Long a/n at the end :)
Gerard;
I open my eyes as quick as possible, removing the dream from my vision. My arms, chest, and face are covered in a sticky coat of sweat and my breathing is uneven. Why did I dream that?
I flip through my memory, remembering what I can of the dream. It's so... odd. One minute, he's just fine. The next, he doesn't have eyes.
Who the fuck dreams about that? About the guy they like turning into that?
I reach over and turn on the lamp on my night table. I grab my journal off the top of the table and the pen from beside the notebook. I need to write this down before I forget it. It's interesting, it's weird, creepy.
I click the pen and flip to a clean page, writing down the entry like I always do. Then, I spend twenty minutes filling the page with details from my dream, what I can remember anyways.
As I write, the different scenarios appear in the back of my mind, making me feel like I'm reliving the dream. The dim lights, the damp room, the mildewy smell, the broken furniture. I can't shake the eery feeling that's overwhelming my body, I almost feel like breaking down in tears.
After I finish up the description of the dream, I lay the notebook and pen back down and get back under my covers. Let's hope I can actually sleep after that.
*
Waking up feeling more tired than you did falling asleep is never a good sign. You'll just be exhausted all day, only thinking about how great it'd feel to lie down and sleep more. That's what happens to me, anyways.
I groggily sit up under my comforter, keeping it pulled up under my chin. Mom just got done telling me to wake up for school and is probably off torturing Mikey. But, I should probably get up and shower, Mom won't be too happy if I stay in here too much longer. She'd probably threaten to get Dad to make me get up. That's never fun; he rips the covers off and drags you off your bed and into the hallway. That's happened to me once, I had carpet burn on my back, it wasn't worth it.
So, I tug the comforter off my body and slowly get my legs over the edge of the mattress and heave myself up, standing. I grab clothes from my closet and throw them onto my bed then walk out, a small wobble to my gait, and make my way down the hall and to the bathroom. I grab a green towel from the cabinet and put it on the towel ring before turning the water on to a relaxing and comfortable temperature.
I reach out from behind the plastic curtain and grab the towel, immediately putting it on my face to remove the moisture. I push the curtain to the side and step out, wrapping the towel around my waist.
What should I do about my, let's say, infatuation with Frank?
I walk to my room, already shivering from how cool the air feels on my wet skin.
Should I leave it alone?
I get to my bed and pick up the clean, black boxers and hurriedly put them on, almost falling to the floor. It's a good thing I have carpeting in here, huh?
Brush it off?
Next I grab my blue jeans, the only pair of non skinny jeans I own. I step into the legs of them and pull them up, fastening the button and pulling the zipper up after getting them on.
Maybe I could ask him on a date, nothing too serious.
Now, I grab my Iron Maiden shirt and slip it on, straightening it out and brushing my hands over the wrinkles.
Well, I could just explain my feelings, right? That can't be a terrible thing.
