rough night (blake)

[samara]

Samara woke up in a cold sweat, as she did most every night. Shooting up from bed, she panted, eyes flickering around the dark room. She looked down to make sure Blake was still asleep before rising, gently pulling the covers up around her husband, pulling on a robe as she exited the room. She pressed a hand on the wall, feeling incredibly faint. This needed to stop. After five months, she needed to find closure, but it felt as if something were missing from her. It was as if a piece of her had gone, never to return to her again.

It was because of Silas. Even though they hadn't been too terribly close, she'd been his twin sister. They were bonded, more so than Samara ever had thought possible. However, now that he was gone, everything felt different. She was having nightmares replaying his death every night, and she was hardly eating. Blake didn't need to know, but she'd gotten terribly sick and nearly passed out a few times during Quidditch practice. She wasn't cut out to live a normal, happy life without her brother being alive. Even after so long, it was eating her up inside.

In a way, she was guilty. Samara felt somehow responsible. If she had only gotten there a few moments sooner, should would have been able to save Silas from the curse that had killed him. Samara would have been able to keep her brother from dying. On top of this, there was something that was bothering her. Something seemed terribly off about her body, and it wasn't just because the lack of food. Blake and Samara had gotten into a very active night-time ritual since they'd gotten married. It started on their first night, and it had slowed considerably since Silas' death.

Still, the passion was there. Being with Blake was the only thing that could make her feel better. However, there was something that was making her scared. If it was true, everything would change, and Samara wouldn't know what to do about herself... Shaking the thoughts from her head, the redheaded woman wandered downstairs, pouring herself a tall glass of water and retrieving three asprin to hopefully stop the pounding in her head. Leaning against the counter, she took the pills in silence.

Samara's Outfit

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[blake]

Blake could have sworn it was a nightmare. Maybe he hoped it was. This was a nightly routine, Samara rising, haunted, in the middle of the night, resorting to muggle drugs for her aid. Something he couldn’t provide. He waited until she was out of the room before he sat up, sweat drenched face buried in his hands. He took a deep breath, shoving his hands through his already sloppy hair before pushing the blanket away.

Was this his fault? Shouldn’t a husband be able to protect his wife? His throat grew tight as he began down the stairs, not bothering with a robe over his shirtless body. He was burning up with the anxiety, but he couldn’t show it. Not if he had any hope of helping her. But how could he save her from her mind? Her memories? The exact same images haunted his mind, watching her sobbing over her brother’s body. Imagining himself holding her, the two so easily interchangable...It could have been her. Maybe it will be her....

Without a word he crossed the kitchen, long arms wrapping around her waist, drawing her in near. He pressed his lips to her cold forehead, running his arms up and down her back, as if it could warm her up. As soon as he pulled his lips away, they touched her face again, wishing somehow it could ease away the pain, but the hollow look in her eyes, it ripped at his heart.

”Another restless night, love?” He asked, although he knew the answer, pressing his lips once again to her face, arms tightening around her, as if he could somehow shield her from the world. He could. It was the prison of her mind that terrified him to his core.

[samara]

Samara had been lost in thought when Blake wandered in. She managed half of a smile, but could feel the gesture not connect to her eyes. It terrified her, the fact that she was so miserable, but she didn't know where else to turn. There was something terribly wrong with her, she was depressed. If she was being completely honest with herself, she felt her stomach shift, causing her her to wince. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she leaned into her husband's embrace, closing her eyes as he pressed his lips against her forehead lovingly.

"Another restless night, love?"

Samara slowly nodded. "Yes. I'm sorry to have woken you," she muttered, feeling guilty. She hated doing this to Blake, hated making him feel useless. She knew that's how he felt, that he felt as though he couldn't do anything to help her. Resting her hands against his chest, she tilted her chin up to kiss his lips. Her stomach lurched once more, and she turned, hands gripping the sink tightly as her eyes closed. A grimace passed across her features, and Samara tried her best to write them off.

Still, she knew Blake would ask. If she were to tell him her fears, what would happen then? They'd taken their relationship so fast, so this seemed like the natural next step. Given her family history, however, there was something that could go wrong. Were they really ready to be parents? Samara knew that she was getting herself worked up over a bad feeling, but she couldn't help it. Something felt incredibly off. There was only so much she could do, but she didn't want to tell Blake. Not yet. Of course, her husband would no doubt force it out of her, one way or another. Perhaps it was best to just get it out. But then they'd have to go through the process of getting the little orb that would tell her exactly if she was pregnant, what she'd be having, and Samara wasn't sure if she'd be able to handle it...

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[blake]

Blake watched as the hollow smile fell across his bride’s face, and his stomach plummeted to the tiled kitchen floor. There had always been such a radiating light in her smile, but it was gone. Vanished. Some nights as they found themselves standing like this, he feared it was as dead as Silas. The thought made his arms tighten around her, as if holding her close might somehow pull her out of the dark, but wherever she was, she wasn’t able to be reached with a simple hug.

What good was magic when you couldn’t even help the ones you loved? ”Don’t worry, love,” he insisted, planting a series of pecks and kisses on her smooth forehead before flashing her a light-hearted grin. ”Sleeps rather boring anyways. Reminds me of the class,” he paused, pretending to think hard about something. ”Now that I think of it, class was rather synonymous with sleep,” he kissed her lips lightly. ”So what has you up and about?” It was a stupid question, and how light and casual he asked it was ridiculous. They both knew the answer...yet somehow, he felt as if something was different.

[samara]

Samara could tell that Blake was bothered by her lack of enthusiasm at everything. She felt a pang of guilt run through her, causing her stomach to lurch. She winced, hiding it carefully behind a smile. Her stomach had been off, lately, but the asprin she took every night had seemed to keep anything disgusting at bay. Her stomach lurched again, and she wrapped her arms around her abdomen, smiling dully at her husband. She desperately hoped that he wouldn't notice, knowing that he'd no doubt make a larger deal about it than necessary, and she didn't want to worry him with such trivial things.

"Don't worry, love. Sleep's rather boring anyways. Reminds me of class. Now that I think of it, class was rather synonymous with sleep. So what has you up and about?"

Samara smiled a soft, slightly genuine smile when Blake's lips pressed against hers, and she loosened her protective stance, letting her hands come up to rest against her husband's chest. She sighed heavily, shutting her eyes and resting her head on his chest as well. "Nightmares. I don't feel too well, either..." she replied. The moment the phrase was out of her mouth, she winced, her stomach twisting painfully. She coughed slightly in discomfort, only to have her stomach lurch again. Pushing herself away from Blake as fast as she could, Samara turned herself around, catching herself over the sink just in time to vomit rather violently. Throat and nose burning, she retched again, dumping the very small amount of food and stomach acid into the sink. She turned pale, posture weak and shaky."B-B-Blake, I-I'm sorry..." she mumbled before retching again. "G-g-go back to b-b-bed, it'll p-p-pass..."

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[blake]

Blake watched her fair face carefully, not missing the wince. He stroked her Weasley red hair back from her face, worry creasing his forehead as he cupped her cool cheeks in his hands. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but knew she would deny it. The worry tangled his stomach into some unidentifiable knot. ”You look like you need tea,” perhaps it was just his need to fill the space with some noise, some assurance of her still living,breathing. He had seen his best friend cradling her brother, and all he could see when he closed his eyes was him...holding her.

Blake ran both his hands habitually through his sandy bed head, tugging slightly as his hands reached the ends of his hair. Was this what it felt liketo want to rip your hair out? He was sure he could if he wasn’t so...exhausted. He felt it in his inner self, the worry. The fear. But that evaporated as a genuine smiletraced her lips,his heart skipping a beat. Even after months together, he felt like his heart might beat right out of his chest.

Just as Blake was sure the worst was over, she coughed, causing him to almost drop the tea kettle, turning to his wife. ”Samara,” he offered his hand out to her, but she pushed him back and he was greeted with the sound of horrendous vomiting, the scent rising up. He reached out, opening his mouth to say something, but sure enough her head vanished into the deep sink and all he could do was rub her back. She stuttered weakly, insisting he go back to bed. ”No way, Samara,” he shook his head, retrieving his wand and summoning her jacket, draping it over her shoulders, hoping to conserve warmth, something she wasn’t producing much of. ”We’re going to St. Mungo’s,” he said firmly, not allowing any room for protest, especially if his suspicions were true. ”You’re in no condition to apparate,” he ushered her out the door into their muggle car his mother had insisted they would need in an all Wizarding neighborhood.

[samara]

Samara couldn't hear Blake over the alarms going off in her mind. She vomited once more into the sink, nothing but pure stomach acid burning at her throat. She heard the tea kettle clatter to the floor and she turned, tears of panic stinging her eyes. She dry-heaved, her stomach out of things to force out of her body. Clutching her stomach weakly, she used her free hand to grip the sink until her knuckles turned white to keep herself from sinking to the floor. Within a moment, Blake had gathered her in his arms and was ushering her to the car, grabbing up the keys.

Samara wanted to protest, but she couldn't manage much of anything. Something was off, and she was afraid of what that was. She'd been feeling ill as of late, and if it was indeed what she thought it was, she didn't know whether to be thrilled or terrified. Still, her body was rocked with another round of dry-heaving as she weakly climbed into the passenger seat. She pressed her head against the window, sobbing and holding herself. This was an absolute nightmare.

The ride there was silent, with Blake muttering soft encouragements to her as she lay there, shivering. The retching had stopped, but that didn't mean she was any less frightened. Cradling herself, Samara cried. If it was true, she was going to hate herself. Given her family history, the odds of her being pregnant were high, and, given her history, the odds of there being two babies growing in her womb were just as large. She didn't know if she could knowingly bring an infant into the cruel world with a fuck-up of a mother, much less two.

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