Escaping Reality...With My Enemy

Part XI ~ Fucking Bland

TW: self harm, lime

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*George's POV*

I dragged myself home and after a painful walk, I arrived back around 8 pm. It wasn't super late, but a lot later than I planned. I heard my parents fighting in the kitchen. The usual. I closed the door as quietly as possible then headed upstairs, tiptoeing through the halls.

I collapse on my bed before jolting up from a vibration in my pocket. A reminder on my phone was the culprit. I read it over twice, not believing it. I completely forgot about our tutoring session tomorrow morning before the history test.

Me ~ Hey, don't forget about our session tomorrow morning.

I thought for a second, thinking about what Dream said about my texting behaviors. I could see myself liking shortened words. I edited the text only a little, then pushed send before I could critique myself.

Me ~ Hey, don't forget about our session tmr morning

Dream doesn't respond, but I don't expect him to. I head into the bathroom to take a shower and to hopefully find a way to make my soon-to-be bruises on my face.

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*Dream's POV*

I hover over George's contact wondering if I should call him. It's not like I'm feeling particularly horny or anything... why do I feel the urge to call him? I just want to talk. I also can't shake the feeling that something is wrong. Something doesn't feel right. Why would I call him, though? Because I have a sneaking suspicion that something is wrong? To make sure he's okay? From what? From a feeling I had? Too many questions bubbled up. Why am I thinking about him???

"Dream!" Drista calls from outside my door.

I'm broken out of thoughts. "Huh?"

"Dinner's on the table."

I hear her footsteps recede. I take a deep breath, then head downstairs to see what kind of bland fucking meal we have waiting at the table.

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Spaghetti. We eat fucking bland spaghetti while having the most fucking bland conversation.

Drista nudges my foot under the table. We exchange looks. 'Go ahead' I mouth. I'm ready to play this game again with my parents. We see how long it takes to get a reaction from them. Last night it was my turn so this time Drista needs to say something.

Drista straightens out her voice then says rather loud, "So Simon and I are going to play mini golf after school tomorrow. Just the two of us."

They don't bat an eye. They don't look up from their plates. They. don't. fucking. care.

"I might go over to his house after. Probably going to sleep over." She presses on.

They still don't look up, but my mom says, "Oh, that's great, Drista."

We look at each other again. I give her another nod.

"Yeah, he's great. Did I mention he's my boyfriend?" She pauses. "Can't wait to sleep over at my boyfriend's place." She lets the words hang in the air, stressing each one.

I decide it's time to chime in even though I've already heard this news from her earlier in the week. "That's great, Drista. Isn't it, Dad? Mom? Your teenage daughter sleeping over at her boyfriend's house... probably in the same bed?"

Drista shoots me a look. 'What the fuck??' she mouths.

I shrug. I'm desperate to get something out of them.

"Yeah, it's great. Be safe, Drista," my dad says. That's all. Fucking bland response.

I push myself away from the table with so much force, both the table and my chair shift. As I stand up, my parents finally look up from their plates, staring at me.

"Clay-" my mom starts.

I don't stick around to hear what she has to say. I storm upstairs and into the bathroom. I grab my razor blade that I usually use and turn on the sink for some sort of muffler.

My hand shakes but my eyes are steadily fixed on my arm. I brace for impact, holding my breath, then dragging the blade across my skin. I watched the blood bubble out from the cut, satisfyingly escaping from their prison. I press my lips together and position the blade just above the cut I just made.

Just as I'm about to cut again, George pops in my head. I thought about him for a minute. I couldn't wait to see him tomorrow. I smile just thinking about him smile. His dark eyes are like ecstasy for my brain and body. I could lose myself in them over and over. The way he cares for everyone and the empathy he shows... perfection.

No, no, no, fuck that. I'm not gay! I'm not! Why am I thinking about another boy constantly? Why do I think about his soft skin against my lips, his moans exciting me more than any other person I've been with, his small but perfect ass taking my dick so well, and his big lips around my length, bobbing up and down up and down up and - until I climax, letting my grip on his hair tighten.

I look down and smile guiltily. I've got a problem. I walk stiffly to my room, leaning back on my bed, the get to work, imagining myself with George, his mouth sliding up and down, up and down.