The Four Fears

Stuck

     Bright.
     Noisy.
     Then there was pure beauty before Klay's eyes.  He couldn't help but embrace the sight of Steph in a ravishing suit that fit him so well in the perfect material and color.
     Klay was in love. (Not that he wasn't already.)
     "Hey," Steph cooed, walking over to Klay and offering a filled champagne glass.
     "Awesome house party," Klay said, aghast at the sight.
     Since it was nighttime, the strung lights shone even more beautiful than it would before. He bet that from outside, the house looked like a pure fantasy.
     "Thanks, babe," Steph smiled.
     The two had been interrupted by guests who immediately wanted to chat.
     Klay had nothing to say, for he had no knowledge of the house or "fancy-shmancy" stuff.
     Steph was asked about the carpets, the curtains, the couches, and all that.
     Klay pretended to laugh at the poor jokes that the guests made.
     "And how about you, Klay?" one of the guess asked.
     He suddenly averted his attention.  He panicked because he wasn't really listening to the conversation in the first place.
     "How do you like living here?"
     "Oh, um."  Klay thought for a moment.  "I don't live here."
     "Oh?" the guest smiled at Steph.  "I thought you said you guys were living together?"
     Steph nervously giggled and wrapped an arm behind Klay's waist.  "We are.  It's just that Klay kinda has his own house but he comes here so often that it's like he practically lives here."
     "I see," the guest smiled.
     The conversation went on, but Klay still couldn't pay attention to was going on.  Past the guests, he found a figure behind the window looking exactly like one of the masked men from his last dream.
     Before the guest finished their last sentence, Klay whispered to Steph, "I gotta go."
     "Don't be rude," Steph muttered back.
     "I'm sorry," Klay quickly said and politely waved a goodbye to everyone else.
     He strode to the bathroom, slipping his jacket off and unbuttoning his vest.  Leaving the garments behind, he crawled out the window and landed safely onto stable ground.
     Klay crouched down and sneaked over to the other side of the house.
     Once he found the window where he saw the masked man, he only discovered that he wasn't there anymore.
     "Where the fuck—"
     Then Klay couldn't move.
Pain ran up his spine.
     A blade was stuck right in his back.
     He heard footsteps sprinting away, and Klay collapsed to the floor, falling unconscious.
     But he didn't go.

     Klay opened his eyes and instead of feeling the stiff mattress of the hospital bed, he was in deep memory foam in the bedroom of Steph's house.
     It was morning and the bright line that shone on him was the rays from the sun.
     "Is the dream over?" Klay breathed.
     "Well, you're conscious now," Steph explained.
     Klay tried to move, but forgot that he was stabbed in the back as a sharp pain ran up his spine.
     "Ah, shit," he muttered.
     "How the fuck did this happen?" Steph muttered.  "I was looking for you the entire party and it wasn't until after everyone left that I found you.  You're lucky that you didn't die."
     Klay groaned.  "I don't wanna hear it."
     "Well too late," Steph muttered.  He handed the injured man a tray of pancakes, eggs, and bacon.  "Let me get you some juice."
     As Steph left, Klay eyed the knife that laid on his plate.  Like everything else in Steph's house, it was clean and sharp. 
     It was lethal.
     Klay picked up the knife.
     He held the blade at his wrists.
     "It's only a dream..." he muttered.
     He clenched the knife and shut his eyes.  Then, he felt the warm ooze of blood run down his arm as he sunk the blade into his flesh.
     "I have to go home," Klay groaned against the pain.
     More blood oozed.
     He opened his eyes.  "Fuck..."
     Blood had fallen on his food and seeped into the blanket.
     Klay gasped at the sight.
     "Almost there..." He went faster, groaning at the pain. 
     He was almost there.
     And then...
     "Klay?" Steph stared wide eyes at his lover, glass of juice in his hand.
     Klay stopped and gazed at Steph, but before he could do or say anything, the knife was punched out of his grip.
     Steph sweeped the tray onto the floor and he fell on top of Klay, pinning his wrists so that he couldn't do anything.
     "What the fuck were you THINKING?!" Steph screamed to the top of his lungs.
     "I—"
     "What?! You WHAT?!"
     "I—I don't know.  It's just a dream—"
     Steph cried and continued to scream.  "This isn't a FUCKING DREAM, THOMPSON!"
     He lied his forehead on Klay's and sobbed.  The tears fell upon Klay's cheeks and rolled down.
     After a moment of crying, bandages were wrapped around the slit wrists and the blankets were changed.  The fallen breakfast was cleaned, and everything was back to normal again.  Except for that fact that Klay just tried to kill himself.
     "Why would you do this?" Steph croaked out.  He sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for his lover to answer.
     "This isn't real life," Klay answered.  "If I died here, I'd wake up in the real world."
     "The fuck are you talking about?"
     "YOU'RE NOT REAL," Klay shouted.
     No answer.
     Steph simply stared at the ground.
     He then put both hands up to his face and sobbed.  Klay could see how hard he was crying.  Steph's shoulders bobbed up and down and he was shaking.
     "Steph," Klay muttered.
     "I can't believe you'd say that," Steph cried.
     "This isn't real...This isn't real," Klay continued to mutter to himself.  "Please, please, please...This isn't real."
     Because if it was real, he fucked up badly.
     "I'm going to call a doctor," Steph stated.
     "Wait," Klay gasped.  "No no no, please don't call a doctor."
     "You're fucking insane, Klay.  You're talking gibberish and saying weird shit."
     "No I'm not!" Klay shouted.  He then realized that what he was saying was pretty crazy.  Actually, extremely crazy.
     Steph sighed and pulled out his phone.
     "I'll prove it to you!" Klay said.  "Kill me."
     "I'm not going to kill you, you fucking dumbass."  He lifted the phone to his ear.  "Hello?  Doctor?  Ah, yes..."
     Steph was suddenly hit in the back of the head with a pillow.  He almost fell to the floor.
     "OW! KLAY! WHAT THE— ...Yes Doctor?"
     Throwing the pillow was stupid on Klay's part.  He had nothing to lay on anymore.  He laid flat on the bed and couldn't move.
     It was too late anyways.  Steph had already explained everything to the doctor.
     Once the phone was put down, Steph crawled into bed with Klay.  He rested his head on his chest.
     "What now?" Klay groaned.
     "We're going to fix you." Steph said.
     At that moment, Klay began to think that he wasn't in a dream after all.