2019-09-29 - Love Hurts

[In Another Place]

The heat of the desert causes the body armor to feel like a personal walking oven meant to cook you in the inescapable rays of the sun. Easton knows the heat well, but he never felt this sick in a combat zone. He tenses to listen as a squad leader gives him the update but it's like someone has turned the volume all the way down on Staff Sergeant Hernandez, Dizzy to all the men. Easton tries to read his lips or grasp anything that he's being told. When Dizzy stands waiting for instruction Easton tries to speak but only garbled noise comes out to the confusion of his men who he can see are clearly concerned and frustrated. A blast shakes the area, again without a sound, but strong enough to knock them off their feet and send dust and debris crashing down on them. Easton struggles under the weight to free himself from the fallen stone and concrete only to see insurgents prowling the area, shooting dead any Marines they can find in the wreckage. He frantically searches for his gun as they draw nearer, and can only get his hand on his KA-BAR knife. His left leg is pinned under something so he waits for the nearest man to come find him, surging up to pull the gun away and hopefully incapcitate him with the his knife.

[Here, their apartment]

Surging up out of sleep Easton grabs Bennie by her throat. Somehow in his sleep he's managed to arm himself and plunges his weapon at her ribs. Thankfully for Bennie, he doesn't sleep with a knife on his nightstand so she is assaulted with iPhone instead, which is much less sharp but still not super comfortable. He attempts to roll on top of her, his eyes now open. The heat of the fever manages to somehow animate his gray eyes. There is no cool and collected, there is only anger and hate and a desire to hurt. There are no words, only a sense of enraged frustration when he realizes his 'knife' is not what he expected. He attempts to remain straddling her, left hand on her throat and his right hand still wielding the phone/knife.

The worst of Bennie's dreams have past and now she's finally able to sleep somewhat normally. It's allowed her to join Easton back in their bed with enough presence of mind to sleep next to him but still give him his fevered space. Not that it didn't take some extreme will power not to throw a leg over him or try to curl up with her head on his shoulder and sleep entwined with him like her normal spider monkey self. This way she can sleep on her own mattress and still be at hand should he need anything in the middle of the night. It was a solid plan.

But we all know what the Gods do when we plan.

It's a very abrupt way to awaken, with the man you love's hand around your throat. It's not even as if she has time to register much beyond the fact that she's being attacked. Her eyes fly open in a wild panic, not able to make much noise of protest beyond a startled squeak of air trying to escape past the tightening fingers that threaten to crush her windpipe in his delusion.

The jab of the phone to her ribs registers in her eyes in a wince of pain, the blunt object will no doubt cause a bloom of bruise to rise in the wake of the force by which it was applied. It's a good thing Bennie doesn't realize it could have been worse.

Much worse.

The blonde's reaction is sudden and purely by gut instinct, clawing at the arm that keeps her pinned while trying to just push the man bodily AWAY.

Easton's arm is knocked away and he collapses down just as she shoves him off the bed. He lands on the ground and rises up to take a wild swing at her, but he's completely forgotten about the fact that he's not wearing his prosthesis and so he only gets to his knees before he stumbles at her and is easily blocked away. All the while, Easton doesn't say anything. There is no loud booming voice. No taunting or even sense of any of his usual need to fill the void with humor. There is only an angry (and getting more frustrated by his impotence by the minute) need to hurt someone.

Once Easton tumbles off the bed, Bennie scrambles to her knees amidst the tangle of blankets and sheets from Easton's tossing and turning during the night. The strap of her nightgown has fallen off one shoulder, and her neck is an angry red from the previous wrap of her fingers. The blonde's hair is as wild as her eyes, giving her a crazed look but one that doesn't even come close to rivaling the one that meets her in Easton's gaze.

"Easton, WAKE UP!." She tries to shout as he lurches up after her, but it comes out more of a scratchy screech from her abused throat. Making a mad grab for one of the pillows, she tries to whap him with it to jolt him out of his craze, but her swing goes wild and she ends up flopped onto her stomach.

Swatting away the pillow swing Easton gets his bearings of not having his leg attached, which means he's a little more mobile or at least aware of how to move. With Bennie face down he manages to get himself back up on the bed and straddle her back. He grabs a fist full of her wild hair and pulls her head back hard to whisper in her ear. And whispering is not Easton's style. Yelling out across the room, sure. But a hard, quiet whisper that is furious but barely audible is not anything people would associate with the man he is in Gray Harbor.

"I told you to leave. You should have listened."

And he can feel that anger, the unrestrained desire to hurt her, to end her life because she didn't believe him. He told her to go, but she knew better. And for that he can only think of hurting her. Of cutting her beautiful throat.

There are of course quite a few things working in Bennie's favor here. First and foremost they don't have any knives handy in the bedroom. Second Easton is still very weak from the flu. And third, he's Easton.

His hand releases the grasp on her hair as he manages to right himself mentally. He gasps for air and slowly lifts his hands up into the air. His eyes roll back a little as he tries to make sense of where he is and what's real and what's happening. He can still feel the urge for violence screaming at him but it's back under his control at least. But remembers stabbing her, or at least trying to?

"Bennie? Bennie!"

His breath is ragged and his head is still spinning whether from fever or just being disoriented from the reality shifts is hard to say. He awkwardly tries to get off her and check on her. "i'm so sorry. i'm so sorry" his words coming out in mumbled frantic breaths and he tries to help her up.

Terrified.

It's never a word Bennie thought she would feel in association with Easton. But yet when he straddles her back and yanks her hair, that's all she fears in her gut. She stays frozen, afraid to move or fight against him and stir his anger further. Maybe if she just is still, the predator will grow tired of his quarry and slink away. Unfortunately, she looses heart about that particular tactic when he leans down to whisper the assumed threat in her ear. Her eyes pinched closed at the feel of his breath on the side of her cheek, quelling the urge to vomit as her stomach twists violently in fear.

The moment she feels his weight leave her lower back, there is no time for relief. She's frantically clawing away from him his helpful gestures until her form fumbles over the edge of the bed. Only then, with fingers clenching the lip of the mattress, does she dare to look back at him with a petrified look in her eyes at his seemingly sober self pleas.

The worst part of the fact that she's not fighting back is that all he can think of is how easy she's making it. But thankfully he is able to reassert control or at least control over that urge. That push that is suddenly in him to end her, or anyone, maybe everyone. He wipes at his brow as he pushes away from her back up towards the headboard, both to give her space and to put some distance between them. He is breathing hard still, trying to catch his breath and regulate himself back to a calm even state, but the fever and the anger and disorientation of coming out of the Dream are all powerfully ganging up against him.

The look in her eyes causes a pained wince, but then he can feel his guilt and horror at his own actions being pressed against by that hatred. The desire to blame her, to somehow make this her fault. It doesn't make any sense to him, and it's entirely foreign to him to blame someone in her position but now he understands it. It's like having some nightmare version of himself pressing buttons in his head. He wants to calmly explain things, to apologize and try to reassure her. She's terrified, he can feel it in a way that he's never noticed or let himself before. And to his own horror he realizes something in him likes it.

He manages to pull his leg to him, no longer looking at her, actively trying to block her out and contain whatever the hell is going on inside his own head. He focuses on the meditative repetitious motion of getting his leg on. He forces himself to calmly state, "I'm sorry, I got lost. I didn't..." He did though. He so did. He can't lie and say he didn't mean to hurt her.

"I'm sorry."

Standing he makes his way out of the bedroom, to get a drink.

"I need my leg. I need a fucking drink."

"I know." Bennie murmurs quietly, keeping her voice low and her movements slow and deliberate now like she's dealing with a spooked animal. She holds up both her hands in supplication in front of her, "I'm okay. We're okay." It gets assured, but yet there is almost palpable relief as he zips his leg to him, and straps it on with declaration to go get himself a drink. As he leaves the room, she straightens up to stand, her knees wobbly beneath her and threatening to buckle beneath her weight. Like a new born fawn, she takes unsure steps to examine her image in the reflection off the TV, fingers tentatively touching the redness on her neck. Hold it together, girl.

We're okay

Easton pauses in the doorway, takes a breath and manages to not scare the absolute shit out of her by getting in her face to explain just how 'not okay' he is right now. And has been for sometime. It started with the letters and it's just felt non-stop ever since. He can't catch his breath, metaphorically and right now he's finding it a little hard literally as well. He is unsteady from the fever and covered in a fine sheen of sweat but has no problem getting a glass, ice and full pour of whiskey without spilling a drop.

He gets the glass and gets out to the balcony hoping the night air will help him cool down in every possible way. He sits in the comfortable cushioned chair. The one he bought because Bennie told him they needed furniture. For their place.

"Get it the fuck together Marshall."

At first Easton's not sure if he actually voiced the thought out loud, or if he's just losing it but then he realizes he has his eyes screwed shut as tight as they can go. He opens them and glances over to see the ghost of Tom "Banks" sitting next to him shaking his head and glaring at him.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing? You don't get to fall apart. Weird shit coming at you from all angles? Too damn bad Marine. You improvise. You adapt. You over-the-fuck-come."

Easton by this point is nearly back to numb. The anger and rage locked back away in his mind. The resurgence of his control comes not because of Tom's yelling, but because Easton knows that this too is part of him. Yes it looks like Tom and sounds like Tom and even cusses in his very particular Virginian half-drawl like Tom but it's mixed in with Easton. With who he is. With who they were together.

There is a long span of time that Bennie just gives Easton his space. Or at least that's the logical explanation for Bennie not trailing after Easton to make sure he's okay.

In reality, after examining her reflection for a moment, and then finger walking up the edge of her nightgown to wince at the painful dark bruise that's blooming between her ribs, Bennie becomes frantic. First it's a mad dash to find some clothes and get dressed, slamming her legs into some jeans that she hop-pulls up on her way to find a loose sweater. There is a glimmer of pain as she raises her arms to yank it over her torso and then she's pawing through a drawer to find a flowery scarf she quickly twines around her neck.

After a check to find her essentials are in her bag, she's slinging it over her shoulder and tentatively approaching the patio door, choosing to stay well inside. "Hey babe, I think I'm feeling well enough to attempt a grocery store run and check in at work. I'll be gone for a while, but I...uhm...I have my phone if you need me." She tries to come across her normal sunshiney self, going through great lengths to keep the tremble out of her voice.

Easton can feel some of what's going on in the apartment. His usual atunement to the space isn't what it normally is, but the clothes moving and her walking still buzzes at his sense like a flicker of awareness.

She calls to him and he manages a weak smile. It's devoid of the boisterous charm that he presents normally, but about normal for his flu-stricken state. He nods and says, "Okay."

The thought that she's lying, that she's running away from him flashes through his mind.

Good.

He calls after her, "Okay. Be safe."

Once she's out of the apartment he finishes the glass of whiskey and gets down to business. First and foremost every gun in the place is taken from it's spot, unloaded and put into the gun safe. Yes he has the combination but the point is to just not make them accessible. He then starts to pack a bag, just some clothes, some cold medicine and some booze. Just the basics.

He then has to find a piece of paper to explain where he's gone for when she's back. It's not like he really has to get too far into the why. He probably did a pretty damn good job of making it clear.

Yes it's possible she won't be back.

No he's not willing to take that chance.