Synopsis:  With knowledge comes anticipation, with anticipation comes confusion and with confusion comes fear.  Delving into the mind of a character who was told just enough about her future to know that she didn’t know enough.  (Trinity, pre-movie).

Rating:  NC-17 for themes, language, style, tone, sexuality, etc.  NOTE:  this is NOT a smut piece.  

Thanks to MTS for editing this and for managing to refrain from beating me over the head when I said that yes, I actually was planning on letting the rest of the world see this totally random piece.  And thanks to my buddy Scottishlass for pre-reading this and confirming that yes, it really does make sense, somehow, if you stand on your head and squint or something.  

Disclaimer:  The Matrix doesn’t belong to me; I’m making no money, yadda yadda.  Don’t own John Travolta either (though apparently I am distantly related to him), I’ve just borrowed his name twice.

A/N:  Highly experimental style.  You have been warned.  This is set far pre-movie, when nobody has a clue as to whom the One may turn out to be, and long before any of the Neb’s crew have ever laid eyes on Neo. 

IN MY HEAD

“There’s a leak here,” Orr said, “I’m trying to fix it.”

            -Joseph Heller, Catch 22

Give me a reason to love you

Give me a reason to be a woman

I just wanna be a woman.

            -Portishead “Glory Box”

Faceless vision in my head

It’s not like you want me to stay with you, not when the night is cold and dark and you must thrive on being miserable.  It’s not like you know I’m there, not like you know that if you reached out and whispered my name the inside of me would crumble and I would fold into you, breathe you, warm you.  It’s not like you know who I am.  I don’t know you yet.  

But I do know you, in a way; I know you as flowing lines of green, or as part of the mess of flowing lines of green that I watch every day.  We have a new one, Morpheus says, and my throat closes and I wonder if it’s you this time.  Disembodied visions of you in my head.  I will love you.  She told me I will love you.  Who are you?

A faceless vision in my head.

You

In your eyes, the reflection of my own haunted gaze.  You’ll pull me close to you.  Hey, snap out of it, your hands hard on my face, the past is over and the future is now.  Shove my body into the wall, ignoring the sound of my skull cracking against the steel.  One hand now, pinching my cheeks against my teeth from the outside, I can’t move my head.  Slam.  My vision dark and bright at the same time, dizzying, I can’t see.  Your voice:  get over it, Trinity.  I’m here for you now.  Slam.  Darkness creeping in along the edges of my vision, the sweet taste of copper on my bloody lips.  Hey, are you listening to me?  I said I’m here for you now!  Slam.  Your voice, fading away:  You’re not fucking listening to me!  I love you and you’re not fucking listening to what I’m telling you!  Slam.  My mind screams I love you too before the blackness drowns me.

Or

In your eyes, the reflection of my own haunted gaze.  You’ll pull me close to you.  Hey, are you all right?  Your hands soft on my face, the past is now and the future is later.  Wrap my body in a blanket, ignoring the sound of my voice telling you I’m fine.  One hand now, brushing my cheek so softly and I lean into it gently, I won’t move my head.  Gasp.  My vision dark and bright at the same time, dizzying, I can’t see.  Your voice:  are you okay, Trinity?  I’m here for you now.  Gasp.  Whiteness sparkling along the edges of my vision, the needful twitch capturing my tingling lips.  Hey, you can just relax for a bit.  I’m here for you now.  Gasp.  Your voice, echoing in my ears:  You can just slow down, relax for a bit.  I love you and you can just take it easy for a while, really.  Gasp.  My voice whispers I love you too before I reach to pull your face to mine.

Or

In your eyes, the reflection of my own haunted gaze.  You’ll pull me close to you.  Goddamn Agents, your hands cold on my face, the past is gone and now is always almost over. Push my body down into a chair, ignoring my silence and the silence of the room.  One hand now, holding my cheek firmly and pushing my hair back, I don’t move my head.  Breathe.  My vision dark and bright at the same time, dizzying, I see too well.  Your voice:  Don’t worry, Trinity.  It wasn’t your fault.  Breathe.  Clear stillness along the edges of my vision, a tasteless film coating my numb lips.  Hey, you’re all right, you’re okay.  I’m here for you now.  Breathe.  Your voice, echoing in my ears:  You’re all right now, I love you and there was nothing you could have possibly done to save them.  Breathe.  My mouth forms I love you too before I curl up around myself.

Fairytale
 
. . . the beautiful maiden princess was locked in her stone tower, on a hill far above the village.  She was guarded by a dragon whose smoky breath drifted in between the bars of her window, clouding her room, thickening the air.  Every night the princess would cry into the hem of her satin gown, her tears tinting the fabric and her sobs muffled into her pure white palms.  The light of the moon danced to her through the window and it was her only companion; it would fill her room with a white glow that kept her company through the long, dark hours.  The princess would kneel at her windowsill and peer up through the bars at this god of the night.  

“Please,” she said, “let my prince come soon, my prince must come soon to free me from this prison.”

Night after night the princess would whisper her plea to the listening moon, and day after day she kept watch over the village, waiting for her prince to appear.  Hour after long, lonely hour.j

It was the glint of the sun off his glistening shield that alerted her to his arrival.  Her prince.  He crested the hill on his valiant white steed, armour polished to the sheen of diamond.  The dragon awoke.  But such a base beast was no match for the pure-hearted warrior; the prince slew the fierce monster in a brief battle, the whiteness of his horse’s flanks left untarnished by the dragon’s vile blood.  Nimbly he scaled the tower wall to reach his fair maiden.  It was only then that she could see him clearly, tall with hair the colour of the finest gold, eyes as blue as the clearest sky and the face of an angel.  In his face she could see his goodness, his honesty, his purity of heart, and immediately she loved him.

“My dearest princess,” he said, “I have come for you.”

He embraced her in the light of the setting sun and bore her down to his steed.  They took off across the fields to his great kingdom where they lived happily ever after.

Sex
 
I imagine I’ll crave the taste of you, traces of your skin and mouth left on the back of my tongue like the after-effects of an acid hit.  Addicted.  

You call to me, large hands curled over my neck and back with smudges of sweat sliding beneath your fingertips.  The skin of our stomachs pressed together, sticking with the humid dampness, and your mouth finds mine.  Hold me on top of you and love me with slow, gentle touches, breathing hot in my ear.  Don’t stop.  Mutter my name into the darkness.  I want you.  Don’t stop.

Or

You hold my wrists up over my head with your firm hands, your body heavy over mine.  Pressing down.  Go down on me hard and fast, until you feel me shuddering there, wetness on your face.  I pull against your hands, want to reach for you, to touch you, to feel you with me.  Don’t move, you say, you don’t need to move.  Too-passive ecstasy.

Or

You press your fingernails hard into my skin, dragging down the length of my arms.  Blood -- my blood on your hands and it hurts, God, it hurts.  Stop.  Please stop.  I pull myself away.  You smile at me, pulling me back, and then you push into me.  Come on, you say as you kiss me.  I melt into the taste of you.  Come on.  Your opened hand up, and swiping down, hard against my swollen cheek.  Come on, you know you like it.  Your mouth on mine again, I am liquefied.  You know you like it.  But oh, it hurts.  Don’t answer.  

I love you.  Why?  I have no choice.

Make-believe (childhood)

When I was a girl I dreamed of a white weddings with pink roses that didn’t have thorns.  No thorns so they wouldn’t prick people.  The groom a handsome prince, tall and muscular with a square chin and perfect eyes and a good, kind heart.  A fucking John Travolta look-alike in a tux, waiting for me to walk up in my virgin’s white dress.  Long courtship, short engagement.  Love him because he’s perfect and wonderful and treats me right.  I read fairytales then.

Illusions melted with white dresses.  I don’t know white anymore.  I know green and black and shades of grey.  Fairytales weren’t meant for you, I hear.  They weren’t.  I would have broken out of the tower and killed the dragon myself.  

The Oracle said, you will love this one.  This One.  

I dreamed last night that I was marrying you who looked like John Travolta.  I wore a white dress but the roses were red.  You pulled one out of the bouquet and its thorns pierced your soft palm, blood dripping down your sleeve.  I woke up.

So I wait.  You will come and I will love you.  Unconditionally.  No matter who you are.  I will love you.  The tower princess never gets to choose her prince, anyway.  Who are you?

Show me
 
I’ll want to pin you against the wall, your chest driven against the cold metal and to hold you there with the force of my body until I feel you gasp for breath beneath the pressure.  Your face will be turned away from mine, cheek smothered against the metal and you’ll cringe as my hand falls firmly to your shoulder.  My chest will be crushed against your back and I push harder.

Goddammit, Trinity.  Your forced voice.

My lips close to your ear.  Show me.  A thin growl on my tongue.

I’ll want to reach inside you, down your throat and into you until I can find what you are.  To know we are one and that you are enough for me – that you can stand across from me and say we deserve each other.  I’ll want to make you feel the weight and the need and the will and the soul of the entire person that I am.  I’ll want to know I can’t break you.  Show me.  I’ll squeeze your shoulder just below your neck, desperate.  Show me.  Where is your glistening armour, your shining sword?  Is there a snow-white steed waiting for us out in the cold sewer?  Your fingers will reach to touch my other hand.  I’ll catch them and hold them tightly, crushed in my grip.  

Trinity – Your full voice.

Show me.  My voice cracking, lips coming to your neck just above the collar of your sweater.  I’ll kiss you there, open mouth and moving tongue, feel myself doused in the trip.  I’ll want to make you understand everything, about how your faceless image haunted me during hours of late watch, how you visited me in my sleep for years before I knew you and how I would wake tangled in sweaty sheets.  How I would shower to wash away the traces of you that had never actually been there.  I’ll want to make you remember the time we spent together before we even met.  I’ll want you to prove that you were there, that it was in your head as well as mine.  I’ll want you to prove that you know what it’s like to feel that you didn’t really spend the night alone.  If the mind truly makes it real then I’ll have made love to you countless times before I ever met you.  A faceless you that was you nonetheless.  Show me, I’ll whisper, mouth touching your earlobe.  Will you reach back to hold me?

Show you what? Sounding choked, like you might cry.

-- why I feel this way that knots me up inside and pulls until it tears and hurts and why your touch is death and birth at the same time and why the hell it should be you of all people, why you when I didn’t get to choose and why I love you and would I love you if I didn’t have to and would it still make me feel full and empty and giddy and sad  and tingly and numb at the same time like the rough edge of a whisper or the promise of an unanswered question and how you make me want to tell you all the things that I don’t tell anyone but the words are too tangled to shape in my mouth and I --

Show me, I’ll sob, my voice heavy.  Show me