gorgeous nightmare » lh ; mc

one

       :: 01 ::

» MICHAEL «

       Life consists of many scary things. Like the constant reminder that everything is temporary and there's no way to change it, or the sound of thunder when it's directly above your head. The scariest of them all, though, is the fact that death is inevitable and I don't have control over when I do die, or how I die, and I won't know it's happening until it happens.

I think my brain can tell what I'm deathly terrified of — see what I did there? — because for the second night in a row I've woken up with my heart racing and my chest heaving and my paranoia being sent through the roof. So far, I've seen myself being pushed off of the very edge of the Earth (wherever that may be), and now, pacing back and forth in my bedroom that's become more like a prison, I'm left to reminisce about the second night that I've seen myself die.

My heart was literally ripped out of my chest. There was no blood. There were no screams. I just sat there and let this...guy do what he did to me. He had the coldest stare I'd ever seen, looking right through me and reaching toward me, and next thing I knew he was walking away with my only source of life held in his hands. Why this utterly terrified me, I have no clue, but all I know is that he was the exact same boy that had been responsible for my last death, in my last nightmare.

I've heard that you only dream of faces you've seen before, even if it were for a single millisecond, they're etched into your brain enough for you to think about them in your sleep. I'm extremely positive that I'd never seen this boy before, being that I don't leave my house unless it's way past midnight and I'm on the verge of hyperventilating from whatever my imbalanced brain had managed to shove into my sleep for yet another night.

I could call Calum, but he's probably asleep and would want to strangle me if I woke him up at two in the morning. There's Ashton, but he's at his girlfriend's and God knows what they're up to. Lia is out of town for the week, so I'm screwed to deal with this alone until morning, or just ignore it for another day until the cycle repeats.

Going back to sleep is never an option, every single noise I hear is going to keep me awake and shaking and thinking the worst. The rustling of the trees outside my window, or the wind blowing—it doesn't matter what it is, my mind will automatically switch to Paranoid Michael Mode and I really don't know how to stop it. So, I guess we brace ourselves for the journey to the kitchen, grab three cups of coffee, and we wait.

            + + +

Walking the streets of Washington D.C., at one in the morning, after having a dream about your own murder really isn't something I recommend for anyone to do. Not when your thoughts are clouded with a guy you've never even seen before, who's been killing you in your dreams for the past two nights, or when there are loud party-goers stumbling along the sidewalk on their way home, making loud and spontaneous laughter while I jump out of my skin.

My feet carried me down the sidewalk, passing the occasional sketchy looking car that didn't really assist in my attempts to stop how badly I was shaking. If I was actually dreaming of death, that must mean it was going to happen—well, of course it's going to, but if I'm thinking about it in my sleep, it's got to be coming for me really, really soon.

I found myself stop in front of one of those twenty-four hour service shops, sighing and deciding I should try and shake this nightmare off, I push the door open quickly and then mentally curse myself for tripping over the entrance way as the welcome bell rang above me.

"Hello," I heard a voice, which I quickly learned belonged to an overworked looking man behind the counter, greet me. I smiled with lips in a tight line and nodded my reply, not sure if I could use my voice without my words coming out tired and strained.