hopeless purpose (dreamnotfound)

preparations

tw:// mention of substance usage

neither george nor dream fell asleep that night. both too caffeinated from their late night hot chocolates and energized from the cold november air.

both minds were far too full of swarming thoughts to even begin to relax for long enough and drift into unconsciousness. so the only option was for each of them to sit alone with their thoughts, impatiently awaiting the time they'd next see each other, which happened to be very soon.

george decided to keep on what he was previously wearing, despite the fact that his hoodie now reeked of cigarettes. he made his way over to his bathroom to splash cool water on his face while studying his features in the vanity.

the body in the mirror wasn't his own. it couldn't possibly be. the body in the mirror looked barely alive with deep under eye bags turning the once honey brown orbs into dull, lifeless ones. eyes that looked beyond tired with a deep frown to match.

george turns his head from side to side cautiously, while performing a staring contest with his own reflection, as if he'd catch it in the act of lagging behind, or doing something out of the ordinary.

but it didn't. as much as he felt disconnected from the body in the mirror, it appeared to belong to him. or had grown very talented at mimicking.

placing his palms onto the white countertop, george slowly leaned forwards, face now inches away from the mirror, and flashed it a cheesy, cheshire grin. staring holes into his own teeth, taking special notice the slight gap between the front two, or the way they'd yellowed ever so slightly from his incessant smoking.

the sight of it makes him nearly gag in disgust. he hastily brushes his teeth to rid himself of the gross feeling, but he knows his efforts will result as futile as soon as he inhales his next cloud of smoke.

now stepping back, he spritzes himself with one, two, three sprays of his blue glass bottled cologne.

deciding that was as good as he'd get, he exits his bathroom and heads into his kitchen down the stairs. his nose instantly tingling with a mixture of bitter coffee, whiskey, cigarettes, and an undertone of febreeze, fresh linen air freshener that his dad sprays in attempts to seem more put together. however, no amount of cheap sprays would be able to cover the stench that had sealed itself into the brown couch cushions that haven't been cleaned in over ten years.

the quiet pitter-patter of paws hitting the stained linoleum flooring fills george's ears, as he turns in time to see his cat exiting his father's bedroom door.

george doesn't see much of his dad; always either out working or doing god knows what, either that, or knocked out on xanax's he needs to calm himself. believe it or not, they're legally prescribed to him by a psychiatrist. as for what psychiatrist decided that was a good idea- george will never understand.

on the rare occasion that george interacts with his father, he's quite the neurotic man. always panicking about something, getting on george's back for something he apparently did wrong, or frantically saying that he can't deal with the added stress of being around his son at the moment, which is assumingly all the time.

george has grown used to it over the years though. sometimes it hurts that he doesn't have a father figure, or at least that he has a piss-poor excuse for one, but he's learned to get over it. tried to see the good in it, that at least it helped him get away with doing whatever he wanted.

and it wasn't all bad. most of the time, his father still made sure there was food on the table, or at least attempted to. he never did know how to spend money very wisely which led them to end up with broken, rusted appliances and a house full of grime, but it was admittedly somewhat nice that george got to endulge in fast food nearly every night.

his father never cooked, that was always something his mother enjoyed doing for them, and george wasn't entirely sure if the man even knew how, but he couldn't deny his enjoyment of the pre-packaged big macs that he'd come home to on most nights.

deep down, george would like to believe that his father still cares, and that maybe one day his dad that he'd grown up with would come back to him. though over time, his chances only seem to get slimmer.

opening up the cabinet below the sink, george pulls out a large, but nearly empty bag of cat food that he mentally notes to get more of later on. filling up the small metal bowl, he bends down to gently stroke his cat's fur. his cat is one of the few things that continues to bring him comfort and an ounce of contentment in his otherwise depressing existence.

now whispering a tiny goodbye to his cat, he begins to gather his things to walk out the door.

he then scouts out the cracked ceramic bowl placed in the center of the kitchen table, one that he'd made years ago as a father's day gift. he grabs out his keys and the white bic lighter, followed by patting his pockets for his phone and cigarettes.

deciding he'd done everything he needed to do, he makes his way out into the driveway, being sure to grab his black bookbag along the way.

with an exasperated sigh, george inserts the keys into the ignition, the car firing up with a low hum, as he waits a moment for the car to warm up. the household actually only had one shared vehicle, but considering that his father was completely knocked out right now, george figured he could get away with taking the car for himself today.

george had been given his own car for his 16th birthday, but his father ended up selling it one day while george wasn't home because they desperately needed the money. so now he was stuck with a dented blue sedan, a partially broken A/C, and a cracked windshield.

george lets the radio music fill his ears and feels his mind begin to wander. he thinks about how odd life is. how just hours ago he had been planning his death, but now he was almost contractually obligated to show up somewhere.

now thinking of it, he could very easily turn the car back around, go with his original plan, and entirely screw his measly promise. he didn't have much time to contemplate that though when the SUV behind him slammed on the horn alerting george that he'd been stalling at a green light.

though he knew he was in the wrong, he didn't appreciate the fact that the older woman behind him had been so aggressive, so he doesn't hesitate to roll down his window and flip her off.

the woman then swerves around george with an obnoxiously loud and overdramatic tire screech, leaving him brooding over society's lack of empathy towards those going through situation's they'll never take the time to understand.

minutes later, george pulls up into his school parking lot, dreading having to be stuck in this rancid building for another 7 hours, and especially for having to deal with clammy, arrogant teenagers.

however, his internal complaining ceases when brown eyes spot a tall, blonde headed boy with headphones in, that happens to already be sitting at the front entrance tables. the blonde was twiddling his thumbs in his lap, with his feet turned inwards towards each other at an awkward angle, which all created for an image just exuding social anxiety.

with a light laugh at the pathetic sight, and pulling the keys from the ignition, george prepares to start his next shitty day.

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A/N: this is literally me just projecting my family life into a character
(1325 words)