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Title: Don't Want These Memories
Pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham
Author's Note: Sequel to "Just Out of Reach."
Disclaimer: This is entirely a product of my own imagination, and I make no profit from it. I do not own the lovely Hannibal Lecter or Will Graham, unfortunately, just borrowing them for a while. Please do not sue.
***He didn't want to deal with these memories any longer.
Will sighed softly, pressing both hands to the sides of his head as he sat up in bed. He hadn't been able to sleep at all last night; there was too much on his mind.
He hadn't really wanted to sleep, anyway. He was sure that if he did, the memories -- visions? dreams? -- would come back to him in even more detail.
He was tired of dealing with the whole situation; he wanted to put it behind him, to let it go. But he knew that wasn't going to be possible; he wouldn't be able to get any peace of mind until he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, just who -- or what -- had attacked him.
It wasn't something that he'd done to himself. He had examined that theory from every direction, and he categorically rejected it. That wasn't possible.
He wouldn't harm himself. He wasn't the kind of person to do himself injury. It simply .... wasn't him, no matter what any other person might think.
Hannibal was wrong about this. He had to be.
No one, not even the man who was technically his psychiatrist, was going to convince him that he was the sort of person who self-harmed. He would never believe it.
Self-harm wasn't something that he would be able to do. He didn't want to die, and he didn't enjoy pain. So anyone who thought that was completely off the mark.
He would fight against that theory with everything that he had. He hadn't wanted to accept it when Hannibal had first brought it up, and the more he thought about it, the more he knew that it wasn't true. He wouldn't harm himself. He had too much of a sense of self-preservation.
It didn't matter if circumstances might point in that direction; Will was convinced that someone else had attacked him, and that they would do so again.
If he went sleepwalking again -- and he was sure that he would; it seemed to be a given with him -- he didn't doubt that his enemy would seize that opportunity.
He didn't doubt for one second that whoever had attacked him and given him all those bruises once would do it again. And the next time, they might not stop at bruises. He could be physically violated -- or even killed. In his sleepwalking state, he doubted that he could protect himself.
Of course, if he was attacked, he should be able to wake up and defend himself -- but if he hadn't done it the first time, who was to say that he would awaken when he needed to?
Will shivered at the thought of someone manhandling him, ending his life without his conscious knowledge. The very idea made his blood run cold.
But then, so did the few memories he had of what had happened.
He didn't want those memories any more. He wanted them to simply vanish, to stop haunting him, to stop making him feel as though he had been a helpless victim.
That was what bothered him the most, Will told himself, sighing again. He hated the fact that he had been made a victim, that he hadn't been able to protect himself.
Hannibal insisted that his sleepwalking episodes were becoming more dangerous, and maybe he was right. But Will had no idea of how to stop them -- beyond trying not to sleep. Of course, that solution wouldn't work for long; he'd have to fall asleep at some point, and he could very well sleepwalk.
So what was he going to do? He had no idea, but he knew that he couldn't keep on in the way he was going, or he would drive himself completely insane.
He had to get more sleep, that was for sure. He could keep going on caffeine for a while, but sooner or later, he would end up collapsing from sheer exhaustion.
Somehow, he had to find a solution to all of this.
Was there a solution? Or would be spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder, wondering if he was going to fall asleep and be attacked again as he sleepwalked, his mind a blank?
Will took a deep breath, trying to clear his head. All of his thoughts felt as though they were swirling around helplessly, floundering, unable to find purchase anywhere. And the memories, the ones that he wanted to block out of his mind, were replaying themselves over and over again.
What little he could remember, that was. And he didn't even know if they were absolutely true, or if they were simply a vision, a trick that his mind had played on him.
Maybe he would never know. And he wasn't sure that he wanted to find out.
But he had to, or risk letting all of this eat away at him from the inside. The memories would devour him at some point if he didn't manage to make his peace with them.
Taking a deep breath, Will swung his legs out of bed and got to his feet, stretching. Right now, he needed caffeine, and a lot of it, if he wanted to get through this day.
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