Reese sits down heavily on the bed next to her. She is curled away, tucked securely under the blankets but he can feel the chill from her wet dress seeping through the sheets. She makes no move to acknowledge his presence, though he realizes sadly that he isn’t surprised by this.
“Lana, were you ever going to tell me?” He looks away from her, to the framed photos on the wall that seem so clearly now to hold pictures of a stranger. He shifts his weight, stares out the window.
“What have you been doing with your life? Was it just the drugs or were you…Fuck. Lana, say something.”
She is silent. He puts his head in his hands. She was always silent, he slowly realizes. It was him who filled the quiet. He glances at her, at the sharp, tense line in her shoulders and recognizes that as well. He wonders how long he knew, how long he pretended.
She is unrelenting. He isn’t sure if she can’t think of a single thing to say, or if she can no longer stomach the thought of speaking to him. But he deserves an answer for this.
“God damn it, Lana, say something.” He reaches over and grabs her shoulder, turning her towards him.
Her lips are blue, that brightest most brilliant shade of familiar blue. They are caked in a powdery sheen he would have been able to identify in his sleep. It has bled over her teeth, her tongue. Run over her cheek, down her neck to pool in the soft recess of her collarbone.
Her eyes are open, but they have ceased to see.
“Baby,” he gently cups her face in his hand as he crawls across the bed to her.
“Lana, honey, Lana, wake up,” he cradles her head in the crook of his arm, brushing away the hair from her forehead. Someone in the back of his head is saying that she is gone. She is cold to the touch, stiff.
“Lana, please, say something,” his voice cracks.
He tries to prop her up a little further, to wedge his body in behind hers. Her arm falls free from his grasp, off the edge of the bed. There is a soft clatter as something small frees itself from her hand.
He suddenly finds it hard to breathe. She is gone. He is dizzy, nauseous. Vaulting from the bed, Reese grabs for the phone on her nightstand. Kneeling beside her, he is shocked by how pale she is. He puts his hands out on the floor to steady himself, fingers brushing against plastic.
The empty bags of Dream.
He picks them up, one by one, counting the times she poured that sickly sweet death over her lips. Then he sees her ring. Tossed on the floor before she took one more trip.
He looks back up at her. She had taken it off. Chosen the drug instead of him.
He continues to look at her, blankly, then suddenly slams the phone down onto the floor. He knocks the lamp off of the nightstand, shattering it against the wall.
He stands over her. Then turns and punches a hole in the wall, shaking a picture of the two of them on their wedding day. He yells again. He wants to destroy the room. To tear this carefully constructed illusion apart piece by cheap piece. But instead he sinks down beside her, rolling to look at her. He used to think she was so beautiful. So perfect.
He touches his lips to her softly. He thinks of every smile that had failed to reach her eyes. He wants to break her. He wants her to hurt as badly as he does, but she feels nothing. He wonders if she ever felt anything.
He kisses her more fervently then, devouring her. He kisses her with a rage, and a sorrow, that he has never expected to feel. He tries to reclaim them for his own. She is unyielding in his arms, she was never his.
He sits back hard against the headboard, wipes his mouth clean. His hand falls away, a bright, brilliant, familiar blue. He sits in an empty room, with the hollow of a ruined wife, echoes of a ruined life, closes his eyes and lets the Dream take him…