polaroid angel - dreamnotfound

˖⋆࿐໋₊ 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘺-𝘧𝘪𝘷𝘦

i walk down the flight of stairs, anxiously checking my phone over and over. dream's contact stares back at me every time i glance at the screen. he texted me just minutes after i'd woken up, asking if i was up for eating brunch with him. despite the events of last night i politely accepted. how could i ever turn down an offer to be with dream?

maybe it's naive of me to think he'd want to have a serious talk. judging by his actions last night.. he isn't ready to. he opened himself up to me, showed me more flaws than ever before, and shut that door again. i'm left wondering if what he said was true.

of course i don't doubt the childhood part, but what he said after that? it haunts me. my brain's been trying to dissect it ever since, without letting me rest. i think i managed to get an hour or two of sleep, not more.

he claimed that i don't know him, or 'the real him', at least. that he's nothing like what he appears to be. that the drugs help him create distance from the part of himself that he hates so much. it's got me worried out of my mind. he's so deep in denial that i'm afraid he'll never get out.

though, it could've all been disorganized thoughts. he was coked up and reliving the darkest moments from his past. it makes sense that he'd ramble on about anything and everything, true or not. at least that's what i'd like to believe.

i'm hoping i can talk some sense into him today, make him reconsider going into to rehab and therapy. when the booze and drugs disappear, his depression and anxiety will come knocking on the door. no, they won't knock, they'll kick it down. and someone needs to be there for him in those times, someone more than just little me. i'll be by his side and love him to death, but i can't get rid of his demons.

the chilly air hits my bare legs as soon as i step outside. my skirt is a little longer today, ending just above my knees, but the pesky cold still bothers me. i won't be surprised if dream comments on the disappointing new length. the shorter the skirt, the better it is, according to him. usually i wholeheartedly agree.

i can't count the amount of times regular chores have turned into sex. one of my favorite things to do to tease him is bend over excessively whenever i'm picking stuff up or cleaning the floor. sometimes i even drop items on purpose just to do it. he knows when i'm messing with him, and he loves seeing me act up.

he'll come from behind and press himself against me, grinding until i beg him for more. i think he's fucked me on every single surface, every piece of furniture around the apartment by now. he fucked me on the kitchen counters more than once, on the couch, on the coffee table in the living room, on his desk, in the shower, up against the wall, in his office chair, on the side table in the hallway... the list goes on.

my eyes scan the immediate area for his black bmw. i spot it a few rows away, parked behind a smaller honda civic. my heart does its thing, although it's more out of nervosity this time.

i approach the passenger side and knock on the window so he can let me in. he smiles brightly at me as the doors unlock.

"good morning honey.."

as soon as i've sat down he dives in for a quick little peck. it's almost bittersweet to me.

"good morning," i reply. the smile won't quite reach my eyes.
"did you sleep well?" he wonders.
"i barely slept at all."

and when i did sleep i dreamt about your pale, lifeless body, spread out on the floor and surrounded by bottles and ziplock bags.

he doesn't respond straight away. now's my chance.

"can we- can we talk about last night?"
"what about last night?"

dream turns defensive mode on immediately.

"everything!" i exclaim, "your relapse, your confessions, all of that!"

i probably shouldn't raise my voice at him, but i can't help it. i'm no longer in control. the million questions spinning inside of my head are.

"i've already told you all about it."
"no! you just made me even more worried. what do you mean when you say that i don't know you? that you hate yourself? just- please.."
"i-"

he shrugs, avoiding my gaze.

"i don't know. can't we just go and find somewhere to eat now?"
"dream, no," i push, "i need answers, it's killing me! i just want you to be okay!"

i must seem like a clingy, controlling, pushy mess right now, but i couldn't care less. we have to clear things up, he has to get help. i can't ignore our problems forever.

"there's nothing more to be said!" he shouts back at me, starting the engine and switching from neutral.
"yes there is! you're hiding so much shit for me, it's like i don't know a damn thing about you! don't you trust me? i've said i won't judge you, yet you keep every little secret from me!"

he's about to pull out of the parking spot when our eyes meet. he looks more scared than angry if i should be honest. but his pupils, aren't they a little..?

"stop the fucking car!" i scream, scrambling to try and turn it off. in a panic i manage to pull the parking break. now we're not going anywhere.

"woah, calm down.." he mutters.
"calm down? you're high dream, you're fucking high!" i ramble, "and you drove here! you could've crashed, you could've died! you could've killed someone! you- you could've killed me if i didn't stop you!"

"well, nothing happened-"
"what do you mean, 'nothing happened?' do you not give a shit anymore? don't you care about me?"
"george, don't say that," he pouts, "of course i care about you! i love you."

"doesn't seem like it," i spit, the fury in me rising, "and don't give me those puppy eyes. just- fuck off, dream. fuck off."

i swing the door open, climbing out of his car. my head hurts from our short argument. emotions are spilling over, creating tsunamis in my mind. i can't think straight. just as i'm about to dive for the entrance to my apartment building, i'm stopped by a hand tugging at me.

"george!" he chants, "please don't leave me.."

in the blink of an eye he has me pinned against the metal, my thin wrists helpless and struggling in his grip. our lips are so close, too close.

"don't touch me!" i whimper, twisting and trembling under his control.

he lets me go after that warning, but doesn't move. i feel so small and vulnerable when he towers over me like this.

"please, just... we don't have to talk, just kiss me," he whispers, his hot breath hitting my face. it's not comforting, not sexy like usual. it only leaves me in a state of sudden panic.

and that's when i realize. i'm just one of his many drugs. i'm like a bottle to him, like just another line, another pack. i'm part of the problem. and i need to stay away.

"i'm done," i declare, pushing him away, "i'm fucking done with this."
"george-"
"i've had enough. get your shit sorted out."

this time he doesn't chase after me when i storm off. puddles of water on the ground splash when i carelessly step in them. my pulse is racing, but i pay no mind.

i throw one last glance at him over my shoulder.

you're so beautiful, i love you so much.

"i don't even know your fucking name!"