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She lay awake that night. Her eyes were latched onto the popcorn style ceiling, but that wasn't what she was seeing. Her vision was blurred as a familiar memory played out within her head. She was eight. She had finally convinced her mother to get her an easel and paint set. She had been dying to start painting after doing it in art class and her friend had shown her how to paint a simple, cartoon style mushroom. Present Danielle turned onto her side, blowing her thick hair from her face. Her bed wasn't as comfortable as she remembered, and her pillows were sort of flat, but she refused to complain. She was just happy to be back, although it wasn't what she had envisioned. Her eyes focused back on those thin, white curtains as a smile overtook her features.
She could see young Danielle setting the easel up beside that window, the curtains drawn and pinned back. The sun was hanging high in the sky, giving her blank canvas a new light to work with. "There are some ground rules, Danny," her mother began, setting the utensils on the girl's desk. "No painting on the walls. No painting on furniture. Paint stays on the canvas. Understood?" Little Danielle bounced with excitement as her braided her slapped against her yellow shirt. "Yes, Mama!" she chirped. She had already taken a thin paintbrush and was dying to dip into the red color to begin her mushroom. Karen stood there silently with a grin. But that all vanished when Danielle's attention was torn away by the incessant snoring from around her.
Maybe that was one thing she didn't miss. Her eyes moved away from the curtains to focus on the clock sitting beside her table. Go to sleep, she mentally told herself. The brunette rolled back over in bed and buried her arms beneath her pillows. The duvet rested beneath her nose, her right foot exposed and resting over the comforter. She allowed her eyes to flutter closed until she felt herself dive into Dreamland.
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Chapter Four: "NIGHTMARES" ┗━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┛
It was dark, and the couch Dean had crashed on had lost all comfort. The aroma within the room was hideous, radiating a stench he couldn't figure out. "Sammy?" he grumbled, shocked to notice the volume of his voice. It was light, and wavered like he wasn't actually there. He must have been dreaming, or drinking. A string of bright lights flickered on one after the other, blinding the male as they danced across the room he was currently in. "Son of a bitch," he hissed, shielding his eyes with his hand. Confused, he pulled his hand closer to his face, noticing the light opacity of his digits. He was definitely dreaming.
