camilla agostino will put herself back together (sanguinante) wrote in light_of_may, @ 2014-08-27 16:39:00 |
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Entry tags: | 2009-10-09, camilla, castel |
how do you know how to make everything okay
Who: Castel and Camilla
When: Early A.M. hours
Where: Castel's place
It was always when her dreams went dark that Camilla knew trouble was on its way. There was no telling from night to night when, or if, her dreams would take a turn for the worse. She could be in the middle of something wonderful and then all of a sudden, the colors would fade and the lights would dim until she couldn’t see anything, not even a hand in front of her face. It was also a coins toss as to whether or not she had any control. One would think that Camilla would prefer being in charge of her own actions, but truthfully, she despised it. No matter how often she was able to make choices within the nightmare, she was never able to change the events. It was like living through her attack each and every time. Being paralyzed, knowing that she couldn’t fight back even if she wanted to, was a small grace. Tonight, it seemed, Camilla would not be so blessed. Despite knowing how this would end, the moment the lights when dark, she reached for her arm and began clawing. There was an ache as she dug into the skin, but it felt more like an echo of what she knew pain could be. She didn’t stop, wouldn’t stop, until she could feel the warm sensation of blood dripping over her wrist and off her fingertips. As soon as she had her weapon at the ready, the voices started. Angry sounds that cursed her and called her horrible names. It wasn’t the words that bothered her, but the intentions that lay behind every syllable. Camilla began her own muttering, crafting a spell that was perfect for her would be attackers. However, when she cast it out, it didn’t land -- on them or anything. None of her spells or curses ever met their targets, but that didn’t stop her from trying. Her lips were stiff as she began twisting a more severe curse when a hand reached out of the dark and wrapped itself tightly around her throat, cutting off her words. Camilla barely had the chance to breath before it tightened, choking her. Her fingers began to claw at it in an attempt to free herself, but more hands shot out and took hold of her wrists and ankles. There was a woosh of air and she could sense that she was being thrown against a wall, though there was no way she could tell in what direction. When her back finally collided with something solid, it knocked what little air there was left in her lungs out of her. Pinned down, the hands tightened to still her squirming and fighting. More hands came until there was not a single inch of skin left on her that wasn’t covered by a foreign extremity. She felt confined, smothered, and the more she tried to free herself, the more constricted she felt. Her heart began to pound with fear, louder and louder, until it was like an angry drum beating against her ear.
Camilla woke up with an audible and painful gasp. It didn’t take her long to come out of the nightmare and realize she was free, but still she reached up to feel her throat for the hand that had tried to crush her windpipe. It didn’t seem right that it remained unbruised and intact. Sensing her distress, Mezzanotte moved up the bed to brush against her bare arm. The familiar didn’t speak a word, but purred against her. The rhythmic pulse of the sound and the vibrations soothed Camilla’s nerves, but only slightly. With one hand, she reached out to stroke the cat beside her, while the other lifted to rub the sleep from her eyes. It was then she realized that her face was stained with tears, some still wet and falling down her cheeks. Camilla could easily be described as a woman filled with rage and hate, but her standard temperament was nothing compared to what she felt in these moments. She felt the entire range of negative emotions, many of them directed at herself, which made her feel even more fury at what had happened to her.
Instinctively, Camilla went for her pills on the bedside table. There was a loud rattle sound when she picked it up that reminded her that she would need to refill the bottle soon, if not tomorrow. She shook out two into her hand, then three. She stared at the pills a moment before lifting the bottle for more, but Mezzanotte’s paw came up to stop her. Camilla swallowed hard, considering before she picked up one pill to take and poured the others back in the bottle. Usually, at this point, she would set up camp at her desk and sketch out her dream, just to get the poison out of her system, but tonight felt different. Camilla needed someone. Someone that wasn’t her familiar or her brother. She needed Castel. Leaning over to the bedside table once more, she grabbed her phone. Her intention had been to call the Spaniard, but second thought revealed that just hearing his voice would not suffice. It was early, way too early for a visit, but once the thought of going over to his place was in her mind, it was impossible to ignore the desire.
She got up, dressed herself (which in this instance only meant that she put on a simple part of slacks and a blouse), and drove over to Castel’s abode. As spoiled as she was, Camilla couldn’t justify calling for a car at three in the morning -- okay, she could, but she didn’t want to see anyone else but Castel, nor be seen in her current state. It was only as she stepped up to his front door that she realized she was clutching her private sketchbook to her chest. When had she picked it up, and how had she managed to keep it in her white-knuckled grip this long without noticing earlier? There was no time to take it back to the car since she had just knocked on the door, and there was no way she was about to let it leave her sight. All she could do was carry it in with her and hope Castel didn’t ask too many questions. Camilla had hope in abundance tonight as she waited for him to answer the door, because he couldn’t be sleeping right now. Not when she needed him this much.