Living Dreams: Taking Over Me

Disclaimer: I do not own anything except Zoe Marks. She is copyright to me and may not be used without my permission.

A/N: This is a sequel to my one-shot story 'A Midsummer's Nightmare'. It is recommended that you read that one first otherwise you won't understand this story. It may or may not become a continuing series. The words in italics are from the song 'Taking Over Me' by Evanescence, as is the title.

~...~ = song lyrics.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

~You don't remember me, but I remember you
I lie awake and try so hard not to think of you
But who can decide what they dream?
And dream I do~

My name is Zoe Marks and I have a problem. Three years ago, when I was only seventeen, I was...raped. But, instead of helping me through it and telling me it wasn't my fault, they locked me away in Westin Hills. They told me I was delusional, that I'd done it to myself. They said that it was all my fault. My fault? Was it really my own doing? Was it really my fault I had attracted the wrong attention? Maybe.

But, I do know why they did it. It was him. They were afraid of him; afraid of what could happen. When they'd found me, bleeding and giggling like a lunatic in a pool of my own blood on the bathroom floor, my parents were horrified. They'd thought I'd tried to kill myself, but when I told them that he had raped me their faces had hardened, like some big secret had been found out. Then they'd stared at me as if I were crazy, even told me so.

~I believe in you
I'll give up everything just to find you
I have to be with you
To live, to breathe
You're taking over me~

I had tried to tell them, even showed them what he'd written on my stomache, but they wouldn't listen. They were afraid. I'd tried to convince them that Freddy Krueger, a man who'd died long before I was born and tainted the town's past, had raped me in my nightmares. But, who could blame them. I'd have scarcely believed it myself, had I not experienced it first-hand.

But I did. It happened. And now I can't stop thinking about it. About him. The doctors told me I was obsessed. Maybe I am, but who cares? Who cares if my walls are covered in pictures and paintings of him? Who cares if I think about him every waking second? Who cares if it's driving me insane? Who cares? Maybe I am obsessed.

~I look in the mirror and see your face
If I look deep enough
So many things inside that are just like
You are taking over~

But, they didn't care. They were just afraid. So, they'd pumped me full of drugs, prevented me from dreaming, kept me away from him. I hated it. I hated them. I hated the doctors who'd created Hypnocil.

Hypnocil. I hate it. They would pump me so full of that shit that I'd wander my room in a trance for days and weeks on end. I'd even slipped into a coma once. I could still hear them, though. They had wanted to keep me this way, but my parents refused. So they'd helped me to awaken from my drug-induced coma and reduced my dose.

~I believe in you
I'll give up everything just to find you
I have to be with you
To live, to breathe
You're taking over me~

Then came the therapy.

I played along with their psychobabble bullshit, hoping that if I appeared to be getting better, that they'd let me leave. I stopped talking about him, never mentioned his name again, though I did still think of him every waking moment. I also stopped drawing and painting him. It was driving me insane, but it was all worth it. After six months of intensive therapy I was released.

Three years of my life was wasted away in that hellhole, but soon I'd be able to see him again. After three excruciating years of torment, I'd be able to see my beloved once more.

~Taking over me
You're taking over me
Taking over me
Taking over me~