❛ chapter seventeen! ❜

seventeen | a little death—the neighbourhood

       Tears have stained my pillow and my hand refrains the sobs from cutting through the silent bedroom as it remains clasped to my mouth. I look for comfort underneath the duvet as I glance at the early morning light coming through the window beside. My chest burns with fear, desperation and discombobulation with every second it passes. I feel my heartbeat doing the only thing it can do before such situation: speed up. Two strong arms wrap me by the waist, catching me off guard and pulling me closer, my body naturally giving in and burying itself into that comforting warmth that irradiates from the body against mine. A sleepy and raspy voice resonates in my ears.

       "It's alright now. It was only a bad dream," if hearts could jump out of your chest, mine would certainly had at this point, "I got you."

       "It's you. . ." I blurt out as soon as my eyes meet Bart, "Bar, it's you!" My hands run over his body as if he's going to disappear, he might as well do so. A great sense of relief washes over me and my bitter tears turn into happy ones when I see him here, smiling, breathing, alive, "It was terrible. There corpses everywhere, everyone died, a wave of energy washed over the city and destroyed everything in its way—"

       "It wasn't real, there's nothing to be worried about now," he interrupts, pressing his lips against my forehead. I snuggle against his chest, trying to find the warmth that wrapped my body just a second ago, but now it's like I'm hugging an iceberg. My hands feel at his body, making sure it's not my imagination, for he's freezing and I hear the concern in my own voice when I tell him so. He looks scary healthy yet he's cold to the touch. My mind races as to what the hell is going on while taking his hands in mine, feeling his cold skin against mine and examining them.

       "Это не реально."

       "What do you mean by that? Of course this is real," he tells me as I hesitantly wriggle myself out of his arms. I see the confusion flashing in his eyes, "Vee, why are you acting like this? You're awake now. It was just a nightmare, this is real."

       "No, it's not," I repeat, shaking my head frantically and rubbing my temples while Bart tells me to calm down as he caresses my hair and then rubs soothing circles on my back. Staring at my hands, I feel the lump growing in my throat; Bart reaches for the tears that roll down my cheeks and he catches them with the back of his hand—which only makes my heart plummet to my stomach and leave a void within my chest.

       "Honey, look at me. Why'd you say it's not?" I reluctantly make eye contact with him when he touches my chin and makes me look at his face. I take his hands in mine once again with my attention on the golden band around his ring finger—a similar one adorning mine as well.

       "Because we never got married, Barry," I tell him, my voice brittle and earning a little frown from him as he shifts his gaze from me to our entwined hands, his attention drifting to his own, studying them.

       "You'll kill him too," he manages out before blood sputters from his mouth, his and my clothes are stained by it, the knife in my bloody hands is the last thing I see before bolting up from bed, out of breath as if I had been holding it all this time.

       My legs swing out of my bed and move me in frantic circles inside the tiny guest room in the West household while trying to unsee the blood that covered my hands. The window is open, yet I feel as if the room is on fire. I burst out of the room, trying to step away from the massive panic attack I feel coming on. On my way out, I accidentally hit a lamp and other stuff with my hands and I hear them shatter against the wooden floor. My breath itches in my throat—which feels as if it's going to close if I don't get to breathe fresh air. I hear the commotion going on upstairs as everyone wakes up, Barry calls my name as I stumble my way out of the house, his bare foot bolting him to the porch where I trip to a stop with my heart in my hand.

       "Hey, what's wrong?" He asks alarmed, "Violett, what happened?" He adds as he grabs me by the shoulders, forcing me to face him, however I keep my face down, the image of blood in my hands drilled into my brain. I've already lost count of the times I've woken up out of breath after having a bad dream, regardless of what it was about. Tonight, it's not the exception and my mind has decided to bring a painful dream to stab my heart. I tell him so in a few words and he rubs my back as to calm me down when he has me embraced against his chest, "It's over now, it's okay."

       The night air dries the tears that eventually make their way down my cheeks and my fingers fidget almost obsessively when the images of that dream play before my eyes once again. I try to convince myself it is just a bad dream and a cruel joke my tired mind has played on me, I know it. However, I can't help but think about how real the feeling remains. We stand in the porch for a few minutes. The cool air caressing our faces and calming the hammering in my heart. Barry has his arms still wrapped around me and I close my eyes, listening to his heartbeat and his breathing. It's in this moment that I realize the way he's holding me now, very different from the few times he's comforted me and that switches something in me. His hands slowly making their way down to my hips. When I look up, I discover that his eyes are trained on me and I notice the way he's started to lean in, his face just inches from mine, so close that his breath tickles my face.

       "What are you doing?" I manage, for it seems he's hellbent on putting as little distance between the two. My eyes leave his face for a second to scan my surroundings and feel my heart heave and then leap within my chest when I feel his warm lips against my neck, "This isn't right," I mumble.

       "What do you mean?" He asks against my neck, I push him away a little too harsh and he eyes me confused.

       "I don't stay at your place, I stay at Caitlin's. I've been staying there since I got here," he fills the gap I've built between us once again, his breath still against my skin, "you don't like me in that way, you—this isn't real, none of this is, neither are you," a frown works on his face.

       "Or you're just scared. I don't bite," he whispers, his voice dark; I take in the image of his lips, making their way towards mine and I feel the itch on mine, the need to taste them. I think I've given in and I'm closing my eyes when I hear something between a gasp and a grunt coming from him. He looks at me with wide eyes as he wraps his hand around the knife I've shoved into his stomach, dark blood staining my hands once again. He writhes, letting out drowned cries of pain as I twist the blade and I admit that the twisted bit inside of me enjoys it. Him falling to his knees surrounded by a pool of his own blood is the last thing remember before snapping out of another dream with a gasp.

       My heartbeat quickly recovers its normal rate as I lay embroiled in warm and cozy blankets in the couch on the small balcony bathed by the pale moonlight, Caitlin herself fast asleep in the same couch with a book in her hand. I take my phone and tap onto the screen to check the time, it's not even midnight. I take in a deep breath, reminding myself it was just a bad dream, one of those dreams you have within a dream, those that make you question if you're actually awake after jolting awake in your bed or if you're still dreaming and far from snapping out of it, the kind that makes you question your sanity more than once, the kind that can break you within seconds if merging the ethereal with memories and twisting and bending them whichever way and possibility there is. I wholeheartedly hope this is real life.

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       The next morning I find myself loitering into S.T.A.R. Labs, regretting wearing shorts because it's pretty chilly, even inside the building. Despite my peculiar dreams and the little sleep I had last night, I feel oddly rested. Ever since I went into the Speed Force, I've been having these dreams. I've seen myself killing my parents, my friends—both, from my earth and from this new earth—I've even killed a version of myself in my dreams. So, I've come to the conclusion that these 'dreams' are just the Speed Force messing with my head for breaking the rules.

       Today's my day off, I still don't understand the point of it, for one day is not enough to be reanimated after long days of work. Anyway, I'm hoping to know something about Savitar today. It's been a while since we heard of his godliness and his mind blowing prophecies, it's about time he reminds us how small we are before his power and his greatness. I step into the elevator and press the button that will take me to the Cortex and in less than a second a ball of lightning boosts into the small space right before the doors close. There, with a smile that could brighten anyone's day, stands Barry Allen. I can only manage a small and kind of sloppy smile at him, for I remember last night's dream. However, the smile on his face is contagious and it doesn't take long for me to smile like he's doing. The way he eyes me makes me nervous and the flashback of his breath against my neck sends shivers down my spine.

       "What?" I blurt, not helping tug at my shorts.

       "Nothing," he gives one of his shoulders a shrug and look up at the numbers in the panel, "I see you like black," he adds and I look down at my outfit. Black blouse, black jacket, black beanie, black boots...even my underwear is black.

       "I'm not good at combining patterns and stuff, this is the easiest way to go," I tell him and he nods.

       I wish I could dress like the girls in the team, with elaborated outfits, patterns and colours that look good together, but I can't, so plain dark colours and the eventually red will have to do for now. Even Barry knows how to dress; I run my eyes over his clothes through the reflection over the doors. He looks like a ray of sunshine, so full of life and ready for the day whereas I look like death has kissed my ass and I'm about to cast a black magic spell on someone. I said I felt rested, not that I looked like it. At the sight of this I yank the beanie off of my head and comb my hair with my fingers.

       "It suits you, though. . ." the brunette fades as he rocks on his black converse shoes, hands in his pockets. I admit I can't quite look him in the eyes, not sure if it's because I killed him in my dreams or because we almost kissed in it. The elevator dings and he shoots me another smile, "Really, it does."

       A half smile tugs at my lips and I see him step out the elevator, myself following him up close. We enter the Cortex and meet the team gathered around the desk where cups of recently brewed coffee sit along with sandwiches and fruit. I see H.R. has been busy trying to keep the team healthy and well fed and—since I never say no to food—I take one of the sandwiches and take a big bite from it, gaining a chuckle from Joe, who shuffles to a chair after saying good morning. I stay quiet while eating and taking sips from my coffee while listening to the team exchange theories about Savitar and I see I'm not the only one thinking he's been oddly quiet in the past few weeks. Our attempts to change the future won't work—according to the self proclaimed god of speed—still we are trying to change the headlines from the future, maybe it'll work.

       While Flash and I were in the Speed Force, Jesse Quick went after Savitar alone—which was very brave of her but also a not so smart move, since she could have gotten herself killed—however, her act of braveness ignited by the loss of Wally granted us with a very important fact about the god of speed. Apparently she stabbed Savitar with his own blade through an opening in his suit—he claims to be a god, but thanks to the youngest Wells, we have discovered that he's nothing but a man inside an armour, that thing is the only thing that makes him especial. Savitar, the Almighty, is just a man that feels pain just like everyone else. Now we just need to find a way to strip him from that suit of his and see if he's as brave without it.

       "Violett?" A soft hum sounds in my throat when I hear Iris calling my name, snapping me out of my thoughts. I glance at her and see the expectant look in her brown eyes, "We asked you if you have seen anything weird lately, something that could be linked to Savitar."

       "Uhm, no, not really. I haven't even felt the massive surge of speed that radiates from him," I can hear Joe's frustrated sigh from behind. But it's true. I haven't seen anything suspicious, "I do have the feeling he's preparing a big show for us."

       "We'll beat him," Barry voices, arms crossed over his chest, "we'll do it guys; Iris, I promise," the girl nods at him, lips pressed together. My feelings playing within my chest at the thought of how hard this is for the two of them. I picture Ward and myself in the same situation, I know he would do anything to keep me alive and I would do the same without thinking it twice. I know Barry will do the same for his childhood best friend.

       Later that day, I find myself at the West house with Iris. She's spent the last twenty minutes in the kitchen while I sit at the dining table surrounded by album photos amongst other things Iris has scattered over the table, drumming my fingers nervously on the wooden surface and thinking—almost obsessively—about what could she possibly want to talk about with me. My eyes fall onto the countless pictures over the table. Everywhere I lay eyes on meet the dynamic duo she and Barry used to be when children. I'm leaning forward to to stare at a picture of them in some sort of costumes when the smiley and pretty brunette emerges from the kitchen with two mugs in her hands.

       "Why the costumes?" I ask, showing her the picture.

       "That was a school play in the seventh grade. There you go," she utters as she places a mug in front of me, by the string that hangs from it I'm sure it's tea, one that—in my brief stay on this earth—I haven't tried just yet, judging by the smell and soft notes of spice and citrus that flutter in its peculiar aroma, "I got this tea a couple of days ago. A friend from work recommended it and I love it," she takes a sip from hers after putting some sugar in it and then looks at me, waiting for me to do the same.

       "Okay," I bring the mug to my lips, it smells so good; I finally take a sip and find out that the only good thing about this tea is the smell, for it tastes awful. I can't tell Iris that about her beloved tea so I lie, "It's pretty good," I clear my throat and manage a smile.

       "You take your tea with no sugar?" She asks, a little surprised. Maybe that's why it tastes so terrible.

       "Sometimes," I lie, again. I have to drink this whole thing up, so with my speed—so that she doesn't notice—I put three spoonfuls of sugar into the tea but it still tastes awful, now it's a little bit bearable, though. I order myself to take another sip, "It's really good!"

       "I know, right? Barry says it's tastes like piss," she tells me with a slight roll of her eyes.

       "I don't see why?" I set my mug on the table, trying to ignore the bad taste in my mouth and making a mental note to put more than three spoonfuls of sugar the next time. Let's just say they're introducing me to all the food they would usually eat on a daily basis, from a regular cup of coffee, roasted beef, salads with vegetables I didn't know that could exist—like that thing they call celery—to all those sweet and sugary things they call dessert and the greasy junk food people on this earth consume as if there's no tomorrow, "So, what is it you wanted to talk about?" I give her a smile.

       "Oh, right. I was hoping you could do me a favour," she says and reaches for a sealed envelope I hadn't even noticed. She caresses the edges with a pensive look taking over her face, her red lips being grazed by her pearly white teeth, "Could you give this to my dad?" I take the envelope in my hands and look briefly at it before looking at her again; the girl's next words making my heart sink to my stomach, "Please make sure he reads it if something happens to me in the next few days—" I'm not letting her finish that.

       "Iris, nothing's going to happen to you."

       "Violett, we're running out of time and I can't get myself tell him this in person, I'm trying to put a brave face for him, for all of them," a tremor in her voice, "I'm trying to be fearless, like you."

       "I'm not fearless, Iris," I tell her softly and with a slight shake of my head, "I'm trying too, just like you."

       "But you never look scared," I can't help but smile at those words.

       "The fact that I don't look scared doesn't mean I'm not," her dark eyes lock into mine and I take her hands in mine to try and give her some sort of comfort, "it's okay to be scared, it's part of our nature. Everyone thinks fear makes people weak and so we tend to believe, but fear is an ally. Without fear there's no braveness. It helps us survive," she takes in a shaky breath, "there's enough time in our hands, Iris. You heard Barry this morning, we're going to beat Savitar," I tell her, seeing her eyes glazing with tears. My hand gently squeezing hers, "We're going to keep you out of his reach as much as we can. You won't have to give your dad a letter with your last words to him, you won't, okay?" She nods, a tear finally escaping from her eyes.

       "Yeah," she breathes, straightening herself and wiping the tears that made their way down her face, a watery smile touching her lips, "thank you, Vee."

       "That's what friends are for," I say with a reassuring smile on my lips. Anyone would be scared if they knew someone's coming from them, but like I told her, fear can be her ally to survive, same to us, that fear can work as a set off to beat Savitar.

       I tell her that after we defeat Savitar, supposing the Speed Force will grant me the time, we're going to have a cup of this same tea, we're going to sit at this very table and we're going to look at old pictures and she'll tell me the story behind them, we'll come home like nothing ever happened.

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AUTHOR'S NOTE:

not edited, kinda sloppy, your girl's been busy and stressed af, sorry. we're getting closer to the feared day, we still have a lot to cover up though, we need to build up our girl's character development a little bit more. how are you liking it so far? i hope as much as i do ehehee. anyhow, thanks for reading and for the 6k!