He dived forward as her lifeless body fell to the ground but missed her altogether and collapsed in a heap nearby. He hadn't intended to hurt her but he knew as she hit the ground that he had.
Was she awake? Was this nightmare over?
She stirred again. Her head flicked left to right as her mouth opened to let out a silent scream and her contorted face twisted further into agonising terror - or was it something else?
It had been so long since he'd seen her like this, yet, it had been so long since he had slept with her. So long since they had been together like this. This was his fault, he never should have brought her back to this house; he never should have hugged her and told her things would be okay; he never should have left that painted box out in plain view for her to find. That was all it was, a box with paint on it from the artwork he had been finishing the night previous.
Just a box.
Or more accurately, a trigger.
Just painted blades in a painted box, waiting to be noticed; to be seen by her eyes.
He swore quietly under his breath. Why had he been so careless? It was his fault that she lay on the floor now; his fault that she wouldn't wake; his fault she was even having these dreams.
The darkness of sleep threatened to enclose him into the safety of dreams but he fought it - it was past two but he couldn't leave her like this, not after the thoughtless pain he had caused her.
He glanced down at the blood on his arms. She would think he had done it; no matter how severe, she never remembered her dreams... she never even knew she had dreamt.
She'll wake soon he thought. She normally woke up after about this long of her dreams; they were never horrifically long.
But as he watched her face switch through emotions he started to doubt his previous thoughts...