Chapter Text
You jolt awake. The back of your body is cold, like the floor you were lying on just moments ago, the rest of it hot and sweaty. For a moment, you are scared to open your eyes. You crack one open. In the suffocating darkness, you locate the warm presence at your side. You almost sigh in relief—you are not alone! Your arm wraps around Caleb’s torso, nuzzling your face you breathe in his comforting scent.
Caleb stirs, before enveloping you in a hug. “Is everything okay?”, he mumbles. You only hug him tighter in response, trying to level your breathing. Hoping that once your heart calms, you will catch some peaceful sleep.
He watches your face for a moment, breaths evening out and smoothing your features. Maybe you had a bad dream, he thinks. The one you might not remember in the light of day.
The last thing you remember before succumbing to Hypnos’s embrace is utter terror and pain in your hips.
The next day, you put as much distance between you and Caleb as possible. He wonders if work is stressing you out more than usual. Or do you feel unwell? Is it PMS? But you say nothing. In fact, you are as eager for conversation as a bird is to swim. He does not show how much it bothers him, preparing your breakfast as always, and handing you coffee in your favourite mug, before he pecks you on the forehead and leaves for work.
You know each other’s schedules. He will be home at the same time he is every day, much preferring your company than additional work. He always makes sure you know you can contact him at any time, summon him with just one word and he will be there, spill all your frustrations out or tell him about the most insignificant things, and he will listen, he will cherish that moment and what you share with him.
He also knows that sometimes, you might just need space, and he will not push. He knows better not to. You had a long talk about boundaries, and while you appreciate his concern, he can get overbearing. And you hate just how weak it makes you feel, how helpless, especially when all you need is some alone time. You abhor the moments that make you break down in front of him, especially when he is part of the reason you feel caged, like you have no space to breathe, and your skin feels so tight, so tight.
No, he will not push. He will wait for you to come to him, he is sure you will. He will try to gently pry from you the reason of your bad mood, but he will not push. Not unless he absolutely has to.
A few hours into the shift, he sends you a message in hopes of cheering you up. He teases you about the movie you watched last night, and how surprised you were with the most predictable trope. How he grabbed for the bowl only to discover you finished the last snacks while he had not been watching.
Eventually, he says that he loves you. It is like your daily ritual by now, one that has not lost its magic but feels deeper, more real each time. Like showering together—which, now that he is thinking about it, you have not done in a few weeks. Maybe today, he will run you a bath to help you relax, then hop in with you.
Your reply comes after a moment of hesitation. “Love you.” No emojis, no cute animal pictures. No “You miss me already?” or “Caleb is a really clingy dog, and I love him so much.” No “come here”. (He would come immediately!) Just this plain two-word reply, “Love you.” Colours drain from his surroundings. He stares at the screen, not believing the feeling of grey that washes over him.
Is something bothering you? Are you sick? He has not done anything he should feel guilty about in a while. He is not keeping secrets—alright, secrets other than the ones he is obligated to keep on the position of colonel.
After he finishes for the day, he will stop by a store and buy ingredients for a casserole he is sure tastes heavenly, in his humble opinion.
Days go by and you are not any closer to revealing the reason of your concern and poor appetite. At night, you cling to Caleb for dear life. As soon as you wake up, however, you put space between the both of you. Dark circles appear that you are not very skilled at concealing. He notices you look…spooked. Somber, most of the time. You try to read a book, but your eyes are not moving across the page.
And the most frustrating thing is, you keep saying you are fine. He has eyes, goddamn, yet you insist. It is maddening. You ask him to just leave it, as if it is not killing him that you are unwell, that you have robbed him of all ways for him to check up on you, other than your own words. No, you are not fine, he has not believed it for a second. You know it, but what else can you do? You are at your wits’ end, too.
Finally, one day during his lunch break, he caves into his obsessive tendencies. He saw on the camera, one of many at his place, that you picked up your laptop. He hacks into the device, and gains access to its camera. Instantly, your pale face appears on the big screen, worrying at your lower lip. You seem to take a deep breath, before your fingers hit the keyboard, browser open.
The words that pop up next freeze the blood in his veins.
What does being raped in a dream mean?
And the next one. Am I going crazy if I constantly dream of being raped?