ridedatdiscostick | The Bed-Sharing Meme

The Bed-Sharing Meme

It's a pretty simple premise. You're not exactly alone in your bed anymore. What do you do?

R U L E S:
1. Post your character with their name, series, and preferences in the subject line.
2. Have fun

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Ellis offered his hands for her to hold onto, because what he hears is the stuff of nightmares that no one should ever have to endure. Her father wanting to kill his baby girl, and why would he do that?

"I'd hate t' sound like a bastard but whatever happened t' yer daddy, I hope he paid for it tenfold," he said in a firm tone, "You saw all those girls, didn't ya? Issat why you have nightmares?"

He was giving her the benefit of doubt and even if she had something to do with the murders, there was still some forgiveness. That can mess someone up so badly...

She takes his hands, squeezing so tightly that her own turn white; she's probably cutting off his blood supply, but that doesn't occur to her in her own need for comfort. "It's always the same. I see them. They tell me that if it wasn't for me, they'd still be alive."

Ellis looked over and gave Abigail one hell of a look. Not because he didn't believe her dreams, dreams were an incomprehensible concept that everyone has and they interpret them. It's the fact that Abigail, a victim just as all the other dead girls, would blame herself for the machinations of her father. He didn't mind his hands being gripped tight, he knows survival mechanisms when he saw them.

"Yer blamin' yerself for doin' what you needed to do to stay alive," he said, gently pulling her closer to him, "Yer father knew he could overpower ya, kill ya when he had the chance. And I'm glad he ain't alive anymore because I would've pumped him full of lead." And he would've. El is no stranger to spilling someone else's blood but he knew the difference.

"That's just it, though." She can't bring herself to look him in the eye as she continues. "I don't know if it was ever just about trying to keep myself a lure. How far I was a victim, a lure, or an accomplice."

The mechanic crossed his arms and stated bluntly, "In my perspective, you were all three an' it wasn't by choice. If we're honest here," and by the looks of things, he probably was the only one obeying that statement, "you were the lure an' the accomplice t' yer dad, but what you really were, above ev'rything, a victim. Because you didn't want to die an' yer dad made sure you wouldn't have a choice t' get out."

He then looked out the window of their motel room and for a second, he wasn't in this with Abigail. He was trying to survive the horrors of the Green Flu with friends that became family.

"I can't ever judge ya...or anyone for doin' what they needed to survive."

It wasn't just to survive, she knew that deep down. Hannibal had told her so, how she hadn't stabbed Nicholas Boyle out of self defense but that she'd butchered him. Was that really who she was? Was it what she wanted to be? She wasn't sure, and the idea that there's even some small part of her that did want it terrified her most of all.

She doesn't think it's a good idea to share those thoughts with Ellis. His acceptance and support is by far preferable to the disgust that would come with that admission. She smiles, one that's a little weary and very relieved, as though his words have taken a great burden from her.

"Thank you. You don't know how much it means to hear that."

Had Ellis ever heard those words from anyone in regards to Abigail, they would meet the business end of his shotgun. No one could ever blame her for the rage, certainly not some hoity-toity doctor who couldn't understand what it could take to make someone quiet and vulnerable snap. Then again, the mechanic knew he was getting one side of the story and he didn't get this far on pure dumb luck. There's a brain behind those starry blue eyes.

"We should head on outta here. I'm not likin' this fog one bit an' this place ain't no where for a lady like ya," he said with the strength of character that comes with being a survivor. Plus he's pretty sure he saw something in the mist, something that he probably would avoid.

Abigail nods reluctantly. She knows he's right, that it's best to keep moving, but she wishes that for just once she could rest - mentally as well as physically - rather than have to keep pushing on all the time. At least now she knew that she could use him as a crutch for a while.

"All right. Let's go find our beach."

After what happened at home and Eros, Ellis had to keep moving. It was taxing, and little by little, his heart grew harder and his features worn out with time. He wasn't about to give up on Miss Abigail but he had to do something to keep her safe: he handed her a cast-iron skillet he managed to swipe off the kitchen.

"Swing it like a bat if it's someone runnin' and it ain't me," he instructed her as best he could, he didn't like the sounds that bounced off the walls.

"Resort town my ass," he grumbled as he tossed aside a brochure for the local attractions.

She turns the skillet over in her hands, getting used to the weight and the feel of it. She didn't have much in the way of physical strength, and she wondered how effective she'd actually be if it came to using it.

"You really think there's other people here? It looked pretty deserted when we drove in."

"Well I ain't seen no virus outbreak so it's safe t' assume we ain't where I came from," this was probably one of the few times Ellis showed his true colors as a survivor of a plague. "Maybe it's on the off season."

Hope was a free action when it came to these things, even if it was misplaced.

"I saw movement over at the 5-to-2 Dinner, hope y'all like flapjacks," Ellis spoke with some humor to his offer: he would be very willing to make her breakfast if he could find the ingredients and make her feel more at home.

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The Bed-Sharing Meme

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