STYLE || Rosalie Hale

14- Nightmare

Before he could even think to himself before he could stop his arm from drawing the face that plagued him, every second, every minute, every hour.

She seemed to make it her mission to make his head hurt.

Damon hated it. He hated her.

She doesn't even know him, and she thought he needed some therapist. He couldn't believe her.

He hated her for the fact that she was right.

His pencil snapped on his page, making him sigh before throwing it in the bin. He stared down at his drawing. She looked beautiful even on his page.

It was like he had drawn this to taunt himself, knowing that he would never be able to look away from it.

But he did. He looked away, having to leave the book in his window and physically move away. Flopping down on his bed, he placed on his headphones that Phill had brought him as a gift for not getting suspended from school for a whole two months.

Phill was always good to them, kind, caring, and not like the others, which was always a good sign. He just ignored the issues between the three kids and their mother because he was too blind to see it.

He concentrated very carefully on the music, trying to understand the lyrics, to unravel the complicated drum patterns. As the songs cycled along his playlist, he managed to hum along softly to the lyrics, already knowing them of by heart.

His little idea worked. The shattering beats made it impossible for him to think, which was the whole purpose of the exercise. He listened to the playlist the songs cycling again and again, until he was singing along with all the songs, until, finally, he fell asleep.

He opened his eyes to a familiar place. Aware in some corner of his consciousness that he was dreaming, he recognised the white lights that shone down. Some seemed to be broken, making it half dark as the brokenlights flickered.. He could see the metal bleachers that were empty, the sounds of the trees whooshing in the distance in the slight breeze. He knew that the sun was trying to fight its way through the trees.

He started to make his way off the middle of the field and towards the bleachers, even dreaming it seemed he hated standing up as well.

As he tried to take a step forward , he was grabbed by someone. Tugging on his hand, dragging back away from the lit bleachers and towards the darkness of the filed was Toby.

Why the fuck was Toby in his dream?

Don't get him wrong. Toby was hot. And maybe he would have tried to get with him in the past, but he had a certain blonde on his mind.

"Toby? What's wrong?" He asked. Toby's face was frightened as he yanked with all his strength against Damon's resistance; he didn't want to go into the dark.

He wondered if he punched Toby, would it hurt him?

"Come on, Damon. We have to run." Toby dragged at him, his voice sounded terrified. As if whatever had happened, it had scared him in ways you wouldn't want to know.

"Why?" He asked, still pulling against Toby's grasp, desperate now to find the brightness of the light again.

But Toby let go of his hand and yelped, suddenly shaking, falling to the dim lacrosse field floor. He twitched on the ground as Damon watched but not on horror. No, it was more of a fascination, wonder.

"Toby?" Damon questioned he moved forward towards the spot the boy just stood, but in his place was something he didn't expect. A large dark brown wolf. The wolf faced away from him, pointing toward the darkest part of the field, the hair on the back of his shoulders bristling, low growls issuing from between his exposed fangs.