What I want, Chapter Nineteen.
Scott woke up panting in the middle of the night, a scream on the tip of his tongue, and wanting to die. Dreams came for reasons, always, and this one was not the only one he knew was not a coincidence.
It was her, sitting on the washer, crying, like she had been the night he found her. Only this time, no one was there for her, he wasn't there to save her, to make her feel better as she peeled away at herself, just wasn't there.
He'd had dreams like that before, ones where she was crying, and on the other side of a glass wall. The symbolism in that dream was almost too simple for him to even think about. One of the dreams was her looking down into his grave maliciously. That one wasn't too hard to decypher either. But for the last few weeks, starting with a dream of him not finding her in the woods, with her dying, and then him not finding her on the roof-and though he knew now that she wasn't going to-and her falling, and then this time, him not being there that night...he just didn't know what it meant. And it was driving him insane.
He walked by the laundry room just in case-though it was out of his way-on the way out the door to run. No one was there.
Of course no one was there. Kitty hated him for what he did to her, betraying her. He hated himself, so how could he expect her not to? He couldn't, and didn't.
By the time he was outside, the night air crisp and ripe with a promise of snow, he ran, and ran into the woods surrounding the school, fled past the signs signifying camping areas, places to pitch fires, nature hikes, benches, picnic tables, and fountains, until he came to the place he was looking for. A stream, rather, a small, false water feature that Charles had installed probably when he had built the school, and then forgotten about.
Every time his mind was racing, he would run and run, and he would end up there, so he could sit down and eventually the chaotic ropes of his thought would rearrange themselves into lines, so that he could listen to them and understand them like he listened to the lull of the river.
He'd come before to think about Kitty, but it had never helped. She was too chaotic in his mind, so many things centered around her. Every thought, every wish to save the world, and each plea to the gods that she might return, every leaf on every tree in the autumn made him think of her brown hair, her peachy skin, and he went insane with it.
He might think now, might just weave his thoughts into a recognizable pattern so that he could know what to do.
But he sat there for hours, what seemed like centuries, and his mind remained as busy as it had been before, only now it was more tired.
Scott shifted to the ground, and leaned his head against the rock he'd been sitting on. Maybe just a short rest, and he'd be able to run back. And as he closed his eyes, the vision behind them was of a girl screaming, and him not finding her.
Scott woke up panting in the middle of the night, a scream on the tip of his tongue, and wanting to die. Dreams came for reasons, always, and this one was not the only one he knew was not a coincidence.
It was her, sitting on the washer, crying, like she had been the night he found her. Only this time, no one was there for her, he wasn't there to save her, to make her feel better as she peeled away at herself, just wasn't there.
He'd had dreams like that before, ones where she was crying, and on the other side of a glass wall. The symbolism in that dream was almost too simple for him to even think about. One of the dreams was her looking down into his grave maliciously. That one wasn't too hard to decypher either. But for the last few weeks, starting with a dream of him not finding her in the woods, with her dying, and then him not finding her on the roof-and though he knew now that she wasn't going to-and her falling, and then this time, him not being there that night...he just didn't know what it meant. And it was driving him insane.
He walked by the laundry room just in case-though it was out of his way-on the way out the door to run. No one was there.
Of course no one was there. Kitty hated him for what he did to her, betraying her. He hated himself, so how could he expect her not to? He couldn't, and didn't.
By the time he was outside, the night air crisp and ripe with a promise of snow, he ran, and ran into the woods surrounding the school, fled past the signs signifying camping areas, places to pitch fires, nature hikes, benches, picnic tables, and fountains, until he came to the place he was looking for. A stream, rather, a small, false water feature that Charles had installed probably when he had built the school, and then forgotten about.
Every time his mind was racing, he would run and run, and he would end up there, so he could sit down and eventually the chaotic ropes of his thought would rearrange themselves into lines, so that he could listen to them and understand them like he listened to the lull of the river.
He'd come before to think about Kitty, but it had never helped. She was too chaotic in his mind, so many things centered around her. Every thought, every wish to save the world, and each plea to the gods that she might return, every leaf on every tree in the autumn made him think of her brown hair, her peachy skin, and he went insane with it.
He might think now, might just weave his thoughts into a recognizable pattern so that he could know what to do.
But he sat there for hours, what seemed like centuries, and his mind remained as busy as it had been before, only now it was more tired.
Scott shifted to the ground, and leaned his head against the rock he'd been sitting on. Maybe just a short rest, and he'd be able to run back. And as he closed his eyes, the vision behind them was of a girl screaming, and him not finding her.
