A/N: This is a new little thing I'm doing. It's a series of oneshots, and each one is a different letter of the alphabet. So like the first one is "Awake" for A, and so on and so forth. I hope you like them, and remember that reviews are my reason for living, so, you know, submit them.
About this chapter: There's a back story to this, but I wanted to type it out WITHOUT the back story, leave you guessing, haha. But if you want to know how we get to this point, just let me know and I'll put it in later on.
And awaaaaaaay we go!
Awake - (adj) - /əˈweɪk/[uh-weyk] - vigilant; alert
The blonde girl sat upright in bed, drenched in a cold sweat. Her shallow breathing and racing heartbeat both followed the steady rhythm of the pounding in her head. Her frail arms wrapped around her waist, thin from the countless nights of not eating, of being too disgusted and afraid to eat. She wrestled her way out from underneath the covers, glancing at the girl sleeping by the window, her face bathed in moonlight. The slumbering girl was oblivious to the wind, whispering unheard secrets into the crack between the window and the frame. Turning away, the blonde crossed to the door and slowly eased it open, stepping her bare feet onto the cool wood of the hallway. Trembling, she lowered herself down the stairs and into the entrance.
It was a long way to the back door, and she knew they would be waiting for her around every corner. They, with their scarred faces and dark eyes, were always waiting. They were in her dreams, their decomposing hands reaching for her. She closed her eyes and ran, crashing through the house until she felt the bare skin of her toes meet the dusty linoleum of the utility room. Her eyes fluttered open as she slipped her shoes on and forced her arms through an old brown coat.
A cold gust of wind smashed against her sweat-dampened face as she threw open the back door and left the house. She trudged down the suburban road, not watching as the white picket fences passed her by. A dog barked in the distance. And suddenly, she was out of the suburbs, in the place Laury and James called, "the bad part of town." Her dainty feet led her down a familiar, dimly-lit street, past the boarded-up pink house and along a dark alley she knew all too well, ending at the corner. She knew they were waiting for her just around said corner, and she knew that if she continued a few more steps, she would come face-to-face with them, and she would be knocked back into the waking world, the smell of rotting flesh lingering on the edge of her senses. She knew it was a dream, a nightmare. It had to be, for her feet had only taken her this far in her restless sleep. Taking a deep breath, she started forward, only to find that she had collided with something soft and warm, leaving her on the ground, her tailbone aching. She almost believed it could be him. She slowly opened her eyes and glanced at his startled face, his emerald-green eyes wide with surprise.
"Wh-what are you doing her?" he stammered, leaping to his feet and offering her his hand. She took it and allowed him to pull her up, his skin warm against her cold fingers.
"I needed some air..." she said softly, her voice hoarse from months of silence. For the first time since the incident, she heard sound coming from her own chapped, cracked lips.
"Yeah, me, too... couldn't sleep..." he mumbled. There was a pause. She was on her feet, her hand grasping his, afraid to let go.
"It's been a while..." he said slowly.
"Yeah." she responded, too tired for insults. His eyes flickered across her face, searching for something that was missing, something that had died along with her parents the day that she was met with sirens after school, the warmest welcome she had ever gotten.
"You know, if you need to talk about it-"
"I don't need to talk, Arnold. I just need... I don't know what I need. But I've gone almost a year without talking, I don't need to talk now."
And with that, he hugged her. Not the friendly, vice-like hugs he'd bestowed upon her in the past, and not the achingly romantic ones in her hormone-fueled dreams, but a soft, gentle hug. His arms affectionately around her waist, holding her close. His chin resting delicately on the top of her head. The way his smooth voice frantically whispered, "I'm sorry, Helga, I'm sorry. I should have been there, I'm so sorry."
It was perfect, he was perfect, and as he walked her back to the wide green lawns and little yappy-dogs confined to stuffy utility rooms in the rising Northwestern sun, for the first time in ten months, one week, four days, nine hours and three minutes, Helga felt...
Awake.