The Beating Of Your Heart || A Red Fletching Drabble.
They would all start the same. Transported back to a time and place she would rather have long forgotten. The dull room; artificial light glinting off of dozens of devices laid out across the room. The smell of antiseptic burning her nostrils and the never-ending fear of what was to come. The nights when she feels truly rested are few and far between, for her subconscious thoughts are always plagued with the demons of her past she can never hope to chase away, to defeat. They’ll always be there, lingering, waiting. In the far corners of her mind when they lay most forgotten will they return after festering like a sore in the furthest recesses of her mind. Waiting to jump out, take control and completely tear away any hopes of pulling back from the crippling fear that awaits. The flush breaks out against her skin. The cold sweats begin, and before she knows it she’s gasping for air. Her chest so tight she could all but swear that she was restrained. Though she was fighting against no more than her mind. In the dimly lit bedroom; the silver of the moonlight cascading across the sheets, she reaches out for the one thing she knows is there. The one thing that will never fail to be. Her constant, her hope in the darkest of hours. Her archer. Wordlessly she moves across the sheets; her body searching his out like that of a heat-seeking missile. Her hand comes to rest on his abdomen, head on his chest. Comfort and safety have found her as she listens to the steady thumping of his heart beneath his chest. Her own breathing falling into a steady rhythm with his as she feels a strong and sturdy arm wrap around her shoulders. She’s at peace. Sleep that had thus far eluded her finally catches up, as she sinks into a blank world, devoid of sound and picture, knowing that when she wakes. The same steady thrumming shall be there to greet her.
