A/N: So, since school's up and running, I'll try and update steadily and surely. Hope you liked the pictures last chapter to give you a sense of the characters.

Delusional

Chapter 3: His Cliche But Oh So Memorable Eyes

Comfortable. That's how Deja felt. Leaning her head against Michael's bicep and her arm looped with his, she couldn't help but feel calm. Silent as they walked through halls.

But then he walked away, his arm threading away smoothly out of hers as a faceless girl ambled towards him. She was left alone as Michael whispered into the girl's ear, dumbstruck that he had found a girl and didn't tell her AND left her stranded.

She suddenly felt a tug on her sleeve, pulling her onto the lockers, "Hey sexy." She'd heard that voice before. A nose began to glide along her throat. "Why'd you turn me down? Huh? We coulda been good together..." She looked to the guy's face and recognized the striped guy from the cafeteria and as much as she wished that she could hate his attention, she was somehow enjoying it. His breathe and nose raised goosebumps on her skin as she felt them go up and down her throat. His hands were positioned on either side of her head, slightly raising the bar of intimidation and hype. One hand slid down into the back pocket of her jeans, the other came to rest on the side of her throat his lips weren't attending to. His lips began to trail north, dragging his hot breathe onto her jaw.

Now drawing up to his full height, he pressed her snugly into the lockers. As his attention neared her lips, she tried to think, tried to see why she was enjoying this. This wasn't the first time dreams involved escalating make out sessions, but this time, she wasn't even in control. She didn't want this, not him. Usually she could stop it all, or push him away, or try and wake herself up. But she was actually enjoying this, mind you, she didn't want to. "Please, stop." She tried nicely, although the attempt did sound weak and breathy.

He continued, barely pausing to breathe out "Why?" Then, his lips pressed over hers. Slowly, some heat began to build up inside of her, but it wasn't the nice oozing magma heat, more of a dreaded burning pain. No, she didn't want this.

"Get off me" Deja exclaimed as she pushed on his chest. It was as if he hadn't even noticed, so, she kicked his feet from under him, wrenching herself away from his hands. Then, veering toward the right, she began to run, hearing him yell, "Fuck you!"

Turning into another hall she continued to run, but then nearly rammed into "green girl" and, as Michael commented, "americano boy," who were walking towards her. "Hey Deja!" the girl greeted with a smile on her face. "So, I was wondering if you wanted to hang out? Oh and this is Will... remember?" Deja was still bewildered that she had almost run in to them, but gave a faint nod. "Anyways, so, we could go to the mall or Starbucks..." like the girl needed another shot of coffee... and when did she say this was ok? "Or the movies. I'm not sure what's out now, but there might be something. And then we could all hang out with the gang." Say what? "I'll bet they'd love to meet you." Oh yeah, they're just jumping for joy. And daaamnn! She could motor mouth her way to the finish line.

B before Deja could get in a word of protest, "americano boy" said, "How's school been? We could show you around if you need it."

Needing to get away from couple cloud nine here before they invited her to a happy toddlers birthday with balloons and clowns, Deja said, "Whatevs" and walked away. Crazy and too happy. How could they be so amazingly optimistic in this world?

As she looked at her chucks, she continued to walk. How many more people would she see? She was sure to bump into one hot-tough-leather jacket-wearing guy. He was worth remembering and thats putting it lightly, yet no sign of him yet. Any girl would have dreamt of him, and she was sure to. Just as she was thinking this, she tripped on ripped up black jeans with an "oomph."

Turning around so that she sat her but on the linoleum, she saw just whom she knew she would have to eventually. He was looking at her. Glaring, but still looking.

Wow, this was a change. She enjoyed that his eyes were on her, she actually wanted someone to pay attention to her. Usually, she ran away from watching eyes, but this time, she wanted those deep dark brown eyes looking at her. His hair hung loosely, yet those eyes could see, beyond the surface, as if he could read her.

Because she had tripped on his previously bent legs one was still bent, but the other was laid flat against the ground. His left hand still had its fingers in position of holding the pages open, the other in his hair, raking it back.

Her eyes strayed away from his, not being able to maintain eye contact. Her eyes wandered and saw his book. He was reading "Dreamcatcher" by Stephen King. That had to be one of her favorite books. The connection of the characters, however haunting, always mystified her. Maybe that's what Michael wanted for her, to find connections with people, but without the wicked horror story.

"Uh, sorry about that. Wasn't paying attention" Deja apologized, her voice breathy with nerves. He cocked an eyebrow as if to say, Never woulda guessed.

"Um...ya." She didn't know what else to say. She was never one for conversations, more for snippets of teasing and bantering as adults would say.

Deja looked back up and saw that his eyes were still on her in a hard gaze, trying to figure her out. Ducking her head back down quickly, she muttered, "Shit." Why was she so nervous? Why didn't she just pick herself back up? Why didn't she...

Music in background...

Why don't you let me be

Leave me alone

You start a fire inside that I can never control...

You wanna see a reaction (See a reaction)

C'mon and cut me down/You've got us as far as I'll go

Now your crossin the line and I'm lettin' you know

Well heres your reaction

STAAAANNDDD UUUPP!/I HAVE HAAADDD EEENOOOUUGH...

WALK AWAY BEFORE I FINISH WHAT YOU'VE STARTED

FACE TO FACE

I WILL PUT YOU IN YOUR PLACE

END THIS GAME BEFORE I FINISH WHAT YOU'VE STARTED

FACE TO FAAACE

EVERYTHING WILL CHANGE

Continuation of music...

"God dammit!" She grumbled.

"Fuck Deja! Turn your damn iPod off!" Michael complained from across the room.

"Shuddup!" she responded. Sliding her arm out from under her pillows, her hand felt around for the speakers her iPod was positioned on, pressed the off button and let her hand drift back to its burrow under her pillows.

"Thank you!" he praised, and fell back to sleep.

Turning over, Deja lifted off the dark navy blue comforter and sheets off her body, pushing herself up so that she knelt on her knees on mattress that rested on the floor. Turning so her back was against the wall, she bowed her head as the heels of her palms pressed her forehead, rubbing away the dream. This one was pretty PG, no deaths, no blood, her clumsy self was still the main character and the others were to be expected. Nothing out of the ordinary. Ha! Yeah, as if knowing that you'll have dreams about people you've seen for two seconds is totally normal...

Crawling towards the end of her bed, Deja opened the drawers of her dresser that was pressed up against the wall of the room. She picked out one of her many pairs of black skinny jeans, a black shirt with demented white writing that said, "Do I Look Like I Give A Damn" and a black and gray striped hoodie. Then, sliding off the mattress, she sluggishly walked the couple of steps distance towards the door of the room, kicking Michael's mattress as she walked by. He didn't even notice.

Walking across the mini-hallway, she entered the small bathroom and showered. Once she made the bathroom smell of faint cucumber, Deja got out, mussing up her wet hair as she dried it.

She continued to wonder about dream. She could care less about "striped dude" and the short make out session, or peppy cloud nine couple, all she could think about was this guy. As always, she remembered every second of it, but this time, she distinctly remembered his gaze on her, and now, it gave her slight shivers. No girl could deny that he was some hot shit, but that wasn't what really got her mind reeling.

It was his eyes. GOD, she couldn't get over those eyes. And yes, to her, they were the cliche dark brown, nearly black, pools that made her want to sink into them, give a girl a break, but they seemed to be beyond those of a high school kid. Like he understood all, or maybe just her. But how could he? For obvious reasons, she was a girl, so no, he would never know the experience of having the monthly curse, and he also didn't have the slightly weird power of illusions and its dreaming side effects. So, maybe he just had the look, you know, the ones all classic guys did in books.

Speaking of books, he was READING, and not any shit either, good stuff. Stephen King no less. Why her favorite book too? She knew in the past that sometimes these dreams were meant to be interpreted, possible clues to her sub-conscience, so maybe this "sign" was important. Maybe they were similar. Maybe he was something more than the brooding leather jacket wearing guy he appeared to be. And no, she wouldn't classify him as emo. People used that term too easily and it was an all too presumptuous label. Maybe he was just the quiet type who liked to brood and wear darker clothes. Assuming that someone cuts themselves was not her way to live and if he did, well, she'd deal with that when it came.

The entire time she had been thinking this through, she had stared into the mirror unknowingly. Now, consciously looking at her reflection, she realized that this frame had reminded her of loneliness and she was gonna change that. No, she wasn't gonna become Miss Social Queen Bee, but she'd get to know someone, other than Michael who knew her all too well; and this guy was it. Remembering his name from the episode under the tree, and yes, she had forgiven him, she lightly whispered, "Warren."

Walking out of the bathroom, she glanced at the mirror closet door and checked that she looked ok. Grabbing the mascara and eyeliner from the little stand next to the sliding door, she reached up and quickly brushed on her regular light touch of black mascara with some eyeliner at the rim of her eye. Then, hollering as she laced up her beat up black high-tops "C'mon, get up Mr. Macho. I need breakfast and we have nothing in the fridge. NADA, ZERO, ZIP, ZILCH!" All she got in response was a pillow thrown at her.

"Fine, I'm leaving to get some food and I'll meet you at the bus stop. Adios." Grabbing her cell, iPod, keys and backpack, she walked out of the studio, slamming the door as she did.

A/N: So. the song for her alarm was Stand Up by Trapt. I know the story is a little slow, but I felt that getting to know Deja was important. Every time I read a fic and don't really get to know the OC or if its too over done of a character, it doesn't satisfy me as much and I want people to know her. They don't have to like her, but at least they'll know why.

Uh, if you need a description of the studio, its basically, a one room walk-in. If you take two steps from the door, you're in the kitchenette, and to the right is a bigger room. Against the wall to the right of the door is Deja's mattress and stuff and at the end of the room is Michael's. To the left of Michael's area, is the niche with the mirror. walk to the left of that and there's the bathroom which should be separated from the kitchen by a wall if you wanna think 360.

Hope you liked it and please review. It does get me motivated to write a lot more.