Limitations in Observations / Dreamnotfound

The Facade

   "Sometimes yeah. I think you have good in you." I feel able to be open with him for some reason. He doesn't respond so I continue to avoid the awkwardness, "I want to know you Dream. I want to see the good in you." I roll over to face him. He's on his back and looking at me with his, only what I can assume to be yellow eyes.

   "You can know me. What do you want to know?" He rolls on his side to face me.

   "Favorite color? Mines blue." I say as we make intense eye contact.

   "Green." He answers simply.

   "Aww. I wish I could see that." I say switching to my back and looking up.

   "Are you color blind?" He asks shocked.

   "Yeah. Blue is one of the only colors I can see completely." I look at the computers on the desk and realize it's probably green. "Worst heartbreak?" I ask.

   "Okay I think we're done." He rolls away from me.

   "I was 16 when I came out to my parents. I had my first boy friend. All of my friends were supportive. My parents hated me from then on. Sending me to conversion therapy. I got out as soon as I could. Sad part is the same day my parents told me they could never accept me was the same day my boyfriend broke up with me. I felt so lost then. I felt like I had no one. I always relied on my friends and they became my family. I know you do the tape thing. If we were to record mine I don't know what I would say." I say finishing with a roll over to look away from him.

   "Why are you telling me this George?" He sounds muffled.

   "Because I've never told anyone else. I don't have to be happy when I'm around you. I don't have to act like my life is perfect and I'm so confident in myself. I get to be my washed away full self." I admit.

   "If you're happier being washed away why do you put on the facade?" he tries to problem solve.

   "It's not really a facade. It's who I am. It just feels good to relax away from myself." I don't know how to explain it but it's calming to not have to meet everyone expectations. I mean the murderer isn't going to be mad at me for not being cheerful all the time. "Which you do you prefer?"

   "I don't get what you mean?" He turn to look at me once more.

   "The facade or who you really are?" I continue and I look at him.

   "I'm not sure I know which one is which." We make eye contact as we think about this in our own minds.

   "To me the facade would be how you act in public. When you meet the public's expectations. Then the real you would be this one. Dream." He didn't have to say anything, but I could tell he didn't like his answer.

   "I don't like this me." What if I can help him?

   "Then change." I didn't notice, but we're both talking softer.

   "I don't know how. I don't know if I can. What if this only ends when I do?" For some reason him feeling conflict is breaking my heart. Has he never thought about this before.

   "It doesn't have to. What if you can? I can help you." I try to persuade him.

   "How?" Woah. Is that a glint of hope I see?

   "We can figure it out together." I'm guessing Dream really needed to hear that because he took my hand and held it close to him.

   Me and Dream shared a moment. A genuine wholesome moment. I never pulled away and he never pushed. We were only alone as humans who were a little messed up-some more than others- but ones who were willing to grow. As he held my hand I fell asleep.

   The first person I saw when I woke was Dream as his loud ass alarm kept honking at us. He woke and turned it off. He stretched and looked over at me then to the bathroom. He headed over to his walk in closet.

   "Don't leave this room." An upgrade? I went from don't move to having the room. I take this to my advantage.

    I continue to think about what I said. Could I really help him? I had to choose my priority getting out alive quickly, or helping him? Was he or me more of a priority? I walk over to his desk and look at the picture frame that was faced down. It was broken and the picture had slipped out. It was Dream next to a women in a hospital bed who looked severely beaten. If it wasn't in Dream's room and for the blonde hair I don't know if I would've recognized him either. I turn to the back of the photo where it reads "Clay my strong son, I am so sorry for what you had to go through too. I know you are strong and no matter what you'll be okay. Stay true to who you are, and remember I love you so much. Love always, Mom."

   Before I try to interpret anything Dream shouts from the closet, "They may be a little big, but we can pick up more clothes at your house." He says as he holds a black long sleeve shirt to hide my wounds, black joggers, and a pair of boxer briefs that look too small for him.

   I set down the photo right side up grab the clothes and head to the bathroom. I close the door and stop myself from locking it. I turn on the shower before I do anything else so he has to assume I'm naked no matter what.

   In the shower I think. Who's more of a priority me who has done nothing wrong and just wants out or this crazy murderer who has hurt so many people? Which one do I want to help? He's been through so much. I don't even know who the real victim here is?

Dreams POV

   Doubts have crossed my mind more times than I can count. George only wants to help me so he can get out. He just sounded so genuine and he looked so nice when he said it. He caught me in a moment of weakness, but then again he has been preaching about how helpful he is. He has showed me that he is kind. I trust him.