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DVD commentary!
So, I did the DVD Commentary Meme (still open for playing, if anyone wants to), and ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ravens_gate requested a DVD commentary of a DVD extra, namely, the scene in which Ben and Janni meet again for the first time five years after they graduate from high school and go their separate ways. She goes off to college and majors in Theater and English, and he toddles off to a couple of tours in Afghanistan, where he is captured by insurgents and torture ensues. And... go.
This came about because of my innate inability to just let things go. The original scene was about three paragraphs long, and entailed Janni describing for Megan her first meeting with Ben after he came back from Afghanistan. I decided that was too much telling and not enough showing, and went into flashback mode instead, which turned into more like 1700 words. And that was a fine and shiny thing--except for my aforementioned inability to let things go. I love writing the same scene from two different points of view (see: both Iron Man stories I've written), and this one has the added bonus of being in first person, which POV I also love writing in and don't do nearly enough of.
This had been a mistake.
I wasn't ready for a fancy dinner surrounded by people, even if most of them were returning veterans like I was and might actually get it. But five months after coming home from the most horrific experience of my short life to find that my parents had been killed by a drunk driver while I'd been gone--it was just too damned soon. Seeing Janni had been a bright spot in a cesspit of misery, until I remembered that I'd probably never see her again and the rest of our friends were scattered.
Ben is utterly alone here. His outer scars have healed, but the inner ones, not so much. We all need a human connection, and he just doesn't have one.
My well-meaning Army psychologist thought that getting out would be good for me, but I'd barely held myself together through dessert and the speeches of gratitude. Only the breathing exercises I practiced on a nearly hourly basis had prevented me from diving under the table or disappearing out the door. Or possibly self-combusting. Oh god I love this line. I picked at the food, which was actually good (because, unknown to Ben, Alex Jarrett put this thing together, and far be it from him to serve veterans substandard food), seemed a shame to waste it, but I could hardly swallow past the huge lump in my throat. My stomach was rebelling in any case.
Ben's response to stress is to stop eating. He's a skinny little shit anyway, and this doesn't help his mental state, because lack of nourishment often goes with impaired judgement. As we are about to see.
I made a less-than-graceful escape as soon as I could.
The night was cool, but I was sweating, and I yanked my jacket off and tossed it into the back seat as soon as I got to my car. Working a finger under my tie, I unknotted it, left it hanging around my neck. The top three buttons of my white dress shirt came undone next, and I rolled the sleeves halfway up my forearms.
He's getting rumpled. Aw. Also, I just love the imagery here. I think Ben is sex on a stick anyway (well, seriously, look at him!), and dressed like that? OMNOMNOM. *coughs, adjusts clothing* (Yes, I find a fictional character I created hot. Sue me.) I usually suck at description, but I think we've got a pretty good idea of what his clothes look like at this point. We actually get an even better idea of what he looks like in the scene from Janni's POV, because she can see how messy his hair is from running his hand through it again and again, and she also notices the dark circles around his eyes under the glasses.
And then I sat in my car until everyone else was gone. Alone with my thoughts and my incipient panic attack and my Ruger in the glove box. I tried to drown the thoughts out with heavy metal blasting on the speakers. Wasn't too successful. Especially when "Don't Fear the Reaper" hit the playlist next. This is not a good song for someone who is semi-suicidal to listen to. And that... may be the most obvious statement in the history of ever.
I reached over and pulled the gun out. Turned it over and over, contemplating it. Flipping the safety off and on. Six and a half pounds on the trigger, and I wouldn't have to deal with any of this anymore... Yes, I looked up the pull on the trigger. He would know.
Hands trembling, I safed it and placed it carefully on the passenger seat as if it was hot, leaned forward until my head rested on the steering wheel and my elbows rested on my thighs. The thought hadn't come from nowhere, and I didn't like how seductive the idea seemed lately. "Breathe," I whispered. My fingers scrubbed through my hair again and again. Trying to hold it together here. Not doing a very good job. But how could he?
The light tap on my window scared the shit out of me--I thought everyone had gone, and it came in a pause between songs. Recognizing Janni in the glow of the streetlamps, I hit the button on the armrest that lowered the window. I looked at her without turning my head. "Hey," I said. He's so low-key here. It's not like he's got a gun on the seat next to him that he was considering eating not five minutes ago or anything. He's so tired. In the original scene from Janni's viewpoint, his fists are clenching and relaxing, clenching and relaxing, but he's not even conscious of it, so I didn't put it here.
"Hey," she squeaked, hell, she'd seen the Ruger. Her throat moved in a convulsive swallow. "I'm, uh, done here, and could really use a cup of coffee. I'd love some company?" And I love how this is a question rather than a statement.
I closed my eyes and exhaled a shaky breath. Interacting with people tonight had nearly finished me, and I didn't know-- Yeah, but, Ben, honey, you need more human interaction than you're getting. Sitting around stuck inside your own head is not doing you any favors.
My hand moved of its own accord toward the gun, and I consciously stopped it from going there and turned off the CD player instead. Killing myself and having someone find me after the deed was done--well, that was a whole other animal from doing it in front of somebody. Especially somebody who might care in particular because she knew me rather than in general because she was human. Please keep telling yourself that.
And I couldn't bring myself to say, "No, sorry, can't go for coffee, busy committing suicide, please leave and let me do it." He'd say it just like that, too. She'd blame herself for not stopping me, because she was just like that in high school. She had a tendency back then to want to fix people, and the fact that she'd knocked on my window told me that she hadn't changed too awful much. The moment had passed, and I wasn't sure whether I was relieved or not. Stoppit, Ben, you're relieved. You are. Although considering everything that happens later, he has reason to revisit this scene and wish he'd sent her away.
"You know a place?" I said instead. I turned to look at her, but the effort of lifting my head from the steering wheel was too much, so I left it where it was.
"Yeah, there's one just around the corner. Let me take you there." Her eyes were wide in the lamplight, and her lip trembled. Shit. I hadn't meant to frighten her.
I forced myself to smile. It felt hideous, but I could see her relax, so I supposed it worked. "Okay. Sure. Okay." I rolled the window up and put the gun back in the glove box. Still hadn't lost the tremor in my hands. He never loses the tremor in his hands. Opening my door, I got out and hit the lock button. Her subcompact was the only car left in the lot besides mine.
"Seat belt?" she asked after starting it and putting it in gear. I twitched, because I'd been reminding myself to breathe again. Strange enclosed spaces...
"Don't wear 'em," I said shortly. She flinched. Stop scaring her, I told myself. "Bad memories, honey. I don't like being restrained. It's a thing." YA THINK? Yeah, even a seat belt freaks him out, and this is a plot point for later. Considering how draconian our seat belt laws are these days, this isn't good. Plus there's the whole dying-in-a-wreck possibility, which you'd think would also hit him hard considering what happened to his parents. Yay for conflicting emotions.
The drive to the cafe was short, and we sat at a table with coffee cake and decaf. An uncomfortable silence stretched between us. "Sorry," I finally said, shredding the cake with my fork. Not eating it, because that lump in my throat was still too big. There was a reason that the good twenty pounds I'd lost during my captivity were having a hard time coming back. "I'm not very good at this interpersonal stuff anymore."
"No, hey, it's all right." She reached across the table and ran a finger across my hand. I shivered a little. It'd been...quite some time since I'd let anyone touch me. Because the last people who touched him nearly killed him over a period of seven months. But he lets Janni in, a little here, because he knows he can trust her. "I get it."
My eyes came up, although my head didn't. "Do you?"
Her eyes dropped. "Well. Not really. How could I? But--" She stopped, clenched her fist, looked at me again. "If you want to talk about it, emphasis on the if--"
"I don't. Talk about it." I swallowed hard and rubbed the scars that ringed my wrists with my thumbs. Harsh, permanent reminders of being handcuffed to the ceiling, blood streaming down my back and arms-- Rubbing the scars is a tic he has, through both books.
I stopped that train of thought before it led me down yet another dark tunnel and derailed me under the table. An extended metaphor that I probably beat into the ground, I don't care, I thoroughly enjoyed writing it. "More a matter of can't," I continued hoarsely. "That way lies panic attacks. Hyperventilating. People call ambulances or the cops because I pass out, or lash out, in public. Random panic attacks and flashbacks are bad enough. Remembering on purpose is just stupid." The shakes hit me again, and I set my fork down before I dropped it. You know, I should chop those sentences up more, honestly. Ben doesn't ramble when he's stressed, usually--he goes the other route. Incomplete sentences of just a few words, broken up by him trying to breathe. I will consider this and definitely revisit the question. EDIT: Which I have now done.
Janni's fork rattled against her plate. "I hope, I hope that people who did that to you are all dead," she said furiously. She's already protective of him. This is a nice character moment for her.
I tilted my head and bared my teeth. It wasn't a smile, exactly, but it was close. I'd forgotten about the Mama Bear aspect of her personality. "They are. It was...untidy." The expressions on the faces of the Special Forces guys when they'd opened my cell had been something else. A few terse words over the radio, and the shooting and screaming started again. None of the insurgents had been left alive, and none of the screams had been American. Prisoners, schmisoners. Yeah, no.
"Good."
A memory bubbled up, junior English, memorizing scenes from A Midsummer Night's Dream for extra credit, and the nickname I'd given her. "You...are adorable when you're mad. Fierce Hermia." A couple of her tears splashed onto the table, and I squeezed her hand. "It's okay," I said, even though that was probably the biggest lie ever told in the history of ever. One of my favorite turns of phrase. But I didn't want her to cry on my account. Ben does not like making his girls cry. Any of them.
"Come home with me," she burst out. *lifts an eyebrow* You sure that's a good idea, honey? But the notion of him going off by himself, the state he's in, is just as intolerable to her as the idea of burdening her with the wreckage of his psyche is to him.
I was startled. Her sense of self-preservation seemed to have deserted her; after all, we hadn't seen each other in five years and I'd changed, a lot. That gun on my seat, for one thing, was new. "I don't expect you to--" He doesn't expect her to, and he wouldn't ask her or anyone.
She put her fingers over my lips. "Call it comfort from an old friend." No one had looked at me that tenderly in, well, quite some time. The knot that had taken up permanent residence in my chest loosened, just a little. "You shouldn't have to do this by yourself, Ben." No. No, you shouldn't. No one should. It hurts her, seeing him like this.
And, oh, god, was I tired of doing this by myself. One night, I told myself. Enough to survive this episode. But just this episode, because the idea of burdening her with the wreckage of my psyche long-term was excruciating. How's that working out for you, Ben? So I dropped my head and closed my eyes and nodded, and she caressed my fingers with hers and sat there with me until the shakes settled down to a manageable level.
When we got to her little apartment, I offered to take the couch like a gentleman, because I certainly didn't expect her to share her bed with me. We'd never had that kind of relationship, and starting now seemed kind of stupid, not to mention precipitous, considering everything. White Knight Syndrome ahoy. This is a leftover from Harry. It looks good on him.
But she blinked several times and looked at me like I'd sprouted another head. "What? No. Don't be ridiculous. We're both grownups and I don't sleep naked as a rule." And here's the part where Harmony invites Harry into the bed. Of course, Ben's in no shape for the sexytimes that nearly ensued between Harry and Harmony, so this is strictly platonic at this point, but she knows he needs someone to hold him, knows he probably hasn't had anyone to hold him for far too long, and she's his friend. So. In fact, she had green flannel pajamas with penguins dancing across them, and they were really cute on her.
I liked to wear boxers and a tee to bed, myself, and she loaned me an oversized shirt with penguins on it she'd bought at some zoo. I was detecting a theme. I dropped my glasses on her dresser and shucked my dress shirt. She gasped behind me. Shit, I was so tired I'd forgotten about the scars on my back. Should've warned her. Or faced her. Or something. The scars across my chest weren't quite so dramatic and mostly covered by hair anyway. Yes, this is (one of) my kink(s) rearing its head again. Ben has hair on his chest. Deal with it. Also, my description, in the original, of the wreckage of scar tissue that covers his back is deliciously horrifying.
I pulled the tee on with a muttered curse and turned and gathered her into myself, because she looked devastated. She buried her face against my shoulder and whispered, "I thought I knew, but seeing it like that, oh my god, Ben..." I brushed a tear off her cheek with my thumb but couldn't speak past the lump that still hadn't disappeared from my own throat, and we stood like that for a few minutes. Yeah, knowing something on an intellectual basis is way different from experiencing it. Trust me.
Not letting me go, she backed us toward the bed and we fell in together. This wasn't how I'd planned on spending this night, hell, I wasn't sure I would have lived through this night if she hadn't stopped me. I stuck my nose in her hair and inhaled her scent, and she tucked her head under my chin and nuzzled my chest. Mentally and physically exhausted, we let sleep tumble us down, and for once, I thought, maybe the bad dreams would leave me alone. Yeah, right. Remember who's writing you.
It was a forlorn hope. I woke us both up later, screaming about needles (leave it to me to addict a character played by Robert Downey, Jr., in my head to heroin against his will) and thrashing in the grip of a nightmare. Janni held me and kissed my hair and reminded me to breathe, that I wasn't there anymore, I was here, and safe. "I've got you," she said, over and over. This is a theme throughout both books. This first one takes place a year and a half or so after this, and he's in a place now where the nightmares and flashbacks pretty much leave him alone unless his triggers get triggered. His brain has finally figured out that he's safe now. Then, of course, in the next one, he's not remotely safe and has to start from scratch with the trust issues. I should hammer more at that.
And she did have me. I'd never felt safer in my life. I wrapped around her and panted and thanked a God I was starting to believe in again that she'd tapped on my window. Because there are no coincidences, dammit.
This time, my sleep was dreamless. His girls keep his nightmares away. Janni by her mere presence, and Ange by other, more esoteric means.
ravens_gate requested a DVD commentary of a DVD extra, namely, the scene in which Ben and Janni meet again for the first time five years after they graduate from high school and go their separate ways. She goes off to college and majors in Theater and English, and he toddles off to a couple of tours in Afghanistan, where he is captured by insurgents and torture ensues. And... go.
This came about because of my innate inability to just let things go. The original scene was about three paragraphs long, and entailed Janni describing for Megan her first meeting with Ben after he came back from Afghanistan. I decided that was too much telling and not enough showing, and went into flashback mode instead, which turned into more like 1700 words. And that was a fine and shiny thing--except for my aforementioned inability to let things go. I love writing the same scene from two different points of view (see: both Iron Man stories I've written), and this one has the added bonus of being in first person, which POV I also love writing in and don't do nearly enough of.
This had been a mistake.
I wasn't ready for a fancy dinner surrounded by people, even if most of them were returning veterans like I was and might actually get it. But five months after coming home from the most horrific experience of my short life to find that my parents had been killed by a drunk driver while I'd been gone--it was just too damned soon. Seeing Janni had been a bright spot in a cesspit of misery, until I remembered that I'd probably never see her again and the rest of our friends were scattered.
Ben is utterly alone here. His outer scars have healed, but the inner ones, not so much. We all need a human connection, and he just doesn't have one.
My well-meaning Army psychologist thought that getting out would be good for me, but I'd barely held myself together through dessert and the speeches of gratitude. Only the breathing exercises I practiced on a nearly hourly basis had prevented me from diving under the table or disappearing out the door. Or possibly self-combusting. Oh god I love this line. I picked at the food, which was actually good (because, unknown to Ben, Alex Jarrett put this thing together, and far be it from him to serve veterans substandard food), seemed a shame to waste it, but I could hardly swallow past the huge lump in my throat. My stomach was rebelling in any case.
Ben's response to stress is to stop eating. He's a skinny little shit anyway, and this doesn't help his mental state, because lack of nourishment often goes with impaired judgement. As we are about to see.
I made a less-than-graceful escape as soon as I could.
The night was cool, but I was sweating, and I yanked my jacket off and tossed it into the back seat as soon as I got to my car. Working a finger under my tie, I unknotted it, left it hanging around my neck. The top three buttons of my white dress shirt came undone next, and I rolled the sleeves halfway up my forearms.
He's getting rumpled. Aw. Also, I just love the imagery here. I think Ben is sex on a stick anyway (well, seriously, look at him!), and dressed like that? OMNOMNOM. *coughs, adjusts clothing* (Yes, I find a fictional character I created hot. Sue me.) I usually suck at description, but I think we've got a pretty good idea of what his clothes look like at this point. We actually get an even better idea of what he looks like in the scene from Janni's POV, because she can see how messy his hair is from running his hand through it again and again, and she also notices the dark circles around his eyes under the glasses.
And then I sat in my car until everyone else was gone. Alone with my thoughts and my incipient panic attack and my Ruger in the glove box. I tried to drown the thoughts out with heavy metal blasting on the speakers. Wasn't too successful. Especially when "Don't Fear the Reaper" hit the playlist next. This is not a good song for someone who is semi-suicidal to listen to. And that... may be the most obvious statement in the history of ever.
I reached over and pulled the gun out. Turned it over and over, contemplating it. Flipping the safety off and on. Six and a half pounds on the trigger, and I wouldn't have to deal with any of this anymore... Yes, I looked up the pull on the trigger. He would know.
Hands trembling, I safed it and placed it carefully on the passenger seat as if it was hot, leaned forward until my head rested on the steering wheel and my elbows rested on my thighs. The thought hadn't come from nowhere, and I didn't like how seductive the idea seemed lately. "Breathe," I whispered. My fingers scrubbed through my hair again and again. Trying to hold it together here. Not doing a very good job. But how could he?
The light tap on my window scared the shit out of me--I thought everyone had gone, and it came in a pause between songs. Recognizing Janni in the glow of the streetlamps, I hit the button on the armrest that lowered the window. I looked at her without turning my head. "Hey," I said. He's so low-key here. It's not like he's got a gun on the seat next to him that he was considering eating not five minutes ago or anything. He's so tired. In the original scene from Janni's viewpoint, his fists are clenching and relaxing, clenching and relaxing, but he's not even conscious of it, so I didn't put it here.
"Hey," she squeaked, hell, she'd seen the Ruger. Her throat moved in a convulsive swallow. "I'm, uh, done here, and could really use a cup of coffee. I'd love some company?" And I love how this is a question rather than a statement.
I closed my eyes and exhaled a shaky breath. Interacting with people tonight had nearly finished me, and I didn't know-- Yeah, but, Ben, honey, you need more human interaction than you're getting. Sitting around stuck inside your own head is not doing you any favors.
My hand moved of its own accord toward the gun, and I consciously stopped it from going there and turned off the CD player instead. Killing myself and having someone find me after the deed was done--well, that was a whole other animal from doing it in front of somebody. Especially somebody who might care in particular because she knew me rather than in general because she was human. Please keep telling yourself that.
And I couldn't bring myself to say, "No, sorry, can't go for coffee, busy committing suicide, please leave and let me do it." He'd say it just like that, too. She'd blame herself for not stopping me, because she was just like that in high school. She had a tendency back then to want to fix people, and the fact that she'd knocked on my window told me that she hadn't changed too awful much. The moment had passed, and I wasn't sure whether I was relieved or not. Stoppit, Ben, you're relieved. You are. Although considering everything that happens later, he has reason to revisit this scene and wish he'd sent her away.
"You know a place?" I said instead. I turned to look at her, but the effort of lifting my head from the steering wheel was too much, so I left it where it was.
"Yeah, there's one just around the corner. Let me take you there." Her eyes were wide in the lamplight, and her lip trembled. Shit. I hadn't meant to frighten her.
I forced myself to smile. It felt hideous, but I could see her relax, so I supposed it worked. "Okay. Sure. Okay." I rolled the window up and put the gun back in the glove box. Still hadn't lost the tremor in my hands. He never loses the tremor in his hands. Opening my door, I got out and hit the lock button. Her subcompact was the only car left in the lot besides mine.
"Seat belt?" she asked after starting it and putting it in gear. I twitched, because I'd been reminding myself to breathe again. Strange enclosed spaces...
"Don't wear 'em," I said shortly. She flinched. Stop scaring her, I told myself. "Bad memories, honey. I don't like being restrained. It's a thing." YA THINK? Yeah, even a seat belt freaks him out, and this is a plot point for later. Considering how draconian our seat belt laws are these days, this isn't good. Plus there's the whole dying-in-a-wreck possibility, which you'd think would also hit him hard considering what happened to his parents. Yay for conflicting emotions.
The drive to the cafe was short, and we sat at a table with coffee cake and decaf. An uncomfortable silence stretched between us. "Sorry," I finally said, shredding the cake with my fork. Not eating it, because that lump in my throat was still too big. There was a reason that the good twenty pounds I'd lost during my captivity were having a hard time coming back. "I'm not very good at this interpersonal stuff anymore."
"No, hey, it's all right." She reached across the table and ran a finger across my hand. I shivered a little. It'd been...quite some time since I'd let anyone touch me. Because the last people who touched him nearly killed him over a period of seven months. But he lets Janni in, a little here, because he knows he can trust her. "I get it."
My eyes came up, although my head didn't. "Do you?"
Her eyes dropped. "Well. Not really. How could I? But--" She stopped, clenched her fist, looked at me again. "If you want to talk about it, emphasis on the if--"
"I don't. Talk about it." I swallowed hard and rubbed the scars that ringed my wrists with my thumbs. Harsh, permanent reminders of being handcuffed to the ceiling, blood streaming down my back and arms-- Rubbing the scars is a tic he has, through both books.
I stopped that train of thought before it led me down yet another dark tunnel and derailed me under the table. An extended metaphor that I probably beat into the ground, I don't care, I thoroughly enjoyed writing it. "More a matter of can't," I continued hoarsely. "That way lies panic attacks. Hyperventilating. People call ambulances or the cops because I pass out, or lash out, in public. Random panic attacks and flashbacks are bad enough. Remembering on purpose is just stupid." The shakes hit me again, and I set my fork down before I dropped it. You know, I should chop those sentences up more, honestly. Ben doesn't ramble when he's stressed, usually--he goes the other route. Incomplete sentences of just a few words, broken up by him trying to breathe. I will consider this and definitely revisit the question. EDIT: Which I have now done.
Janni's fork rattled against her plate. "I hope, I hope that people who did that to you are all dead," she said furiously. She's already protective of him. This is a nice character moment for her.
I tilted my head and bared my teeth. It wasn't a smile, exactly, but it was close. I'd forgotten about the Mama Bear aspect of her personality. "They are. It was...untidy." The expressions on the faces of the Special Forces guys when they'd opened my cell had been something else. A few terse words over the radio, and the shooting and screaming started again. None of the insurgents had been left alive, and none of the screams had been American. Prisoners, schmisoners. Yeah, no.
"Good."
A memory bubbled up, junior English, memorizing scenes from A Midsummer Night's Dream for extra credit, and the nickname I'd given her. "You...are adorable when you're mad. Fierce Hermia." A couple of her tears splashed onto the table, and I squeezed her hand. "It's okay," I said, even though that was probably the biggest lie ever told in the history of ever. One of my favorite turns of phrase. But I didn't want her to cry on my account. Ben does not like making his girls cry. Any of them.
"Come home with me," she burst out. *lifts an eyebrow* You sure that's a good idea, honey? But the notion of him going off by himself, the state he's in, is just as intolerable to her as the idea of burdening her with the wreckage of his psyche is to him.
I was startled. Her sense of self-preservation seemed to have deserted her; after all, we hadn't seen each other in five years and I'd changed, a lot. That gun on my seat, for one thing, was new. "I don't expect you to--" He doesn't expect her to, and he wouldn't ask her or anyone.
She put her fingers over my lips. "Call it comfort from an old friend." No one had looked at me that tenderly in, well, quite some time. The knot that had taken up permanent residence in my chest loosened, just a little. "You shouldn't have to do this by yourself, Ben." No. No, you shouldn't. No one should. It hurts her, seeing him like this.
And, oh, god, was I tired of doing this by myself. One night, I told myself. Enough to survive this episode. But just this episode, because the idea of burdening her with the wreckage of my psyche long-term was excruciating. How's that working out for you, Ben? So I dropped my head and closed my eyes and nodded, and she caressed my fingers with hers and sat there with me until the shakes settled down to a manageable level.
When we got to her little apartment, I offered to take the couch like a gentleman, because I certainly didn't expect her to share her bed with me. We'd never had that kind of relationship, and starting now seemed kind of stupid, not to mention precipitous, considering everything. White Knight Syndrome ahoy. This is a leftover from Harry. It looks good on him.
But she blinked several times and looked at me like I'd sprouted another head. "What? No. Don't be ridiculous. We're both grownups and I don't sleep naked as a rule." And here's the part where Harmony invites Harry into the bed. Of course, Ben's in no shape for the sexytimes that nearly ensued between Harry and Harmony, so this is strictly platonic at this point, but she knows he needs someone to hold him, knows he probably hasn't had anyone to hold him for far too long, and she's his friend. So. In fact, she had green flannel pajamas with penguins dancing across them, and they were really cute on her.
I liked to wear boxers and a tee to bed, myself, and she loaned me an oversized shirt with penguins on it she'd bought at some zoo. I was detecting a theme. I dropped my glasses on her dresser and shucked my dress shirt. She gasped behind me. Shit, I was so tired I'd forgotten about the scars on my back. Should've warned her. Or faced her. Or something. The scars across my chest weren't quite so dramatic and mostly covered by hair anyway. Yes, this is (one of) my kink(s) rearing its head again. Ben has hair on his chest. Deal with it. Also, my description, in the original, of the wreckage of scar tissue that covers his back is deliciously horrifying.
I pulled the tee on with a muttered curse and turned and gathered her into myself, because she looked devastated. She buried her face against my shoulder and whispered, "I thought I knew, but seeing it like that, oh my god, Ben..." I brushed a tear off her cheek with my thumb but couldn't speak past the lump that still hadn't disappeared from my own throat, and we stood like that for a few minutes. Yeah, knowing something on an intellectual basis is way different from experiencing it. Trust me.
Not letting me go, she backed us toward the bed and we fell in together. This wasn't how I'd planned on spending this night, hell, I wasn't sure I would have lived through this night if she hadn't stopped me. I stuck my nose in her hair and inhaled her scent, and she tucked her head under my chin and nuzzled my chest. Mentally and physically exhausted, we let sleep tumble us down, and for once, I thought, maybe the bad dreams would leave me alone. Yeah, right. Remember who's writing you.
It was a forlorn hope. I woke us both up later, screaming about needles (leave it to me to addict a character played by Robert Downey, Jr., in my head to heroin against his will) and thrashing in the grip of a nightmare. Janni held me and kissed my hair and reminded me to breathe, that I wasn't there anymore, I was here, and safe. "I've got you," she said, over and over. This is a theme throughout both books. This first one takes place a year and a half or so after this, and he's in a place now where the nightmares and flashbacks pretty much leave him alone unless his triggers get triggered. His brain has finally figured out that he's safe now. Then, of course, in the next one, he's not remotely safe and has to start from scratch with the trust issues. I should hammer more at that.
And she did have me. I'd never felt safer in my life. I wrapped around her and panted and thanked a God I was starting to believe in again that she'd tapped on my window. Because there are no coincidences, dammit.
This time, my sleep was dreamless. His girls keep his nightmares away. Janni by her mere presence, and Ange by other, more esoteric means.