hopeless purpose (dreamnotfound)

part time lover, full time friend

(if you're wondering then this is the song that they're referring to later in the chapter^^)

"yeah- imagine how i felt when i had to give the baby up john!"

*cue staged backtracking laughter*

"oh miranda don't be so dramatic!"

the tv blares loudly in the living room, flashing veils of color all across the living room, stretching reflections onto the wood floors far enough for dream to see its the same show his parents had been bingeing for the past month.

every night it's the same.

he comes in late or not at all, they turn up the tv.

he trudges down the hall to his room, feeds patches, tucks his sister in, and lays down. the sound of snickering, arguing, or popcorn pulsating against the microwave will eventually stop a few hours later, and that's dream's cue to go back to the living room and clean up.

like clockwork- stack the empty cans, plates, and bottles; throw them in the trash. dump the plastic ash trays by the back door to make sure patches doesn't accidentally get a hold of them, tap out the lit joints usually hanging from each of his parent's lips to prevent starting a fire they can't afford to pay for the damages of, and turn the tv off so drista can finally fall asleep. at this point it's usually around 3 am for dream, but he's not done.

he goes to lock all the windows and doors, shutting the screens of the ones missing their locks, or that were broken long ago without repair. he lays a blanket over his mom's legs as she's always complained of her morning shakiness.

dream knows that it's not from being cold, but if she'd like to pretend it is, then so be it. if the blanket takes her back to her childhood and makes up for the lack of love she was shown, or if it simply just makes her happier to feel a woolen blanket wrapped around her body in the morning despite it's ineffectiveness- then whatever. who was he to rip her of that?

dream had to clean up every night anyway, so it wouldn't pain him too badly to try and make the woman feel like she hadn't entirely made both of her kids hate her.

so all that had to be done and only then could dream shut the door to his own bedroom, sink down into his sheets, and relax.

3 am was around when he usually took his day's first breath of fresh air.

it's at hours like those where he's laying staring up at the ceiling, watching vines from his plants sway in the breeze from his window, just listening to the sounds of the city where he realizes how he's not once in his life ever lived for himself.

he'd never been allowed to be selfish. the money he saves up? goes to his sister mainly and grocery shopping for necessities. his school lunches? they're brought home just in case there's no food in the pantry when he gets back. he tries to not let it get to that point anymore though because he can still recall the time like it was yesterday, where eight years ago, drista's principal had called home voicing concerns of how she never seemed to be eating anything. they worried she was an unhappy little girl; said she never showed a smile at all, and never showed any interest in playing with any of the kids in her class.

she was only 6; dream only 10.

so dream, being the big brother he is and was, picked up the phone and assured the principal there would be a positive change from that day forwards. he neglected to tell the school that he was only her brother, not her parent, but regardless took on the role for them.

he'd signed over his entire life at the age of ten, promising in black ink and manila folder contracts that he would do everything in his power to keep everyone and everything around him afloat, even if it meant he had to drown in the process.