It Wasnt My Fault (DNF)

Part 2: Chapter 48

Dream pov

I was sat on the couch in the living room, flipping through the channels aimlessly and waiting for George to return from the store.

He always went out on Saturdays, and since it was three days since we'd done my birthday celebration, he was due for shopping once more.

Even though he hadnt been gone for long, I still missed him.

But I missed him for a different reason than his presence being absent.

I missed the sparkle in his eyes that had been alight only a few days ago.

I missed the happiness his face would shine with whenever he heard me say that I loved him.

Now my words seemed to brush across his mind meaninglessly, leaving him unfazed.

It hurt me, but I would never show.

Just like I didnt show my torturers.

It was the same.

I was the same.

Despite me learning to put my past behind me, old habits die hard, and these ones never did.

That's why I still wanted to die sometimes, to kill them off.

I didnt want my every action and instinct to be that which was ingraved into my souls when I lived in the basement.

It broke me and my facade at times.

George would never know about the silent sobs I cried at night, fighting the tears that stung my eyes with the threat of falling or the cries that begged to be released from my throat, ripping at my lungs as they let out short exhales of breaths akin to crying.

He would never know that I cried for him.

I cried because his soul had been sold from heaven into a life of lies, that he couldnt even tell his most beloved the truth.

And he had to become numb to the fact.

He had told so many lies in his life and kept the truth so close to his chest that it had become his personality so much so that when he was finally exposed, his past exploited, he became motionless, expressionless.

Not privy to the world's extravagance.

The fact alone made me wage a constant war on my instinct to open up and trust the people around me.

It was so hard, everyone I'd met since I'd escaped was a con, a farce.

At least the people from my childhood were transparent about who they were.

Monsters.

I frown, realizing my own thoughts and the dark turn they'd taken.

Thoughts like these made it almost impossible for me to tell my own mind's whispers from the hissing of the ghost that haunted me.

I hadnt heard from my mother's ghost in so long.

I was glad.

I wasnt missing anything.

But I was also scared.

Scared because I knew that with one mishap, with one setback, her voice would take over.

I flicked the television to Tom and Jerry, rubbing my hands over my face in an attempt to wipe away the negative thoughts nagging at me for my attention.

I shake my head, my blonde curls hanging low over my eyes.

Standing up, I hear footsteps sound in the hallway, undoubtedly Astro's from the way his feet sound bare once again.

I cringe, upset to an extent once more with his lack of footwear.

It didnt disgust me, I just knew how uncomfortable it was to feel the burning cold floor against your bare skin or to step in water with nothing to protect your heels.

I shudder, shaking the thought off once more.

I rise to my feet, walking to the kitchen, away from the barefooted man.

I began looking around, opening and closing the cabinets and fridge several times, not hungry enough to be searching for something to eat, but overwhelmed enough to need a distraction.

I needed to keep my hands busy to fight the stiff statue-like posture that was trying to overtake my body, pouring a cement of invulnerability over my limbs against my consent.

I didnt want to be invincible to all the feelings that it was possible I might feel for fear that one of them might negative.

Astro walks into the kitchen behind me, leaning on the archway of the room, staring at me inquisitively.

"You good?" he asks, and I turn to look at him against his wishes.

He was dressed in black jeans and a hoodie, his average work attire.

I cringe once more as my eyes roll over his bare feet.

Youre going to get soggy toes." I say, attempting to change the subject, to avert his attention from my vulnerability.

""I dont care. It's never happened before, why would it happen now?" he answers arrogantly, taking a glass of water out of one of the cabinets that hung open from my rampage of its contents.

"Now, what's up?" he asks, gesturing to me with a now-full glass of water.

I shrug, matching his nonchalant posture. "What's it to you."

He gives me a deadpanned expression, sighing, a silent prod to speak and let down on my obnoxious stubbornness.

"Just overthinking. Got overwhelmed. Needed to move, I guess." I say, my posture sagging, my words defeated.

"You'll be fine, Clay." he says, making me grimace.

He wasnt my friend, but I hated being called by the name I'd given myself.

It reminded me of my dependent and oppressed times in life.

I didnt want him to call me Dream, but my record name made me want to punch him.

I looked him in the eye, my jaw clenched and eyes cold.

His face was bruised, a lasting scar of George's rain of abuse, and his hair was tangled, a choice, but only adding to his disheveled look.

He looks guilty, probablyy realizing my distaste for the name.

In an instant, any sense of apathy on his face is gone, replaced with a unfazed look, as though he didnt care about a thing in the world, a contrast to the way he was when speaking about his times with Ken.

"Fine, I wont call you that if you dont want." Setting down his cup, still half-full, he walks out of the kitchen, calling his final words to me as he walks away.

"Im headed to work. Tell George when he gets back. And stay out of my room."

His last sentence was one that was out of the ordinary, uttered as an afterthought and full of hesitance.

It only piqued my interest.

Alrighty, so I almost got heatstroke today...

See, I was walking to my community college's rec center bc my siblings are bitches and never let me focus, so I decided to go there for quiet. I, being the absolute dumbass I am, decided to go in an oversized hoodie and long pants... which wouldn't be a problem if I didnt live in mid southern America... WHERE SUMMER IS A BITCH... and probably not a good addition that I have asthma that I could have easily spiked... but I'm fine and you guys have a new chapter. Win-win?

Anyway, I'm another chapter closer to the end of this book.

It will be finished by today literally if it's the last thing I do.

You guys are great, you deserve the best, and I have a new story that I'm really excited about!

This one wont be angsty, tho. My penance for how apparently angst I've made this one...

Much luv to you all... 🫶

I'll keep writing...

12230 words.