Dream
CW: mentions of a panic attack
Nights like these were normal.
Just me and Sapnap enjoying one too many drinks and blasting music. It helped. It helped drown things out, and nowadays, I have more things to drown than usual.
"So, I'm assuming you gave the Prince more shit today?" Sapnap asks, taking a heavy swig. A clear indication that he's two steps away from being wasted.
I roll my eyes, knowing my best friend disapproves of my behavior toward Prince George. "Which one?" I ask with an unamused laugh.
He doesn't reply, only shaking his head as he grabs another drink.
To answer his question, yes. I did give the Prince more shit today. Each day, a different approach when I see him.
The first few days, it was catching him when he was alone, reminding him how much I disliked him. The next few days, it was giving him looks from across the room. This week I've taken up a new approach. Bumping past him every time I walk by as well as ignoring him completely, interrupting any conversation I find him even moderately enjoying.
Sure, call it excessive and over the top. I know that, but it helps.
The past two weeks have entirely shifted the hierarchy at this school, and I may not be right at the bottom, but I'm no longer at the top, and there's something about it that doesn't sit right with me.
"Look, I know why you're doing it, but can't you at least agree that we've had much more time since he came along?" Sapnap asks with a raised brow, opening the beer bottle with his back teeth, immediately making me cringe with discomfort.
"Sure, but you know me," I start, sipping my drink now. "I don't like having time. Time to think is time wasted."
No one said my way of living was ideal. If anything, it was far from healthy, but it's how I got by. It's how I functioned.
"Okay, sure, but-" Just as Sapnap was about to respond, there was a knock at the door. The boy on his bed and I share a glance. I know I didn't invite anyone over, and by the way, he's looking at me, and neither did Sapnap.
I leave the bottle on the floor by my bed that I've been leaning against, pull my phone out and lower the volume of the speakers it's connected to before walking over to the door.
Out of all the people I was expecting to see at my quarters' door, George was at the very bottom of that list. Hell, I'd prefer a visit from Mr. Docherty if I had to choose.
He looks angry. Tired and angry. I like this look on him.
"Ah! His Royal pain in my ass!" I smirk, leaning against the doorframe now.
"American Nightmare!" he retorts with the fakest smile plastered on his face, and it almost makes me laugh.
I look down the hallway and notice it's empty. He's come alone. How did he even know where I slept? Why was he here to begin with?
"Why are you visiting me in the middle of the night? Gay for me or something?" I ask, wanting to make him feel uncomfortable. It was the least I could do if he visited me unannounced while I attempted to drown the now apparent issues I have had at this school since his arrival.
"Gay, who knows, for you? Absolutely not." If I told you I wasn't taken aback by his response, I'd be lying. It was meant to be a joke. Something for him to roll his eyes at and move on. Yet I'm here looking like a deer in fucking headlights.
I can't push it any further. I'd be a dick if I did. So I do what I think is best, move on.
"Why are you here?" I ask, trying to appear far less interested in the conversation now. Perhaps even showing that his sentence didn't phase me. However, looking at him now. This new light shining on him, this new information I've received but never asked for, I almost feel bad being an asshole. Almost.
The Prince tells me I'm being too loud as I find out he lives in the quarters ahead of mine. His words are all muffled as ideas start sparking in my mind. Left, right, and center.
I ask him for forgiveness and assure him the music will be dealt with. He turns, walking back to his dorm, and I watch him until the door is finally shut. Closing my door, I slowly turn to look at Sapnap, who's paid no attention to the conversation I've just had. Instead, he's on his phone, watching videos about Surrey's latest field hockey game.
"Sapnap, another drink!" I yell, turning the music up louder than it was before. We sing along to the music and talk out of our asses until there's no energy left in us. As I fall asleep, I think back to the Prince, hoping he's gotten just as little sleep as I have.
***
Computer Science happens to be one of my favorite classes, apart from English. If I wasn't so fixated on the English language and how intricate it was, I'd be far more focused on languages like Python and Java.
"Dream, you're coming tonight, right?" I turn to see one of the prestigious models from the early 2000s son.
"Finn, when have I ever not come to an East Wing party?" I ask him with a smirk, to which he returns and speaks again.
"Good, it's not a party if Dream Carter doesn't show up." His words immediately boost my ego, and I feel on top of the world again.
The class ends after we learn some new coding methods, and as soon as class is dismissed, I head to football practice.
Again, George may have bruised my ego at this school, but the one place he'd never take my spotlight was in sports. I took pride in my position as the captain of the football team. I remember trying out my first year here with Sapnap, and although both of us got in, Sapnap found his calling in field hockey a semester later.
Practice went by faster than I had expected and since George's arrival. A part of me wanted practices to go on forever. It felt almost as if I had time-traveled back to before the Prince's arrival. When things were normal, people wanted to be around me, talk to or talk about me. That was only at football practices now.
Once it was over, it was over, and I found myself back in my dorm room, shifting through my clothes after a long and hot shower.
"Who's ready to party!" Sapnap screamed as he burst through our door.
I turn to look at him with a humorous smile. "How fucking embarrassing would that have been for you if I wasn't in the room?"
"But you were in the room. I always know when you're in the room," he insists.
"Oh really now?" I ask, leaning against my closed wardrobe. "And how did you know I would be in here today?" I challenge as I see him grabbing his towel to head to the shower.
"There's school, you being you; you get the invite," he starts. "You also being you, you accept the invite, you feel like your dick's grown four sizes bigger because your ego's fucking sky high. You do good in football because of said ego, and you're so fucking pumped now that all you want to do is get ready and get shitfaced." He's staring at me now with a confident smile. He knows he's right. How could he be wrong? Sapnap's had me all figured out since we were twelve; since then, it's been smooth sailing for him in this friendship.
"Go shower," I laugh, and he immediately runs into our shared bathroom.
***
Sapnap and I are some of the first to arrive at the party. Nothing new about this because people often only show up knowing that my best friend and I are attending.
I'm drinking and socializing like in the good old days for the night's first half. That is until I start paying attention to the conversations around me. For example, people questioned whether or not George was coming, and if he weren't, then the party wouldn't be its best.
All about George. George this and George that.
Just as I'm about to get another drink, I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket.
Pulling it out without thinking anything of it, I see the notification.
Bella: Hi, Dream! Your mother just found out about the Prince of Scotland attending your school. She's asked me to inform you of her suggestion to befriend him. It would look brilliant for your family's image. Let me know your thoughts, and we'll start strategizing with the PR Team. Have a lovely rest of your evening!
All about George. George this and George that.
It happens all at once. As it usually does. My phone screen is blurry, my hands are shaking, and it feels like I've graciously placed myself under a thousand-ton concrete slab.
I gasp for a breath, but nothing fills my lungs. The loud music is muffled, and a loud ringing replaces it.
Everything in my body was screaming for me to get out, and that's precisely what I did. My thoughts are a million steps behind my body- already running to a more secluded area.
The bathrooms.
No one ever bothers to use the communal ones. All the en-suites are usually private hookup spots. I'd be fine right here.
Eventually, I'd be fine.
My internal monologue screaming at me, belittling me. I'm halfway between feeling like I'm about to faint and feeling like I'm about to die, so I do everything in my power to keep myself up. Moving from having my back pressed against a cubicle door to the sink, holding onto it for dear life.
I didn't care about my surroundings. I didn't care that I was in a bathroom that people come in and out of during the day. I didn't care because sometimes the worst place to be is inside your own head, and right now, all I could focus on was the mental walls closing in around me. Suffocating me. Silencing my screams.
Breathe in. I'm okay. I'm safe.
Breathe out. I'm stronger than this—all of it.
Breathe in. I'm in control.
Breathe out. But it's okay not to always be in control.
"Dream?" This was new. I usually hear my voice in the back of my head. Not the one person I want nothing to do with, but it sounds comforting. It sounds like he cares.
"Dream?" It sounds so real, so non-artificial, so not-in-my-own-head.
"Dream!" I take in a deep breath, snapping out of my own thoughts. Still shaking slightly, but I finally feel like I can breathe.
I slowly turn my head to look over my shoulder, and there he is. He's not in my head. He's right there. Why the fuck does he have to be right there?
"The fuck are you doing here?" I ask, mentally cursing myself for sounding so vulnerable.
"Are you okay?" he asks, taking a step closer. Don't come closer, don't come near me.
"Get the fuck out of here, George," I say, giving absolutely zero fucks about his royal title. Now wasn't the time.
"Do you want me to get someone? Your roommate? I don't know his name, but I know his face." I turn to the brunette now. Blood boiling as he speaks to me with this tone. So caring, so concerned. Fucking bullshit.
"The only reason you're asking me any of this shit is to make yourself look better. Be the bigger person. Prince George, the fucking admirable," I spit through gritted teeth as I slowly approach him.
His persistent steps forward now are replaced with cowering steps away until I've cornered him against the cubicle door I remember pressing up against moments prior.
"That's not what I'm doing," he whispers. I can tell he's afraid, but his eyes are laced with concern. "I want to know if you're okay," he adds, finally finding my own eyes.
God, he's got beautiful eyes. His eyes said, 'I want to help you' in way lips could never articulate.
Lips.
I look down at his, and it's almost as if he notices it as soon as I do because what else would compel him to lick them the way he had? Sure, blame it on nerves. Blame it on the fact I've scared him to the point his mouth has gone dry, but they're inviting.
The way they're parted, shaky breath escaping them.
I look back up at his eyes, noticing the small space that was once between us has only grown smaller. I've never felt more safe and terrified at the same time.
"Let me help you, Dream," he whispers again; there's a sign of hope in the way he speaks. Hoping to calm me down, hoping we could have a conversation, hoping I'd back away and walk away.
"I don't want your help," I breathe, my hands pushing his shoulders firmly against the door.
Those brown eyes are wide, filled with fear now, and suddenly I want those care-filled eyes back. I want to fall back into a trance; I want to fall back into the safety those brown hues offered.
There's silence. Utter silence before I look back at his lips again. 'Fuck it.'
Not another thought was processed before my lips were on his. I knew it was wrong. I didn't like him. He didn't like me. Fuck, I didn't even like guys enough to want to kiss them. But the way his lips felt against mine, I almost forgot about it all.
I thought I was a goner simply pressing my lips against his, but as soon as George started kissing back, I knew I was a dead man.
My hands move from his shoulders to cup his cheeks. Pulling him closer as his tiny hands grip the fabric of my shirt that hugs at my waist.
It's fast-paced, sloppy, and desperate, but I'd be a fucking liar if I said I wasn't feeling electrified.
Burning. I'm burning. His hands wandered my back as I grasped at him. My hands slid down his arms, grabbing his hands before pinning them above the brunette's head. The Prince gasped, which was as good as any opportunity to slip my tongue in, his only fighting back once he regained his composure.
Burning. I was on fire.
Thoughts gone, desire taking over. He had me in a trance. I was trapped, but can one be trapped if they don't want a way out?
It's as if all of reality finally came back into view, and I'm pulled out of the trance completely. Pulling away with wide eyes.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Whatever came over me fled—gone with the wind. All I felt now was panic. Nothing but panic, and suddenly, the bathroom didn't feel like a place to be vulnerable in.
Thinking back on it, I had never been more vulnerable in that bathroom than I had been moments before.
"I-" I started but found no words. Speechless. The Prince of Scotland left me speechless, and I've never had a lack of words before.
Just add that to the list of things I hate about His Royal Highness.
I left George in the bathroom alone. I couldn't stand there speechless before him any longer. That's not what I want to be known for. And I know that by tomorrow, everyone will know.
I liked running. Running cleared my thoughts. Running until my legs feel like they're burning, but burning brings me back to the bathroom- back to George.
So I stop, dead in my tracks. I managed to run from the East Wing all the way to the middle of the football field. It's the middle of the night, and not a single person is around.
So I scream. I scream so loud that once I'm done, my throat is already itching and sore. Tears are welling up in my eyes again. I'm verging on the track to being sober, and my head is aching.
How am I meant to do this? I don't think I can do this.
So I'll do what I do best. Sweep it under the carpet and hang it up with the rest of the skeletons in my closet. I'll continue lying in fear of omission.
I'll continue as I did yesterday and the day before because I'm not ready for things to change after today.