-An Inch Too Far Away-
AN: Gentle reminder that I'm merely using Dream and George as characters because I'm too lazy to set up my own, so their characteristics aren't accurate or realistic. I write dramatically, and I just hope and pray it works out sometimes. There will be major angst in this chapter, and very dark, heavy, TW worthy themes. If you are uncomfortable with very heavy angst, do not continue. If you are willing to submit to my angst, enjoy!
Dream's POV:
We were walking along the boardwalk. Walking in a direction I seldom took this far, upon a stretch of the wooden promenade I hadn't set foot on for two years. At least.
The fall of each footstep reverbrated through me, pounding in my chest and ringing in my head. My heartbeat synced to the rhythm of my steps, and as did my shallow, laboured breaths as my chest rose and fell. Every step was a tick of a clock, thrumming and resonating through the humid air, carried on the sea-tainted breeze and whispered into the innards of my mind. Time slowed between each tick, each step, each breath, yet seemed to be gradually accelerating. The lulling haze permeating the time between each pace was shortening as the wooden promenade stretched closer and closer to that damned bridge.
Somehow, it still felt like an infinity had to pass between every fall of my step.
I briefly remembered reading The Fault In Our Stars in high school, and I recalled a line that had pervaded my memory, even now. Some infinities are bigger than other infinities. I wasn't curious enough to find out if that line was factually accurate, or to see if the math added up. Perhaps, it was applicable anyway. The dark, hazy infinities between each mental tick of the clock did seem to slowly ebb away and speed up as more time passed and more of our footsteps hit the boardwalk.
Maybe I should've taken up theatre instead of coding. I sure seemed to be better at being dramatic and pretending to be someone I wasn't than I was at solving problems.
"Did you know that you're more likely to get mauled by a dog than to get attacked by a shark?" George blurted randomly. I raised an eyebrow curiously.
"That was random." I snorted, smiling.
"It's true. Dogs are, luck-wise, more likely to attack you."
"Well, thank god none of us have dogs. All cats in our friend group." I sighed. George laughed quietly.
"I don't know the cat statistic, so don't get too comfortable yet."
"Rather a cat than a shark." I shrugged.
"You've got a point there, honestly."
Splash.
I turned suddenly, halting in my tracks.
George paused too, his expression questioning. Glancing behind me, I swept my eyes over the landscape, looking for the cause of the noise. Nothing austere, nothing out of place. Everything was as it should've been, how it was as normal. It was so typical of a January beach day. Quite a few people, but not as many as in the summer months. And definitely nothing that could've made a sound like akin to the one I'd just heard.
"I-" My mouth felt dry, dessicated. "I swear I heard something, something like a-a splash or-" My voice trailed off, my eyes looking back and forth.
"Dream. What?" George asked.
"I heard a splash. Like someone jumping into-" My breath hitched. Suddenly, I had a sinking feeling in my chest. Perhaps I knew exactly where the sound had come from. Horror choked my throat.
"There wasn't one." George cut me off, speaking slowly. My lips felt numb as I spoke, my throat seeming to close up. I looked down at my feet, eyes listless.
"Oh. Must be my ears playing tricks on me." I lied limply.
"Must be." His tone was unconvinced.
Splash. Louder this time. Much, much louder, much clearer.
"I swear I just heard it!" I exclaimed, bewildered. George shook his head sadly, his expression concerned, smile forced. Putting a hand on my shoulder, he exhaled.
"You must be hearing things. Come on, let's keep going." And he continued leading me down the path. I glanced over my shoulder once more before sighing and giving up. Looking for a sound was a futile effort, something fruitless and ineffective. I guess I just had to deal with the background sounds. But they bothered me, burying themselves in an uncanny little place in my heart.
Splash. Splash. Splash.
An image of a roiling sea flickered before my eyes. An image of a spindly, dilapidated metal bridge. An image of a cold hand stretched out. An image of dark, heavy clouds pouring with rain. An image of a lash of lightning, jutting out of the clouds. An image of a massive ripple in the water, followed by crests of foamy white lace spewing upwards like a volcano's magma.
And sounds. So many sounds.
The clap of the thunder, the drumming of the rain, the roar of the wind, the crash of the waves, the creak of metal. A single shattered scream, piercing and broken. A single sob, defeated and fragmented. A single mutilated breath, shuddering and weak.
A single splash.
Splash.
Suddenly, everything I saw around me in the real world reminded me of the images that were lazily scrolling through my mind. It was like a grim cinema, with me chained and tied to the front seat, my eyes steeled upon the screen without any way of moving away.
One image was like a film, half-opaque as it layered over the collection of mental snapshots, mental polaroids. Wisps of colour from my surroundings bent and painted themselves onto this picture.
Grains of sand smoothed and warped into strands of long, wavy, wet hair, plastered to the edges of a porcelain-pale face. Long shadows bent into long, dainty eyelashes, fanned up against slightly lavender eyelids, other shadows bending into two raised eyebrows. The crashing blue waves tinted green as they formed into two eyes, flecks of gold and hazel drawn from the sun and sand and forming in brown rings around the jade-green irises. A sky-blue hue presented itself in the green.
Pain was ice-cold as it wound around my gut, around my heart, around my lungs. An inky numbness stifled my senses, and my attention hurtled to focus in upon the face painting itself in my thoughts, upon each photo strung up before me. The polaroids were now morphing, re-developing with more clarity than they should've been able to.
A haunting girl's face was then upon each photo.
The girl's face was fully coloured and sharp, vivid in my head and on those mental images, every detail documented and executed with studious attention. But the photos soon flitted away, their presence ephemeral. They faded, the sharp colours losing saturation, the contrasting tones blending, the lines blurring. Angles and curves meshed together until there was nothing but blank white on the faces of each photo, each snapshot. My mind went blank, dark and hazy.
And then there was nothing. Just nothing.
I felt my hand clench tighter in George's, my cold fingers locking in his with a steely force. The intertwining of our hands was less of a comfort and more of a cage. His eyes flitted up to meet mine, and he turned his head just slightly.
"You okay?" His voice had all the strength of a light breath, and I could see a slight grimace in his expression as he tried to loosen my grip on his hand.
"Oh, sorry." I said apologetically, glancing down at our hands. With difficulty, I relaxed my fingers, releasing George's pale, slightly asphyxiated fingers from their deadlock. He sighed with slight relief.
He spoke unconvincingly. "I was fine. Are you?"
I smiled feebly. "I'm fine."
"Good. We're almost there." A blissful expression was on George's face, but there was a juxtaposition with the hint of concern in the set of his mouth and the taint of worry in his dark eyes.
"Are you sure you'll be fine?" He asked again.
I rubbed my thumb along his knuckles in what I hoped was a comforting gesture. My skin was ice-cold on his. "Trust me. I'll be absolutely fine, as long as you're there with me." It was a slightly kitschy line little kids would say to their parents when watching scary movies, but it was true.
"I will be." He promised.
"Then I'll be okay." I gave another weak smile. George reciprocated with a knowing, forced grin. The smile failed to reach his eyes.
"Okay." He said softly.
"Oh, come on." My voice was hesitant as it spoke my unofficial catchphrase.
George's face bore a crooked grin. "Let's go." Wrapping my fingers around George's, I inhaled deeply and peeled my eyes away from his beautiful face to look before me. I moved my gaze back to the scuffed wooden boardwalk that lay ahead, the planks that were stretching and winding across the sandy expanse to a faintly visible bridge that was rising out of the waters. The hazy structure looomed on the horizon, like an omen.
A bad omen.
We begun our footsteps again, falling back into the familiar, clock-like pattern, the dull thumps of our footsteps timed flawlessly with the collected breaths I drew. I took a deep, calming breath and loosened my shoulder blades, setting them back slightly. My hand was still tightly gripping George's, our interlocked hands subtly swinging between us like a pendulum. The rhythm like clocks ticking.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Splash.
And my stomach dropped, my heart aching. The sounds rushed back to drown out my thoughts, to ring in my ears.
My heartbeat sped up again, breaths heightening and shallowing, the pattern of my chest rising and falling slipping farther and farther from the rhythm of our footsteps. A numbing, icy feeling spread through my body, leeching all the happiness, bliss and warmth I'd earned. I tried to get a grip on myself, tried to calm myself down, forcing the erratic drags of my breath to fall back into formation. The pattern of my breath was manic and wild, so I found myself clutching George's hand tighter to steady myself and my pulse.
"Dream, deep breaths, deep breaths." George's voice was barely above a whisper, barely above a sliver of breath. He squeezed my hand assuringly.
"I'm trying, George, I'm trying." I whispered weakly.
"I know. You're doing really good."
My voice was slightly choked. "No, I'm not, I'm really, really, not." My knees felt slightly weak, and my head spun dizzily. I gripped George's arm tightly, clinging to him to keep from falling over. He looked up at me with a soft, encouraging smile.
"We're almost there. Then we can sit down, okay?"
"Okay." I spoke weakly, every shred of myself fragile in comparison to the gleaming steeliness I had burnished my mental walls to. George nodded and continued walking forward, winding a steady arm around my torso to steady me. I forced myself to inhale at every step, exhaling in the seconds in-between each pace.
"Almost there." George murmured, glancing forward. I followed suit, my eyes tracing down the promenade length to the shadowy bridge that was looming closer and closer.
Then, time elapsed.
I wanted the few remaining minutes and seconds to collect myself, to gather my thoughts and the thumps of my heart. I wanted to let myself have some more time to think, to ponder about my own decisions. But despite the slow crawl of time that had mocked me on the walk to this point, everything sped up. It felt as though I blinked-
And then I was stepping foot onto the bridge, the sloped incline of the bridge a familiar landscape, eliciting and evoking phantom pains I'd locked away.
Don't be dramatic.
I nearly turned at the feminine voice in my head, because it sounded so real, so close, so clear.
It was a girl's voice for sure. It was inhumanly ethereal, so lilting, mellifluent, sweet and dulcet, shimmering like a bell and clear like whistles on the wind. The malice and contempt laced in each venomous word was so unlike the musical sound, however. It was an uncanny, eerie little juxtaposition. But the part that really disturbed me was how familiar it was. Familiar. And yet I couldn't put my finger on where I recognized the voice from.
Then, George's voice broke through the haze swirling in my mind. "One step at a time." His voice was so kind and gentle.
I felt a heavy weight clamp down on my shoulders, something tenebrous, something ominous and nightmarish. It was not something I should've felt at all. But I knew what it was. It was the burden I'd shouldered alone.
The weight of my ghosts haunting me.
"It's so high up." I shuddered, my voice breathy and fearful as I glanced to the side, off the bridge at the water. The spindly metal legs of the bridge's lattice supports looked so frail, so unable to hold the weight. Lacy white seafoam sprayed against the steel legs, water crashing against the metal. It seemed like any second, the bridge would collapse from under us.
"I thought you were scared of the water." George said matter-of-factly, his tone light.
"Heights, George. Heights." I breathed.
"Oh." He said simply, squeezing my hand tighter.
It had all seemed so easy thirty minutes ago. Why were these stale wounds reopening now?
Breathing heavily, I continued my slow steps, panning my gaze upwards at the completely ordinary, ubitquitous bridge. It was nothing to be afraid of, in truth. It was just another regular bridge. It was useless, really. The bridge was built more for tourists to stand and take photos on. It was more of a scenic fixing than an actual tool to cross the water. For me, it was neither.
It was a catalyst.
The catalyst that brought my world crashing down by spurring Aisling to plant her last step. The catalyst that tore my life to shreds seconds before I reached for a hand just an inch too far away, slender fingers stretched towards mine at much too far and so little of a distance. The catalyst that hollowed me, that forced that final picture of Aisling to be taken in my head. The catalyst that made me lose her.
Aisling.
My breath slid out shakily.
George sat down on a bench by the edge of the bridge, pulling me down beside him. The cold of the stone beneath me seeped into my skin, and I shivered slightly, despite the humid heat in the air and the fiery glare of the sun burning through my shirt.
Glancing around me, I realized that we were completely alone on the bridge. A rarity for a Floridian beach any time of year. It was almost like the universe held a sliver of sympathy for me, like it decided that I deserved to fall apart in front of George and George only, like that wasn't already bad enough. It decided I didn't need an audience to be dramatic.
"Oh, for heaven's sake." I muttered. George shot me a glance, but averted his gaze at the distress in my eyes.
I made the mistake of turning to look behind me, turning to glance at the waters churning below the bridge. Panic that was ice-cold and muffling struck me at the sight of the heights and the ocean. The ocean that had claimed my sister. The ocean that had torn her from me.
Aisling's stricken, wide-eyed face swam in my mind.
Followed by the oh-so-familiar sound of a splash.
Splash.
"You okay?" George asked me softly, sensing the fear rising in me, feeling my skin ice over, seeing my eyes glaze over. I nodded, my body frozen. The phantom wreckage in my throat mutilated my breaths.
Then, I felt myself rise from the bench.
STOP IT! NO! MOVE BACK! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING? STOP!
I screamed at myself to stop, screamed at myself to sit back down, to find George's hand and find that warm little utopia again, to find that little paradise again. But my screams were silent and fleeting, locked and trapped on my tongue. I saw my hand withdraw from George's, saw my body stand up. I saw my vision pan to the side of the bridge.
Splash.
Panic hammered tight in my chest.
My foot took a step, my movements not of my own volition. My mind was detached from my body, like the strings binding me to myself had been cut. My mind drifting high above my body, disconnected, detached, disjointed. The strings were cut. The strings were severed. And I could do nothing to stop myself.
I helplessly tried to wrench myself back to the bench, back to George, but I couldn't even make my steps stop. I was trapped in my own body, in a frigid mental paralysis, with my body in turmoil, in a riot against me.
"Dream-" George's voice was trying to remain calm, but hysteria rose, his voice fearful and panicked. I remained silent, even though I'd parted my lips to speak and prepared the plea in my throat. I was helpless. Utterly helpless.
Splash.
help. My thoughts were so frail, so pleading, so utterly helpless that they were in lowercase, one thought flowing into another. Unstructured like a jumbled, muddled mess.
help me george help me help me help
please
Then I was at the edge of the bridge, hands upon the dilapidated, cold steel railing. The edge was sharp and dug into my hands, pressing red lines into the skin of my palms and my fingers. I nearly laughed aloud at the icy thrill of panic in my chest, the rush in my head at the sight of the waves so far below me.
stop it stop it stop it stop it move
I ran a finger along the cold metal, the slightly rusted steel rough and yet smooth beneath my fingertip.
"Dream, what's happening?" George asked desperately, his eyes frantically boring into mine. I heard myself laugh. My head turned back to look off the bridge, my body pitching forward to lean over the metal railing, my hands gripping it tightly. I felt sick, my stomach twisting. I tried desperately to reel back so the panic could go away, but I couldn't move an inch. My body was unyielding.
please step back just step back an inch i cant look i dont want to look i cant i dont want to i CANT LOOK
The bridge was a spindly, skeletal steel behemoth, as high up from the waters as most bridges cars drove on. It was famous for the thin metal support beams angling up to meet in the middle, like spiderweb strands that held up the metal bones of the bridge. The beams looked so thin and fragile, it was impossible to trust in them, and their questionable structural integrity.
I felt a rush, like a high. Something fleeting but thrilling, like my body was driven in two. One half screaming for help, panicking, terrified and paralysed with fear. The other was psychotic, manic, seeking the rush again, seeking the excitement, roistering in the terror and the icy panic. Laughing. Smiling cruelly. Revelling.
Splash.
help me help me im trapped
And then, in a split second, the rush was gone, the high dissipated. The euphoric thrill was smothered. I felt my mind rush back into my body, everything hurtling into rapid focus, colours smearing, dulling and then sharpening to a lurid, garishly vibrant extent.
My hands were shaking. And cold. So, so cold.
I felt weak.
Shivering slightly, I looked down at my shaking hands. I'd never felt fear this potent. There was so much panic in knowing that I wasn't in control. To know that I was losing my grip. To know that perhaps things were happening that I didn't know about. To exist in a mentally catatonic state, whilst my body moved on without me. To know I was drifting in limbo, a rift between my form and my thoughts.
I was terrified. Absolutely terrified.
I was always the one that controlled everything. Did everything under my own terms. I'd manipulated the plot, pulled strings behind the curtains to have this moment. To have George with me, without the shadow of his girlfriend hanging over us. I was always in control.
So to have that split second of doubt, that split second of feeling the reins wrench from my grasp? It was the most terrifying thing I'd ever felt.
And I never wanted to feel it again.
George's POV:
I understood exactly why Dream feared the bridge the moment we stepped onto it. For me, it was a peaceful getaway. It was kinda symbolic, really. Bridges are gateways, paths and limbos. You're stuck in-between two points. You're everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Simply in-between. Hovering over a rift. Personally, I loved it. Simply existing. Being.
Dream didn't.
Petrified with fear, I watched as he slowly turned away from the metal railing, hands quivering. His shoulders rose and fell too quickly, his breaths too shallow and too hasty. His eyes were frantic.
"Dream, I-" My mouth felt dry. I reached a hand out to him, before I limply dropped it back down to my side. He averted his gaze swiftly, his head cast down.
"George, I don't know what just happened." Dream whispered hollowly, his stricken eyes lifting to meet mine.
The words slipped out of my mouth immediately, like a reflex. "I'm sorry."
Dream laughed a hollow, forced little laugh. It was an uncomfortable sound, because it was so utterly humourless and empty. It was so out of context for the situation, because this situation was out of context. A forced smile on his face, he shook his head.
"The worst thing is that it's not your fault."
I shook my head firmly. "I asked you to come here with me."
"I volunteered." He defended me.
"You wouldn't have without me." I breathed. Dream fell silent.
"Correct." He said quietly.
Repeating my words, I felt something heavy press down on my chest. "I'm sorry." I swallowed.
"You don't need to be." Dream said hastily, assuringly. His hand twitched at his side, but didn't reach out or move.
"But I am anyway."
"Shut it." His words were sharper. I couldn't help but flinch slightly, mentally reeling back from that hard tone, that rough inflection. Dream noticed, his eyes softening.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean for it to-" His voice faltered. I nodded, biting my lip.
"I know." I said softly. Dream smiled bitterly.
"I'm sorry about everything else too. I'm damaged goods."
"Do you want to talk about it?" I asked hesitantly. Both Dream and I knew what I meant by it. It was such a dehumanizing term, such a devaluing little two-lettered thing. But we both knew that this it wasn't as unimportant as it sounded.
"Yeah." He looked out at the sea, his eyes flinching and looking back down. I waited patiently for the words to come, waited for something heartbreaking to slip from his lips. And eventually, come those words did.
"My sister, Aisling."
The question just slipped from my mouth. "You have another sister?" My voice rose at the end, peaking with curiosity. Dream laughed bitterly, the sound forced and hollow. His eyes were so, so empty.
"Had." He whispered hollowly, the sound anguished and broken. Shattered glass.
"Had." I echoed, horror twisting in my gut.
Sympathy and shock wracked my body, sending icy shivers through my veins. Freezing me and paralyzing me in place. I was petrified and weighed down by this phantom grief. And I didn't even know Aisling. I didn't grow up with her. I didn't. I hadn't even heard of her. But yet I felt so much anguish after hearing that one haunting word.
"Yeah." The word was hard and bitter.
"I'm so sorry." I whispered, stepping forward, reaching my hand out to Dream's.
"Aisling, she... she killed herself." His voice broke.
I felt something cold entangle itself in my chest, icy tentacles wrangling my lungs and my heart and crushing them from the inside out. It was a shocked dread, a sort of guilt, horror and grief at the same time. The iciness pierced and seeped into my bones, the hollow dread cocooning me and burying me under its steely, stifling layers.
I thought about the scars and cuts littering both my forearms, hidden and buried beneath loops of gauze. How the line between life and death was so thin, and I had come so close to crossing it in my head. One second you were here. The next you aren't. Just like that. I felt my heart wrench at the sudden mortality seeping through every inch of my skin, my fingers, my ears, my eyes, my lips, my skeletal face, my thin, emaciated body. Being human was so close to being nothing. Life was so fleeting. It could've been me. I was thinking about it, I was actually considering it.
Dream didn't move, but accepted my hand from afar. We stood for a second before Dream spoke again, air dragging through his lips in a jagged motion.
"She was only seventeen." He sucked in a sharp breath. To know that anybody close to Dream had died at all at the hands of their mind was horrible enough. To know that Aisling was only seventeen...
"I'm-" My voice broke. Horror shot through me, the scars on my arms stinging. It was as if they felt his pain too, and wanted to remind me of their shameful presence.
He's already lost someone close to him to suicide...George, do you want to add to that tally? You monster, you considered doing that to him, you considered reopening old wounds, you considered breaking him again! Worthless, cold, unfeeling, inconsiderate little thing you are. Pathetic, aren't you?
Tears formed in my eyes at the thought, and I couldn't help but feel an overwhelming guilt, a shame that I'd even consider doing something like hurting myself.
But I knew that wouldn't stop me from doing it.
My hand found the bandages beneath my arm, my fingers curling around and pressing into the cuts, evoking a stinging pain. I bit into my lip, tasting metal as my teeth drew blood. I deserved it. I deserved it for what I'd done, what I'd done to myself, what I'd almost done to my friend. I deserved punishment. Pain.
"She was the only person who understood me. The one single person I loved in this world. The single reason I'm still here today. Aisling was the one good thing that ever happened to me." Dream said listlessly, his voice choked and mutilated. "The one good thing." He exhaled, shutting his eyes.
"I'm so, so sorry." I said softly, running my thumb over his knuckles. His skin was ice-cold and fragile-feeling, almost papery. Looking up at his face, I could tell Dream was physically here. But mentally? He was far, far away, in a world of his own. In a dark, twisted, broken reality of his own.
Then, he spoke.
"It was raining really hard. There was lightning and thunder, and it was so, so loud, so cacophonous. The wind, the thunder, the rain pounding on the asphalt and on the roof. Everything was so much to take in. I remember seeing Aisling steal my car keys from the drawer in the kitchen. She looked around her before her hand reached into that drawer, and in her eyes, there was...there was nothing. Nothing at all. I was worried, but I trusted her."
"George, I trusted her." His voice was hollow. I nodded. I know.
"She left out the back door, in nothing but a thin grey hoodie. I was worried for her, and I knew it was my job to keep her safe, to make sure she was alright." A deep breath. "So I followed her. I took my father's keys from that same drawer, and I followed Aisling. I thought that maybe she was just going to her friend's house, or going out. I thought that worst case scenario, she was doing illegal things illicitly." He sighed. "Illegal things would've been so much better." Then, he continued on. I listened quietly.
"Aisling was following the road we usually took to the mall, so my concern was ebbing. But then, she took a sudden turn. Then another. And another. I looked at my GPS, at the direction we were headed in. And it wasn't the mall at all. No, it wasn't the mall." He laughed with cynical amusement.
"George, you know where she drove." Dream said sardonically, head tilted to the side. I nodded, feeling slightly numb and disconnected with something like shock.
"The beach." I whispered. What was this masochistic game of question and answer? It was cruel, how Dream was tormenting himself, how he was playing with his horror, his fear, his grief. He was using me to toy with his own nightmares, his own ghosts. I felt sick. Dream smiled coldly, tightening his grip on my hand.
"Ding ding. Correct. So Aisling's car was driving down that empty road, alone except for mine. It was storming and rather chilly, after all. Who would go to the beach in those conditions? Well, Aisling and me, I suppose. Speaking of her, she didn't check behind her a single time. Maybe she was just very distracted." He mused. "Turns out, she wasn't in the same reality I was."
"That's awful. Plain awful." I empathized quietly, unable to stop the dialogue from spilling out.
"I watch her park her car in the parking lot. That one, you see?" Dream grabbed my hand and moved it to gesture at the parking lot in the near distance. Something terrible twisted in my stomach, and I had a horrible, sickening premonition.
"I park beside her, but I wait a second, to see if she comes out of the car. She does, eventually. I notice how she's wearing just that hoodie, and how her face was bare. No makeup. She didn't need any. She never did. I wish people saw that. I wish they saw what I saw." His voice was heavy with brotherly affection, with that tender adoration and love I had no experience with. However, his eyes were glassy.
"Her movements were limp and listless, her face dead and empty. I watched her get out of the car and into the rain, without an umbrella or a jacket. She just stopped and paused for a second, her eyes hollow and pained, conflict warring in her expression. She shivered, for it was cold and wet and she was drenched by then. I don't know why I didn't say anything to her. I don't know why I just watched." Dream spoke spitefully, his anger directed towards himself, and himself only.
"Aisling starts walking towards the wooden walkway." He gestured to the wooden walkway we'd paced on to arrive here. That same sick feeling gripped me again.
"I just sit and watch as she slowly, limply walks down that path. But she's nearing the edge of my field of vision in the rain, so I reluctantly get out of my father's car. I had neglected to bring an umbrella and jacket as well. But I didn't feel the cold. I just felt fear. Concern. So, I quickly followed after Aisling as she nears the bridge. You know which bridge, don't you, George?" Dream said playfully, his tone cruel. I nodded listlessly.
"I'm horrified by what I see, because I know why she's there. I know why she's going towards that bridge, why she picked a day where she knew nobody else would be there, why she didn't tell any of us. I knew." He said sadly.
"Aisling steps onto the incline, her every step heavy and slow. I'm running at this point, because I'm worried and scared. Terrified. So as Aisling gets closer to the top of the bridge, I'm running faster. I'm calling for her. I'm yelling for her as I run, trying to catch up to her. It seemed like an eternity was between us. A whole world between the two of us. And Aisling didn't hear me. She didn't pause, didn't turn, didn't answer."
"She didn't." He breathed.
"I'm still watching in horror as Aisling takes off one of her sneakers. And then the other. She unzips her hoodie and casts it beside her. And then she stands, swaying slightly. Her eyes are blank, like she's entranced. She wasn't there." Goosebumps rose on my skin.
"At this point I was screaming my lungs out, panic and fear going so fast in my heart, hammering so loudly in my head. I was so, so terrified. Finally, I step foot onto that bridge, and I sprint towards Aisling, who was sitting on the slippery metal railing now. The rain was casting a cold, watery curtain around her, dripping down the contours of her face, soaking into her skin. She was wearing a white tank top, so I could see how skeletal and emaciated her shoulder blades were, from not eating. They were so frail and fragile, and looked so delicate, like spun glass. It wasn't just her shoulders, though." More crushing guilt pressed on my shoulders when I thought of my own body, too small and too skeletal from forcing myself to starve. How could I?
"Aisling looked delicate and fragile. Everything about her. I stand there and I call her name. I ask her in a trembling voice what she was doing on that railing, what she was doing on that bridge, what she was doing there, what she was doing." Dream's voice was panicked, eyes wild and disconnected. His breaths came in wild, high gasps. I felt his fingers crush mine, all his force concentrated into his hands.
"I scream at her to step back, to say something to me. And she turns. She turns and I see her beautiful, angelic face. But it's marred, it's tainted. It's hollow. Her beautiful blue-green eyes are shattered and dead. Her smile is fake and empty. Her hands are demurely folded upon the lap of her jeans, and her fingers are so still and steady. I remember calling out to her, "Aisling, TALK TO ME! Aisling, what are you doing? Aisling, please, AISLING, PLEASE!" But oh, she doesn't answer. Her lips curve into a smile and she laughs softly. It's that melodic, lilting sound I love, but its wrong. So, so wrong. " I could sense the hysteria rising in Dream, how our reality was melting away from him, tearing away from him as he sunk deeper into his past, as his ghosts took him far, far away from here. The vice grip of his fingers only locked tighter.
"Everything was wrong. I tell her not to do it. I knew what she was going to do, but I didn't believe myself. I didn't want to. But I knew. George, I knew, I knew!" His free hand was roughly grappling with his hair, like he wanted to rip it out of his head.
"And she says to me, "Tell Mom and Dad I love them. Tell my friends I'm sorry. But I'm not sorry. I'm not sorry for what I'm about to do. I'm not." And I was so, so petrified. I couldn't move my feet, so I simply shook my head frantically, reaching my hand towards her helplessly. "Aisling, please, please, Aisling, don't leave me, don't! I need you Aisling, don't leave me here!" I remember screaming that, because it was all I could say. I remember Aisling's expression softening, a sadness etching itself in her eyes. I remember watching as a single tear trickled down her cheek, dripping off her chin to join the water soaking into her. I remember that sad smile." Dream's exhale was shuddering.
"She said,"I'm sorry, Clay. I'm sorry for leaving you. I'm not sorry to anybody, but I am to you. I'm sorry. I'm so, so, so, sorry. But you understand why I have to do this. You understand me. I know you do. You and I, we share a mind. You've always understood me best. So I know you understand why I'm doing this to you. You know my reasons. I-" I remember feeling so utterly crushed, so utterly broken. But I could not move. "Clay." I heard her say. "I love you. I love you so much, I really do. And I always will. Keep that mask as a reminder of me. Wear it to protect you from a world who does not see you as I do. Remember this, Clay. I love you. I'll always love you."" I felt a warmth gather in my eyes at the words, because it hurt so much to hear. It hurt me so much, as each word Dream spoke felt like a knife to the heart.
"Then, finally, I heard her final word. "Goodbye." I ran forward just as she pushed off the railing, and I remember screaming as I reached out my hand as far as I could, trying to save Aisling. Trying to save my sister. Trying, trying, trying. But it was useless." He whispered.
"She was just an inch too far away."
"Aisling, why did you leave me, Aisling, why, Aisling, why were you on that bridge, Aisling, why, why, why?" Dream wasn't telling a story anymore. He was howling his grievances, the pent-up words he'd strangled for so long. It was a terrible thing to hear, his anguish and pain and grief.
"Aisling, why, why would you do this to me? Aisling, why, Aisling, when did it get so bad, when did it get so bad, Aisling, why, AISLING, WHY, AISLING, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?" His voice was a hollow, terrible shriek. His hand was still an iron vice grip on mine, like a cage.
"Aisling, what have you done?" Dream whispered, voice pained.
I felt numb. Petrified.
Then, the story continued.
"I watched as she fell. Aisling gracefully arched through the air. She's dropping, diving, spinning, twirling, arcing, turning upside down. Falling. She looks like she's flying down, and I can't take my eyes off her body as it lands in the water. Then, the water consumed her. The steely waves crashed over her, dragging her away, tearing her so far away from me. She's gone. In a split second, everything changed. I was there and she was not. I had thrown myself at an invisible wall, the rift, the line between dead and not. I was there after that second. And Aisling wasn't. She just...wasn't." Dream's expression was shattered.
"It took a single second to change everything. One second, and she wasn't there. But I was. Alone. All alone."
"I hear a splash. I hear the rush and crash of the waves. I hear a clap of thunder. And I hear a single howl, a single broken scream. I realize that the scream was mine. Then, I hear nothing. Nothing. Just the sound of my own jagged breaths as I slump to the ground and sob. I look to my side at Aisling's clothes, which are in a drenched heap on the bridge. My mind was empty, except for one thing."
"The fact that I had never felt true agony until that day." Dream closed his eyes, taking one deep, shuddering breath after the other.
I knew exactly why Dream didn't want to come here now. Oh, I knew.
"Just...just out of curiosity, Dream, where-" I paused. Dream sighed expectantly.
"Say it."
"Where did...it happen?" I asked quietly. Another sardonic laugh escaped Dream's lips, the sound all cynical and artificial. He gripped my hand and moved it to point at a place not twenty feet away.
"Right there." He said simply. I dropped my hand to my side immediately, shock working through my system. My hands were trembling, my heart racing. Iciness ran through my veins, and goosebumps had risen on my skin.
"Oh my god." Was all I could utter. "Oh god. Oh god, oh god, oh god. No, no, no." Tears traced down my face, spilling over my eyes and marking my skin as they trickled down. My breaths were laboured. I felt arms settle around me, felt myself getting pulled into an embrace.
"I've distanced myself from the pain by now, George." Dream spoke gently, like what he said was meant to be assuring, meant to be comforting.
"That's not right." I whispered.
"Who cares about right and wrong? Was it right that Aisling jumped that day? Was it right that there was a reason she jumped? Was it right that the world allowed the ocean to claim her body that day? Was it right? Was it?"
"No." I shook my head fervently. "No, no, no, no-"
"Was it right that Olivia and Lia did those horrible things to you?" Dream's tone was acidic, venemous and sickly-sweet. I shook my head, my back quivering with my sobs.
I couldn't argue with that.
"No, it wasn't." Dream said, sighing. "None of it was right, but it happened anyway." He ran a thumb through my hair.
"Everything was wrong that night." I whispered.
"See, George? Right and wrong aren't so different, are they?" He mused. I merely nodded, as I had nothing to say.
All I felt was numb and grieved. All I felt was something close to nothing, but with the sharp, cold edge of anguish. Raw pain, but half-numb, like my body was trying to ignore and repel it, but failing. A fruitless toil, a faithless tug-of-war. My body was wasting its energy trying to fight away a pain I couldn't un-feel.
"It's okay, George, I'm fine." I could hear the pain in his voice, so I shook my head fervently, my eyes squeezed shut as more tears ran down my face.
"I'm fine." Dream repeated, but I was unconvinced.
"You aren't. I can hear it. I can hear that you aren't fine. I can hear more than you give me credit for, Dream. I can." I said forcefully. "It's not that hard to see, that hard to hear, that hard to feel."
"You're right. I'm not okay. But what does saying it change?" His voice was cynical.
"In the end, I'm damaged. I'm broken. And saying it? That doesn't change that everything about me is messed up. Saying I'm wrong doesn't fix the fact I'm made from a broken mold. It doesn't change a thing, George, and that's the thing I learned from that day. I screamed and cried and wished for it all to change, for all of it to go away, for all of it to be a bad dream. I was so deeply depressed, and I told people. I was so open about it, so hungry for any help to help me out of that nightmare. Oh, believe me, I was!"
"But-" I started. Dream pressed a finger to my lips, silencing me.
"Nobody did anything to help me, no matter how often I begged for help. I begged for a hand to help me up, a light to guide me through the tunnel. But I was left alone. They left me. And I never allowed that weakness again. I opened up to Aisling, and then she was gone. I opened up to my family, and they pretended I never said anything. What did that experience teach me?" He mused, his tone light, amused. I looked up at him with tear-blurred eyes, barely making out his features through the haze of my tears.
"It taught me that the only person that has my back is me."
"No, Dr-" I was interrupted by Dream's words, by his soft, sad smile. He tilted my chin up to look at his face, and he parted his lips.
"Except for you." He whispered.
A single thought ran through my head. A single set of words, dark and bold as they printed into every part of my mind. A single line.
I'll never leave you like they did.
Dream's POV:
We just sat there for a while, until the sunset painted the sky in feverish hues and the temperature lowered just slightly, the drafts picking up.
"We should head back now." I said quietly, putting a hand on George's shoulder. It was so slender and fragile, it nearly felt like a wing blade upon a butterfly, frail and papery. Just like Aisling, I thought sadly. I pushed the thought away and smiled wanly. George nodded and sighed, looking into the sunset and the brush strokes of vibrance streaking across the sky.
"It's so pretty." The soft salmon-pink and gold glow shone on his fair skin, his dark eyes shining with those same warm colours.
"I was out here all the time as a kid, so it's not as impressive anymore." I noted. George gasped and dramatically splayed his hand over his heart.
"I know, it's terrible." I sighed.
"Appalling."
I laughed gently. "Yes, use your words, George."
"It's hard."
"It's hard to do anything for the first time, I understand." I teased. George bit his lip and averted his gaze.
"You use your words much better than most people do." His voice was quiet and somber, despite the compliment. My smile faded slightly at the off tone.
"Thanks-" I started hesitantly, before George gave me a small smile and flicked his eyes up at me.
"You're an excellent storyteller, Dream. For...for better or for worse." His voice trailed off.
"What doe-"
"When you told me about...Aisling's, um, death, it was-" His arms wrapped around his torso, a protective gesture. "It was so-"
"I used to write." I finished his sentence swiftly. "I wanted to be an author." My words were wistful, full of lost hopes and buried dreams. I remembered how much I loved writing. How I read all my favourite novels over and over, trying to get better at writing, trying to pick up the best parts of the best authors' styles and apply them to my own work. I remembered how much joy I found in writing.
Until I found Aisling's after she died.
"What happened to make you stop?" George asked softly. My eyes cast downwards.
"After Aisling died, I found her writing." George's face bore shock.
"I never knew she wanted to write as well. I never knew she loved writing so much. The attention was always on my writing. My talents, my gifts. I was so proud of my work, of my love of my work. I loved the attention. Then Aisling died, her gifts dying with her." Pain spiked through my heart, a deep emotional ache presenting itself. A sadness and shame flooded me.
Aisling's work had been so beautiful.
"Writing reminded me of her." I whispered, swallowing my guilt and looking away.
"I'm so sorry-" George reached out a hand towards mine. I pulled away slightly.
"Don't be." I forced a smile.
"No, Dream-" He protested feebly.
I shook my head. "Let's go. I'm sure Sapnap and Bad are getting impatient." Changing the subject hastily, I cracked another fake smile and gestured in the right direction to go home. George nodded and followed me as I brushed past him and started walking.
"We can have a therapy session for me later." I joked. George laughed, but the humour didn't touch his eyes.
We walked in silence.
"What took you guys so long?" Bad asked us once we returned to him and Sapnap, his eyebrow raised.
"Yeah, what did you guys do at the bridge? Congratulations, George, by the way. We've never been able to convince Dream to go to that bridge, for whatever reason." Sapnap spoke dismissively, his eyes meeting mine briefly before flicking down. George stiffened beside me, his jaw tensing, teeth gritting.
"Oh, hooray." He said, his voice hard. From George's expression, Sapnap could tell it was time to drop it. His eyes met mine again, before flicking away.
"What did you guys do?" Sapnap asked curiously. I could feel my throat tighten. George's eyes glossed over with concern as he turned to look at me, his expression worried. His fingers found mine in a subtle, comforting gesture.
"Nothing." I lied. "Absolutely nothing."
"Considering you guys did Nothing, George seems awfully...worked up." Sapnap mused.
"Yeah, George, what's wrong?" Bad asked, tilting his head to the side. George looked to me briefly, before casting his gaze back down, his weight shifting from one foot to the other.
"Nothing." He lied quietly.
Everything, I thought bitterly, my mind laced with anger. Anger at myself. Anger that I'd unloaded all my problems onto George, that I'd unleashed all my demons and ghosts onto my-my friend. Anger that my vulnerability had punished the person I loved most. Nothing was wrong, George had said. No. He was incorrect. He was so, so incorrect.
Because it wasn't that nothing was wrong. It was because everything was wrong.
Everything was so, so wrong.
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Author here; that took way too long to write and upload...sorry.
I'm also sorry for how much angst I couldn't help but write. Hope the chapter was good enough to make up for the wait (don't mind my wishful thinking). Not my absolutely most phenomenal work ever, but the chapter accomplishes what I wanted it to. If I inflicted pain on any of you faithful readers, my job is done. Writing pain and dark, heavy angsty things are my specialty, along with melodrama and more unrealism than should be possible.
TLDR: I love writing angst and overly dramatic things, and I don't plan on stopping...ever. Don't expect to say goodbye to dramatic, big-word-loving, psycho fucked up characters anytime soon.
Thanks for reading that long-winded mess of a chapter, guys. Your support is much appreciated! 8k reads, 600+ comments, 400+ votes...what the hell. I love you so much, everybody <3333 thanks again!
See you guys in the next one! Do I even need to give you an angst warning anymore?
Bye.