pull the trigger

8

"jagga! get down from there!" troye hissed, nudging at the chubby dog. "if he wakes up and finds you there, he'll be mad at the both of us."

"i'm already awake, stupid. your ugly dog can sleep beside me, i don't care," jacob grumbled, his back still facing troye as he layed on the cot.

"oh! right...okay..." troye mumbled, laying back down on the blankets he'd put on the floor to make sleeping there a little more comfortable; but, in all honesty, it was still painful to sleep on a wood floor.

"troye?"

"yeah?"

"where are we? me and my group, i mean," jacob mumbled, reaching his hand down without looking to gently pat jagga's head.

"you're here. in my treehouse," troye answered vaguely, even though he understood the question completely.

"vague answer, kid. that wasn't what i asked for, though. where are we, really?" jacob snapped, not amused by troye's avoiding the subject tactics.

"you're where you should be right now. goodnight, jacob."

as if on command, jacob fell asleep as soon as the words left troye's mouth.

he fell into a deep and uneasy sleep.

he opened his eyes at one point. was he dreaming, or was he actually awake? it was dark in the small treehouse; the moonlight streamed through the only window the small space had.

troye was standing by the sink. he stared at himself in the medicine cabinet mirror, before opening the cabinet door and pulling out something jacob couldn't see. jacob wanted to move, he wanted to ask troye what he was doing up, but he couldn't. he felt frozen.

troye turned his wrist over and ran the thing he'd taken out of the cabinet across it (a razor, jacob presumed.) troye turned his wrist back over and let the blood drip onto the flower in the sink, causing it to grow a little more.

jacob wanted to scream, what's going on? but he couldn't move his lips. this had to be a dream. nothing made sense at this damn place, nothing made sense...

"jacob, wake up!"

jacob's eyes shot open and he stared up at troye with an untrusting look in his eyes. it was still night, the treehouse still looked the same as it did in his "dream".

"i-i just had the strangest dream," jacob gasped up, and troye furrowed his eyebrows. "i could tell, that's why i woke you up. what was it about?"

"i don't know! just- you were by the sink- and you cut your wrist and- it's too weird, forget it."

troye raised his eyebrows. "that is odd. it was probably caused by the alcohol you drank earlier, that stuff was strong enough to knock out a horse."

"true."

troye smiled at him. "you should probably sleep now, it's almost 3 am."

"okay. goodnight, kid."

"'night."

troye laid back down on the ground, resting his head on a mound of blankets he'd used as a makeshift pillow. jacob peered over the bed to stare down at troye, who shifted his arm a little bit, his sleeve rolling up slightly and revealing

a whole line of cuts on his thin arm.