Somehow the day had been too quiet, or rather, too intently spent in her mind. Jules longed for the moment when she would get the opportunity to immerse herself in her books again, with only the worry of an unreliable narrator. She was too tired to even want to be near Redcross at the moment.

Even if he didn't say, he noticed as much and simply dropped her off at the apartment.

In turn she simply dropped onto the bed there and slept, not caring about anything.

Usually upon waking after going to sleep like that, she would be cured and back among the living, but this time seemed to want to be the exception. It was nearly midnight, and Jules had to turn on the television to actually realise it was still Friday. For all she knew it could have been Tuesday.

She showered, dressed and stepped out of the apartment. Counting the number of steps, she couldn't recall the exact amount when stepping into the cold with the full intention to see if the pub around the corner would still serve an almost decent meal.

As she neared, she felt less and less like entering, spotting several fellow students inside. Instead she walked on, appetite forgotten. Her mind meandered the same roads it had the past days and caused her to find herself pushed into a club, one of the dark ones, stroboscopic light, the kind she usually avoided.

Somehow she needed its anonymity tonight.

Sinister music pierced thoughts, distorted guitars, lazy clattering beats, a breathy male voice repeating himself.

Slowly she moved through the crowd, in motion with them, feeling bodies come into contact with hers.
Normally she might have objected, but tonight her mind seemed too disconnected from her body to care.

Reaching the bar, she was handed a drink, and not caring what it was she threw it down, not hearing the comments on the action, only noticing the next glass being pushed into her hand.

Again bodies pressed against hers, and she was on the crowded dance floor again, different eerie atmospheric music, and simply closed her eyes from the flashes of light that reminded her of the headache, and rode with the wave-like movements.

Where previously it had been accidental touches, she became aware of someone nearby, moving along with the rest of them, the length of his body (there could be no mistake about gender), brushing against hers. If there was a warning call in the back of her mind, she ignored it.

Pressing back, she felt a hand rest on her hip, just above the waistband of her jeans, slowly moving to her stomach, but not to press her against the body behind her. It just lay there; long fingers on her stomach, the thumb still on her hip.

Emotionally and spiritually she had already been in meltdown, but at this point, even the control of her body seemed to be reducing. But there was nothing else but to continue like this, praying there would be a morning somewhere in the future. Melancholy ached through her body.

She rested her head against the shoulder behind her, and felt lips press against her temple, another hand brushing her hair out of her face.

Her body wasn't moving out of its own accord anymore now, it just leant against the one behind her, and moved along.

And then her knees buckled and she surrendered to the comforting darkness.

 

She woke several times, her mind still half in a daze. The first time had her lying on the backseat of a car, with something folded under her head and her coat draped over her. The movement of the vehicle made her nauseous, and she fled back into the dark.

The second time was as someone carried her, and finally deposited her onto a bed. Leaning over her, the man seemed to take her pulse and then pulled up one of her eyelids. She protested weakly, and pulled him down on her, opening her legs for him and pressing her lips against his.

He lost his weight temporarily, and even though he pushed himself up almost immediately, she felt his evident arousal, the start of which she had already noticed on the dance floor. He only gave in to the kiss for a moment, then pulled away. All physical contact was severed, and she drifted back into the shadowy place.

Redcross sat watching her as she slept, realising all too well that even if his mind had not betrayed her, his body had. One leg over the other, he couldn't keep from imagining the feel of her hair when he moved his fingers though it, the feel of her skin against his, how his body would fit into hers.

Oh, he wanted her. As much, if not more, than he had ever wanted anyone ever before. Up to now, he had always been able to tell himself he cared for the mind, and much less for the physical. Working through nights, eating little, forgetting the corporeal and living on the intellectual level had always appealed to him, and had come easy to him. But this new feeling was as interesting as it was confusing.

It had started in the nightclub already, her body touching his, first only brushing, but then exacting more pressure, as if it had known exactly how to arouse him.

How close had he been to taking advantage of the situation when she pulled him against her, on top of her, had welcomed him, tempting him beyond belief?

But what if this was all... an image he had in his mind, an image that was wrong, and could never be, and was only going to lead to disappointment? What if the feeling of being in love was better than actual reciprocation?

He buried his head in his hands.

'You will lose her. Do not attach yourself, for it will only bring pain.'

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