CLAIMER: the poem in here is mine, and I have copyrights to prove it. Don't make me enforce them please.

WARNING: for mentions of rape and...well, insanity, I guess...

I see the pity in their eyes,
And I think I miss your hate.
Time to start the healing,
But I'm sure that it's too late.

Carlton hasn't touched me in two weeks.

He says it's because he doesn't want me to associate him with you. I keep trying to explain, I try to tell him that there's no way I could think he was you. That he's so different, it was impossible to. After the episode I pulled before though, I suppose it's difficult for him to believe me. I wouldn't believe me either.

I think he's still hurt that I kept you a secret. I had to beg, but he agreed not to be the one to tell dad and Gus. I know what that means, that means I have to tell them. I'm still not sure why it's such a big deal that I didn't tell people about you, but Carlton says it is. He says it's not healthy to keep things bottled up and hidden away. He doesn't seem to understand that you refuse to be contained. That I see you every day, each night. That, sometimes, every face on the street is yours.

Since I told him, the nightmares have become worse. Like opening an infected wound that had scabbed over, you're the pus. My infection. A somewhat nasty simile, but it works. Carlton says I have to clean the wound, I have to clean you out of me. I think we'll be using alcohol to clean you out, I think it's going to hurt.

Carlton wants me to 'see someone' about you.

Do they think this will work,
Can they suture my soul?
Piece me back together,
Maybe make me whole?

He gives me a twenty-four hour warning tonight.

Carlton whispers it in my ear, while waiting for me to fall asleep. It's one of the traditions he's established since he learned about you. Each night, he makes sure to leave the lights on, and only turns them off to sleep himself once he's sure I'm not awake. And each morning he wakes before me and makes sure all the windows are uncovered.

I'm grateful, but Christ, I want him to stop treating me so gently. I want things to go back as they were. I want him to touch me, fuck me already ('make love' he says now, not just fuck). I want him to bicker with me, fight with me, get annoyed. Don't be understanding, or sympathetic, or scared for me. Just be Carlton. I just want things to be normal again. I guess that's a lot to ask. I've had over seven years to get used to my nightmare, it's just something I've accepted. He's had two weeks.

We have a dinner date with Gus and my dad tomorrow, he whispers. Normalcy goes out the window and is dragged away by a semi-truck.

If I could have myself back,
I'd forgive all your crimes.
If only to live a day,
Not locked inside my mind.

Carlton makes me tell them everything, from prelude to epilogue.

I considered waiting until after dinner, but I didn't think that would be a good idea. Bile rode up my throat, and I hadn't even had anything to eat yet. Thus, food...bad.

It comes out in a rush, since I have nothing to hide behind, unlike when I told Carlton. My knee is bouncing nervously, and Carlton's hand feels heavy on my thigh as he stops it, while dad and Gus stare at me from across the table. I try to keep my head up, try to make myself look strong. But for some reason, my eyes won't leave the table and my neck feels too stiff to move. When I hear the scratch of the chair against wood flooring, I glance up to see dad's pale face. He's mad. Gus' eyes start to water. I think I might be psychic.

Carlton gives my hand a tight squeeze before following my dad outside. It takes a few seconds, but their voices start to raise. Gus is still staring at me. He hesitates for a moment, but I think my refusal to meet his eyes cemented some decision. He walks around the table and takes Carlton's previous seat. It looks like he might try to say something at first (and that thought makes me cringe, because it'll be undoubtedly mushy). But instead, he drags my chair closer and practically pulls me into his lap. He always takes advantage of the fact that he's bigger than me.

When the two detectives come back inside, both their eyes are kind of red, but no one says anything. They want me to 'see someone' about you.

I never even realized,
Instead of letting my past be,
I was making it a home,
Making it apart of me.

I don't like the someone I'm seeing.

Her name's Ms. Smith, I call her Ms. Bitch. She's not married for a reason. We haven't been on the best of terms when I brought this to her attention at our second meeting.

She goes by the book with everything, asks the annoying 'And how does that make you feel?' after every other sentence. I state quite clearly that I'm here against my will, which earns me a discreet glare from over the notepad. When I have to recount my 'experience' I get a little bored. It feels nothing like when I had to tell Carlton, and dad and Gus. I'm not nervous in any way, because I just generally don't care what she thinks. So when I spice it up, just a little, I get another glare. (Ok, so calling you 'Gold Finger' and saying Agent 007 came to my rescue was stretching it a bit.)

'Is this a joke to you?' I roll my eyes. 'Repression is a very dangerous defense mechanism Mr. Spencer.'

I slouch a little lower in my chair as she scribbles on her notepad.

There's a stranger in my mind,
I know you put them there.
I don't want to be that person,
The empty shell in my mirror.

It's like a dream that never really stops.

I wake up, only to find I'm still asleep. My eyes open to see the shadows still here, still around me. You haven't let me wake in over seven years. How many others are still sleeping because of you? How many are still stuck in their nightmare like me? I can't help thinking, were you looking for something else that night? Something more than just a body to fuck. Did you want to hurt me? Did you want to leave me in this nightmare? Did you know what you would do to me? Does it matter to you?

I smile (surprise surprise, a smile) when Carlton wraps his arms around me. He reminds me that it's our anniversary, as if I hadn't been thinking about it for over a week. He has it all planned out, he says. Dinner and a movie, and sex. Can't forget the sex. It doesn't seem like much, because we do dinner and a movie all the time. Sex has also become a common factor once again, thank God. But I haven't had a single nightmare in twelve days, and I don't feel afraid when Carlton cuddles me in his sleep.

Still I wonder, are you sorry?

Give me a new voice,
Not raw from all the screams.
Give me a new life,
Not splitting at the seams.