(no subject)

I had a dream last night. I don't remember much of it, except that it was very sad, like someone had died (I think it was me). Rangers from John Flanagan's RA series were misty figures in the background. There was green - grass, I think, in a park. I was sitting on a bench, and Hannibal Lecter (NBC series) was sitting on my left. He was wearing the dark blue shirt/vest combo from the most recent episode. I remember being enchanted by the soft blue fabric as it rubbed against my arm. Gently Hannibal took my left hand in his. His voice was his own but his words were Eva's when he asked:

"What happened to your wrist?"

I angled the back of my wrist toward him, showing him the kettlebell bruise, a purpling lump on the back of my forearm. "This is from kettlebell class," I said, staring at my wrist and avoiding his eyes.

"No," he said softly, turning my wrist over so the fleshy underside faced him. "I meant what happened here?"

My scars glinted silver and red, accusatory even in the dream. I felt a deep sense of shame. I averted my eyes and was silent. Hannibal rubbed his thumb lightly over the scars and sighed softly. He said something to me then; I don't know what it was, but I got the impression he didn't want me to hurt myself. I didn't - couldn't - reply, and we sat on the bench side by side in silence, shoulders touching.

I can't quite describe the feeling in that dream, but even though I felt sad that I had caused Hannibal pain through my self-harm, I also felt and overwhelming feeling of comfort and safety knowing that someone cared about me.