Again.

Yet *again*, I wake with a start and lie, blinking, in the darkness as I try to adjust to my surroundings.

Why did I wake this time?

A nightmare?

No, not a nightmare.  My heart isn’t pounding and I’m not covered in sweat so it can’t be one of them.  Besides, I’ve had enough nightmares in my life to be well and truly aware of their strength and what I feel like when I come out of them.

A dream?

No, not a dream either.  It’s ironic that dreams can currently hurt me more than any nightmare can.  Nightmares are scary and horrific, but at the same time they are so over-the-top that distancing them from reality is relatively simple.  Dreams on the other hand...

Just recently I’ve been having, for the want of anything better to call them, ‘memory dreams’.  I dream of actual, happy, times that Sam and I have spent together.  The dreams  are so vivid, so *real*, that when I wake up and remember our current state of existence (as opposed to *life*) I nearly want to cry.

The dreams hurt so fucking much because I don’t honestly  know whether I’ll ever be that happy again.

I don’t even know if I’ll ever feel anything again.

The darkness that is lingering over Sam is slowly threatening to take me over as well.

I’m still fighting it, to the best of my ability, but there are times when the desire to give up, to just throw my hands in the air, is so fucking close that I don’t even know why I’m resisting it.

It would be just so easy to close my eyes and hurl myself into the void that is holding Sam captive.

It would be *too* easy.

And I’m not going to do it.  I’ve never taken the easy option in my life and I don’t intend to start now.

For some, perhaps futile, reason, I still harbour hope.  Somewhere, deep within his own personal hell, I *know* Sam still exists.

I just know it...

And, one of these days, I’m going to see proof of this faith.  I’m not fool enough to expect a miracle cure, I just need to see a glimmer of something.  A smile, a gesture, anything that I can recognise.

My most fervent wish is to see life in his eyes again.

Since...

Since... that night, I’ve seen *nothing* in his gaze.  Not a thing.  There haven’t even been any outbursts, verbal or otherwise.  It’s almost as though he’s retreated further into himself.

To protect himself from the memories?  To protect me?

I don’t know and I don’t want to broach the subject.

What’s done is done and I fail to see the point in dwelling on it.  It can’t be undone, so why bother thinking about it?  To think about it only keeps the hurt fresh, like scratching at a scab - it causes more pain and takes longer to heal.

Besides, there’s another reason I don’t want to think about it.  I still can’t justify my actions.  I *let* him, that much is clear, but as to why I allowed myself to be taken so roughly, I have no idea...

I didn’t care?  It was the easiest option?  I deserved it?

I don’t know and I don’t want to know.

I do, however, know that should he ever try it again then not only will I stop him - by any means necessary - but that it will also be the time I officially give up all hope.

There is only so much I can take.

Reaching for the bedside lamp, I switch it on and try and rein in my thoughts.  The same thoughts that all but constantly run through my head, thinking and hoping is about all I seem to do these days.  Making an effort to concentrate, I eventually realise that the reason I woke up is because I heard the sound of something smashing in the kitchen.

Shit!

Now what?

Scrambling out of bed, I pull on a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt and nearly bolt towards the kitchen.  I have no idea what I suspect to find, all I know is that I have to see if Sam is okay and whether there is anything I can do to help him.

When I enter the kitchen and see him crouching on the floor, blood spreading around his feet, my heart nearly stops and I want to scream.

All I can think of is suicide...

And that would be the last fucking straw.

Contrary to the person he currently is, and how I’ve been feeling, I still love Sam and the thought of life without him is totally abhorrent to me.

For a moment my vision blurs and I have to force myself to take a few deep breaths before I can clearly take in the scene around me.

To my utter relief, I realise numbly that the blood is coming from Sam’s palm and that there is a broken glass near by.

A broken glass!  That’s all.

Thank God for small mercies.

Grabbing the first aid kit, I tentatively make my way over to my partner, crouch alongside him and take his wounded palm in my hand.  As I do this, Sam turns his face towards me, smiles, and fixes his gaze on mine.

I’m so startled by this that I almost drop his hand.  I can see *life* in Sam’s eyes and it is just so unexpected, so fucking *wonderful*, that I immediately feel as though my faith has been vindicated.

I knew I was right to hope.