hopeless purpose (dreamnotfound)

separation; suffocation

a/n: everything in this chapter is taking place at the same time as the last two, except now it's dreams pov! meaning, the last time he saw george or any of his friends was at the arcade hours ago. i think it's made pretty obvious, but just to be safe i wanted to clarify that his character is unaware of anything from the last two because it's happening at the same time.

antsy fingers tapped nervously against cheap blue plastic. the twinging smell of synthetic cleaners, rusted metals, and polished countertops consumed the stale walls. dream's eyes darted around the bustling hallways, constantly filtering in new sets of faces.

some faces were aged and business-like, paired with pencil skirts and thick wire framed glasses. some were stern and cold looking, wearing tan uniforms adorned with a multitude of aggression spiked weapons. some looked frazzled and out of place with their arms full of piling paperwork. some wore uniforms of orange and handcuffs of silver to represent their forlorn, guiltily charged expressions. dream's however, was found in a waiting area atop of an uncomfortably firm plastic chair, exuding an angry, impatient, and nervous energy through the nonstop tapping of his hands and feet.

just then, a door swung open. there'd been many false alarms to each of which dream's head would go shooting upwards, and then droop back down. but this time it didn't. this time he didn't bother to look up until a cautious, raspy voice rang out across the room. a voice he recognized as his mother.

"clay?"

young, hurt green eyes met with aged, remorseful ones. he noticed the outfit she was sporting as she stood in the doorway with her cuffs being unlocked. a knitted green sweater that hung loosely off of one shoulder, some baggy, faded sweatpants from goodwill, and short, tattered ugg boots that had seen better days. the obsession with sweaters- just one of the many traits that dream had reluctantly picked up on from his mom. (though he did love a good sweater)

dream slowly rose to his feet, licking his lips nervously as he tried to internally decide what emotions he was mostly feeling at the moment. was he mad at her for constantly getting into this shit and for inadvertently making him take care of it? was he glad to see his mother for the sole purpose that she birthed him, and it'd been a while? should he be sad that he was dealt such poor cards in life, knowing that this wasn't the first, nor would it be the last time he'd be sitting in this waiting area?

he didn't know how to feel. so instead, he just walked out of the building and let his mom decide whether or not she was going to follow.

she did. he heard the subtle drag of feet behind him as he walked down the pavement with determination is his step. he'd come to the executive decision to not let his mom in this time. every time she comes back to them, she apologizes and makes false promises, which he always lets himself believe in. over time though, he's learned that she won't change at all. she'll always just be a shitty person, and that was a hard pill to swallow. no child wants to grow up thinking their parents are bad people, and dream was no exception to that, but he has to swallow the pill eventually, otherwise it'll simply stay lodged in his throat and cause him unnecessary pain.

he could see out of the corner of his eye that his mom was fidgeting with her sleeves and picking apart at her hands. drista had picked up that anxious habit from their mom as well. he wouldn't give in to her sad looks though. he had to accept that this was all part of her manipulation tactics. 'don't look at her clay.' he reprimanded himself.

a scared, squeaky voice spoke into the dense silence as they walked. "you been doing okay?"

'stop. don't respond.'

a few beats of nothing but the sound of footsteps passed. another pointless attempt at repairing the never-ending cycle of reopening wounds rang out. "you meet anyone new recently?"