Cliché with a player

Chapter 23 - I can't just wake up

We are back at home in our house. And I mean our house, as the house where I lived with my mom, dad and Andrew my whole life.

Everything it's kind of blurry, like I'm going to pass out or something — the world doesn't seem real.

My dad barges into the living room, taking my mom by the upper arm and lifting her up. Fear is written all over her face, as she looks at me and gestures for me to leave. But I can't move, so I stay put.

Suddenly, dad throws her on the ground and starts beating her up to the point where she is barely conscious. The air smells of that metallic scent of blood.

I want to scream, push my dad away, save mom, but it's like my body isn't in my control anymore and I can't even speak.

In only a moment my mom is lying still on the floor and my dad is getting up, his eyes resting on her still body. He then lifts his gaze at me and moves closer.

~~~

I scream bloody murder and wake up, still in Matt's bed, his figure lying next to me. The fear lifts me on my feet and I scramble out of the bed, tangling in the sheets in the process and loudly falling on the floor. I can't calm down, I feel like I am suffocating.

"Laken!"

Matt is by my side in a second and tries to comfort me, but all I see is my father beating my mother to death. It's an image, that doesn't leave my sight.

It takes a moment for me to realise that Andrew is also in the room now. He must've came in later at night. He is standing by his bed, frozen in place.

"Laken," Matt tries again and this time I look up at him. His eyes are drowning in worry, desperate to help me.

I get on my feet and grab the sheets from the floor in my hands.

"Yes?"

"What, yes? You just woke up screaming!"

"Oh, that. I'm fine now."

I wouldn't even believe myself.

I look over at my brother, who is standing by his bed, completely still, with a pained expression on his face. Like he knows something and can't say what.

"You're fine now?!"

Matt grabs me by my shoulders and turns me around. His eyebrows are scrunched together, his eyes desperate for truth — but the truth sounds ridiculous and unreal. How can I have a dream about my dad killing my mom, so realistic dream, if I've never witnessed anything of sort?

"Laken, talk to me. What happened? You know you can tell me anything, right?"

His thumb gently strokes my chin.

I nod, because I don't know what else to do.

"Tell me," he says that like my brother isn't even the room, "what did you dream about?"

His eyebrows relax, his gaze completely softens, it's like he becomes a whole other person. It's kind of nice to see him care about me so much.

I take a deep breath — he knows so much about me so far, why not add murderous dreams on the list too. I look at the floor.

"I-I dreamed...I had a dream about..."

Why is it so hard to say it? Because it sounds absurd just saying it in my head, let alone out loud.

Neither Matt nor Andrew push me, they let me come around at my own pace. Matt's thumb is still stroking my chin and it's oddly calming and encouraging.