is, but I’m sure it’s obscurely late. I shoot a look down the hallway to where your room is. I assume you have no issues falling asleep. You probably never get nightmares. I walk into the kitchen, where the faded tile floor is bright with moonlight that has trickled in through the window. I spot a bit of coffee still sitting in the pot and pour it into a nearby cup that is sitting alone on the counter. I make a haphazard guess that it’s probably mine from yesterday. The coffee is thick and dark and looks like blood being poured into my cup.
It really does look black in the moonlight.
I give a wry smile into the darkness at the memory. I take a tentative sip of the coffee. It’s cold and bitter and tastes like sorrow and regret, but it’s also oddly familiar and soothing. I keep drinking. I move to the living room so I can pace around the glass coffee table that you primly requested be placed there. It soothes me to be able to walk monotonously around the living room and the fluffy carpet is soft under my bare feet.
“Will.”
I nearly jump out of my skin, my heart almost painfully thudding in my chest. I retain just enough wit to clutch onto the cup so it doesn’t drop. I spin around, and even though I know what I will see, I am shocked. You are standing in the doorway connecting the living room to the hallway with your bedroom. Your arms are folded across your chest and you have a somewhat amused expression on your face. I notice that you look perfectly awake, your dark, dark eyes alert and bright. The only evidence that you might have been sleeping is the fact that your perfectly styled silver blond hair is mussed up and you are wearing pajamas.
Pajamas.
I internally shake my head, unsure on whether I actually thought you would sleep in a three piece suit. But here you are, clad in burgundy silk pajama pants and a crisp white t-shirt. I can’t get over how oddly human it looks.
“Uh,” I say, realizing that the silence has stretched on for an awkwardly long time and I might be staring.
Good going, Will. Your grasp on the English language is most enviable.
“May I be so forward as to ask you why you are pacing in the living room at 2:47 AM with a cup of cold and most likely stale coffee?” You ask, polite as usual. Your Lithuanian accent is much more prominent with sleep.
“I-I couldn’t sleep,” I mutter lamely, as if that wasn’t obvious. You give an elegant raise of an eyebrow. You’re suddenly moving, and I find you just in front of me, prying the coffee cup from my hands. I feel like a little kid caught staying up late. You bustle around the kitchen for a few moments, opening cabinets and drawers, no doubt whipping up some gourmet concoction. You come back to me in a few moments and hand me a glass filled with some liquid. It smells tart and fruity, but with a sweet undertone.
“Cherry juice and vanilla. Just a dash of honey. Cherries are rich in melatonin, which helps regulate sleep. Vanilla has aroma therapeutic effects upon the brain. Honey allows tryptophan to enter the brain more easily, resulting in a deeper and more restful sleep.”
I can’t honestly say that I understand half the words you said, but I am grateful for the beverage. I take a sip, your scrutinizing stare upon me. It tastes sharp and heady, biting on my tongue, but then mellow and sweeter than I can describe. It tastes like hope and new beginnings, a stark contrast to the coffee I had earlier. I relish every sip and you relax with approval.
“Sit,” You say, and gesture to the couch. The couch is larger than necessary and matches perfectly with the furniture in the house. It was ridiculously expensive, but you insisted that it would go perfectly with the subtle elegance of the house. Yeah, like subtle elegance matters when we’re two of America’s most wanted men. But we have the couch nonetheless, so I obediently sit on it as you instructed. You sit next to me and once again I am struck my how vulnerable you look wearing baggy pajama pants and a simple t-shirt. Now that you are right in beside me, I notice a small cowlick in your hair, on the right side of your head. I am struck with the oddest urge to smooth it down. Your eyelashes are silver and spiky in the moonlight, contrasting with the dark maroon of your eyes.
“I miss my dogs,” I blurt out, and then immediately cringe in embarrassment. But I do honestly miss my dogs. They helped me sleep better. Less nightmares.
“If you would like a dog, then we shall get one.”
I turn to you in surprise, my eyes probably comically wide.
“Would it please you if we bought a dog tomorrow?” Your voice is so so casual. As if we are not two serial-killers on the run, discussing the purchase of a dog. But I am obscenely pleased by your response.
“Yes. It would please me very much,” I fight to keep a smile off my face, but I’m sure you can tell how happy your proposal has made me.
“Then we shall do so,”
I briefly wonder when our life got so domestic. You making me drinks when I can’t fall asleep. Talking about buying me dogs. It’s so odd and such a change from my previous life, but I don’t mind it. It has a sort of familiar feel, like we were going to end up like this no matter what. I am suddenly hit by a wave of exhaustion and I stifle a yawn. You notice immediately, your eyes darting to my face.
“Lay down,” You say. I’m slightly irritated by you ordering me around.
“I’m fi-,” I start to respond, but you cut me off with a gently pushing hand on my shoulder. I instantly shut up. Your hand is warm and solid, guiding me to lay down on the couch. I comply, slightly intimidated by your touch. You skootch over on the couch and I take that as an invitation to put my feet up beside you.
“Close your eyes.” I hear your “psychiatrist tone” edge into your voice and I know you’re probably going to guide me through some meditation ritual.
“I-I can’t, I mean-the nightmares, t-they come…” I panic slightly, pushing up from the couch. You lay a reassuring hand on my chest, preventing me from sitting back up.
“Shh,” you say, “trust me, Will. I will make sure the nightmares do not come.”
And somehow, I am entirely sure that you will do exactly that. I make eye contact with you one more time, my blue eyes meeting your night-darkened maroon ones. You look right back at me; so familiar yet so alien. I can barely recognize this man before me; all domestic clothing, mussed up hair and soft gazes. I slide my eyes closed, instantly missing your reassuring image in front of me. Solid and powerful, yet unfathomably tender in care of me. I feel a panic rising in me as my vision is sheathed in darkness, so I try to focus on the warmth of your thigh against the side of my knee, your knee against my hip. Still, blood tinges the edges of my mind and whispers invade my ears. I squeeze my eyes shut and grit my teeth.
“Will. Focus on my voice. Blot out anything else you may hear until all you acknowledge is my words.”
Your Lithuanian lilt is smooth and easy, willing away the unwanted whispers. You talk calmly and quietly, the edge of sleep making your voice deeper and rougher than usual. I give an involuntary shiver, and I’m not sure why.
“Fill your mind with images and memories, Will. Find something that makes you feel safe. Something that makes you feel happy. Make peace with the demons that have found sanctuary in your mind.”
Make peace with my demons? I let out a little huff of exasperation. I have been trying to make peace with my demons my whole life. So I try happy images. Abigail is the first thing that comes to mind, but as usual, it is followed by pain and guilt and heartache. You must sense my failure, because you shift on the couch, and I think I hear a little sigh escape your lips.
“The past is in the past, Will. Do not dredge up the life you left behind. It will only bring you pain. What do you see in your future, Will?”
I am truly surprised by that question. I have not thought of my future. I barely try to think of the next day to come. The next day when the FBI will find us. The next day when we are caught. The next day you are killed. The future is blurry and shadowed, but your questions intrigues me and I find myself searching for the answer. I cannot ever see my family or my work in the future. You told me yourself, my past life has been left behind. Nothing can be salvaged. I try working up scenarios of what I might come to do, but they all are silly day dreams. Suddenly, I am struck with an image of you cooking dinner. You are dressed to the nines, as usual, save for a crisp apron wrapped around your torso. You are at home in the kitchen, whipping up some obscure, gourmet meal, no doubt. I realize that the image instantly calmed my swimming mind and tense body. I try an image of you with our new dog that we will get. She’s a mutt, but perfect in every way. You are wrinkling your nose at her fur on your impeccable suit, but there’s a fondness in your eyes that makes me smile. I’m now on my boat, in the middle of the ocean where no one can find us. I’m teaching you how to fish, even though you already know how. I can’t help but imagine you in a suit again, but this time it’s a cool linen one. You turn to me and your hair is sun-bleached blond, and your skin is tan. I am so shocked by the vividness of the image that my reverie is broken. I realize you have been waiting for my answer.
“You.” I say honestly and I cannot say that I am surprised by my epiphany. No matter what has happened in the past, nor what will happen in the future, the only thing I am sure of is that you will be by my side. You are silent. I must have shocked you, because that is the only reason why you wouldn’t have a primly structured, psychiatric response at the ready. I open my eyes, because I am impatient and curious. I find you gazing down at me, eyes bright. I also notice you have a slightly smug smirk upon your lips. Good Lord, I’ve created a monster. You place your hand on the side of my cheek and I lean into it a bit.
“My dear Will. I must say that I, too, see you in my future,”
Your voice has this odd, reverent tone that I have never heard before. I think I have made you soft. I can hardly believe that you are a ruthless cannibalistic serial-killer by the infinitely gentle and fond look upon your face. I can’t help but smile, and I know it’s probably crooked and silly, but I can’t be bothered to care. You slide your hand around to the back of my head and entangle your fingers in my mess of curls. You lean down, silvery hair flopping over your left eye, and I lean up, hyperaware of everything around me. I can smell the spicy, rich scent of your cologne, mingled with your natural scent of skin and soap. I can feel every inch of your touch on my head, on my leg, and your other hand on my arm. All I can hear is rhythmic ticking of the clock, and your gentle, measured breaths. Everything else is dead silent, as if the whole world is holding its breath. Your lips are suddenly on mine, infinitely soft and sweet. The kiss is gently passionate, filled with emotions I couldn't begin to describe. Love, happiness, ecstasy, hope. You taste of vanilla and cinnamon and I am more than happy to drown in all of it. In your scent, taste and touch. In your love and support and beauty. We pull away from the kiss together, but just barely, our faces still inches apart and our breathless gasps mingling. My heart swells with happiness and affection and it feels like it is about to burst out of my chest. I lean back, dazed, and meet your eyes. You look happier than I have ever seen you in my life, your sharp teeth flashing in the moonlight with your smile. I realize that I, too, am smiling like an idiot. I find that you have stretched out upon me on the couch, your legs hooked around mine. Your arm encircling my shoulder, pulling me close. Your chest is solid and warm above mine, and I feel your heartbeat. I am more comfortable than I have ever felt in my life, and a wave of sleepiness hits me.
“Go to sleep, Will.” You murmur, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead. My eyes fall closed as we lay entangled on the couch, neither one of us bothering to move. Most likely because neither of us want to. I succumb to sleep and dream of sharp cheekbones and silver hair and enigmatic smiles and cinnamon kisses.