Ruth has a past, like all children who grow up in the mafia.
Perhaps this is what makes them so similar; the neglect, the abuse, it's what intertwines their souls. It's the reason Angelo is drawn to Ruth. You could even say it's the reason he's obse...
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!Sexual assault and anxiety attack trigger warning! (Be aware of your triggers plssss!) -----------------------------
This time I know it's a dream. This time I never suffer in the false reality of the fake realness that my dreams usually consist of.
It's so fŭcking tantalizing, like sleep paralysis, only without the strange demons that visit you in those dreams; my own personal consciousness has decided to bring hell to me, instead of bringing me to hell. The depths of which I have control are not without binds, there's nothing I can do in the dream except passively survey my own body as well as my own mind. Dreams never fail in taking away every ounce of control I have left; I'm simply meant to sit there and watch, like a captive in their own torture.
I know it's my consciousnesses way of working out it's problems, but it seems to always have the opposite effect on me.
It starts off tantalizingly good and pure. Angelo and I sit at the top of that strange storage building roof, we look into eachothers eyes so naively. Like two teenagers about to fall in love. He reaches for my face, swiping the pad of his thumb across my lips and I look down shyly with a hesitant smile on my face. But then things take a turn for the worst, Angelo gets sad, really sad, and by no means of my own, he puts both his legs over the railing and he turns back to me, a twisted smile lays on his face. "This is all your fault you know." He says, touching his hand to my cheek one last time.
I widen my eyes as he stands up on the railing looking off into the distance.
I try to stop him, I really do, but it's no use. He reaches for my hand as he falls from the roof a blank smile crosses his lips as he pivots to the ground. I never get to see him hit the concrete because--luckley--my sleepless ears hear the subtle sound of people laughing as they walk by the cabana and my eyes fly open.
My heart is practically beating out of my chest. It's like a sleep induced anxiety attack. The dream was so real, my mind couldn't decipher the truth from the horrific fantasy and before I could even stop it, my consciousness sent me into overdrive from the perceived threat.
I find myself in the same position as last night. In between his legs lying on his chest as I'm lifted slightly by his breathing pattern, but now my eyes are wide open and my pale hands are scrunching up his white shirt in a vice grip.
I feel Angelo stiffen under me. "Are you alright?" He says in his gruff morning voice. His concerned eyes hold contact with my frightened ones. I splay my fingers over his heart trying to feel the beat.
He's breathing. He's alive. It was just a dream.
Angelo sits us both up, taking my body in his lap. "Look at me." I don't. I can't. My breathing is too out of control. I'm gasping for air like I need an inhaler.
