not a love story. {dreamnotfound}

three.

wow i'm on a role right now haha
i'll probably take a little break as i have uploaded three times this week already along with four short stories
ahhh
anyways enjoy!!

So without further adieu...
I present to you,
Lovely Lies.

George pulls back. This can't be happening. It just can't.

"No."

"No . . .?" Dream echos and it's almost as if he's never heard such a word before.

"No," George repeats. "You can't. You can't say that stuff." And it's in that moment he sees for the first time how hurt Dream actually is, but he can't do this. This is all an act. And attempt to pry at his emotions and tear him down. He knows better. Right? "You don't know what you're talking about."

"What?" Dream looks astonished at the harsh words coming from George's words. "I don't think you can tell me how I feel, George," they suddenly snap.

The brunette pulls away from their hold and for a second he thinks they won't let go. That he's pushed them over the edge and his life is on the verge of death. But maybe he deserves it. Maybe it was all too good to be true in the first place — it was too good to be true.

"Dream." He starts out slowly. "Let go of me, please." And something must click in the blonde's head because they immediately do and as soon as George is free, he's turning around and swimming back to the edge of the pool, pulling himself out, and leaving a heart shattering sight within it — a broke broke boy. He hears them calling his name but he can't bare turn around, because if he does, he knows he'll be trapped forever. And he hates himself for it. That he has such little control over his emotions.

He wants to hold them and tell them he's sorry, but he just can't. This type of behavior is not prohibited amongst teachers and their students. He could be putting his whole life in jeopardy just for swimming with the other. But in many ways, he doesn't care about that at all. Maybe he never has. Maybe it's just the constant fear of abandonment that poisons the thoughts that flow through his mind, the feeling that nothing can ever last . . .

~~

He lies in bed. The only sounds audible being the hum of the generator, the rain on the window creating small plinks, and the sound of his unsteady breathing. He blinks. It's real. He's awake.

It's been three days since George has last seen Dream — seen anyone for that matter. His phone buzzes constantly but he can't bring himself to answer, he can't bring himself to fall into that state of misery. But in many ways maybe he already has. He's torturing himself. Taking away the things he cares for most. And he can't do anything to change it; all because he's selfish. As much as he wants to feel that hurt again — that fresh sting — he also just wants to be held and told that he's loved.

Over the past couple days, he's been in and out of a conscious mind state. It all seems to be getting much worse lately. He sleeps so often and can barely tell the difference between fiction and reality. It's genuinely starting to scare him and he can't help but cry because of it. He's cried so much lately that the corners of his eyes now burn with an everlasting pain — that it feels odd to not have constantly damp and slightly flushed cheeks. Maybe he can't cry anymore. Maybe he's allowed himself to run dry. Maybe he'll whither up and disappear much as a flower does when it hasn't gotten its nutrients — the thing that keeps it alive. Maybe then they'll see; they'll see how much he truly hated — despised — himself.

There's a knock at his door and George already knows before opening, as to who it'll be; so he ignores them. He ignores them and wishes for them to just give up and leave. Leave forever. Leave him in his apartment where he can just be alone. Where he can just die.