Dreamscape

Chapter 7

                Boney fingers jab me in my ribs, forcing me from the world of the sleep to the realm of the awake. Groaning, I snuggle deeper into the squeaking mattress, grumbling, “Go ‘way. Sun’s not even up yet.”

                “That’s the point,” an irritated voice replies. Male voice. Desmond. Riiiight.

                “Five more minutes?” My plea falls on unhearing ears, and the fingers continue to relentlessly prod. Even with the blankets being clutched within my tight grasp, Desmond manages to yank both the blanket and the sheet completely off of me, exposing me to the cool night’s air. “Alright, alright. ‘m getting up.” Slowly, I sit, stretching my limbs as a wide yawn escapes me. That had been, what – five hours tops of sleep? Why couldn’t our little journey wait until a more normal time of day? Oh, right – the angry mob. Neither of us are exactly welcome here anymore.

                “I already let you sleep for an extra hour,” he says coolly, eyeing me as I climb out of bed. “Provisions have been gathered. I assume you’re properly armed this time?”

                “You left me alone here?”

                “You’re still alive and well, aren’t you? What’s it matter?”

                “It matters because this place is crawling with creeps and sickos!”

                “Sorry to have to point this out, but we fall into that category as well. Now get yourself dressed. We don’t have time to dawdle.”

                “It’s not like Orion will leave without us,” I grumble, smoothing out the wrinkles on my dress as I fixate my other accessories back into place.

                As Desmond huffs and puffs near the door, I try my best to make myself look presentable. A proper bath or shower would be ideal, but that’s rare even at Vivian’s. Speaking of Vivian…

                “Is there any way that I can say goodbye to a friend before we leave?”

                “I don’t think that will be necessary.” Of course. Anything on the agenda that does not involve monsters, plundering, or murder doesn’t interest Desmond. “The bag at the foot of your bed is yours. Water and food – the basics. We’ll only be gone for a day or two, but don’t waste it. I’m sure you remember the troubles we’ve already had together in the desert.”

                How could I forget? With a sullen glare, I stumble over to the bag and hoist it over my shoulder.

                “Let’s go.”

-

                Tall, dark, and brooding: the ideal cliché for the bubbly, airheaded heroine. She wins over the icy hearted rogue with her sweet charms and innocent nature, while he comes to her defense whenever she falls into a bout of trouble, unable to resist and unsure of what draws him to the dunce. Somehow, Bubbles and Brooder overcome all odds, fall in love, and defeat the big bad guy at the end of the adventure. Let me tell you one thing: the mysteriously enchanting silent type isn’t captivating. At all. To be insulted, mocked, and ridiculed over the most insignificant things – it is the epitome of annoyance and irritation. I cannot stand it. Desmond can stride as macho-like as he wants in front of me, it doesn’t change the fact that he is a top-grade prick.

                It reminds me of a certain vampire story that all the girls would rave about back in high school. Isn’t the dark and sullen type so dreamy, they would claim. Who wants to be swept off their feet by a man who belittles them?