I do not own Pokémon.
But I do own Vincent, and all the other characters that doesn't appear in
the game
If you want to use Vincent or any of the other characters, you have got to
have my permission
A Grey life
Chapter 16: Nightmares
You should know these things before reading my story
" " people speaking
( ) a persons thoughts
Imagine yourself floating. Floating weightlessly in a pitch black sea having no idea how far under you are or which way is up, down, left or right. All you know is that you are not alone. You can't see anything through the murky water but you still know that there is something there with you.
Creatures that can see you. Looking at you like a pack of hungry wolves. Eyes staring at you with malice so intense that you can almost feel their hungry eyes on your body, planning when to make a move. But no matter how much you want to swim to whatever way you think the surface is, you can't. Your body doesn't do what you want it to. If you move even an inch, the creatures will come after you. You can do nothing to get away. You aren't in control anymore. Your life is in someone else's hands.
And the worst part is that you don't trust those hands.
Not exactly a pleasant feeling is it?
For Vincent, that would have been a very pleasant dream.
Vincent had no sense of time in his current state. It felt like he had been dreaming for hours, days even. But for all he knew he could have been dreaming for minutes. He dreamt one horrible thing after another, forgetting them as they went by.
He relived every excruciating moment in school. Pickings for soccer games. He was always picked last and how he just stood there, short in stature and sad in face.
"You."
"You."
"You. Then your team gets Vincent."
"You take him!" Matt, the little bastard. If Vincent only had been stronger back then...
Or how he was picked on. How he never had any friends. How he ran home and wept. How he got in fights. How he lost them.
He relived nine years of nothing but pain. All he felt was anger towards the people for doing that to him. Making him a complete and utter outcast. And making him despise every little weakness possible in both himself and any other person. The first thing he took care of was his own physical weakness.
But his worst dream had nothing to do with his former class members.
He found himself standing outside of their house as he remembered it in his world. Everything was dead silent. Not even the wind blew as he slowly walked up to the door and pulled the handle, opening it. Walking in, not hearing his mother calling for him he announced he was home in his usual 'not interested' tone. When she didn't reply, he walked up the stair, hearing one single thing louder and louder for every step he took.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Blood. Guts. His mothers face frozen in pain and fear.
He didn't even shed a tear.
And then it ended.
The little piece of his mind that wasn't dreaming tried desperately to convince him that they all were nothing but dreams. But it was so hard to just discard the horrible scenes as dreams. Why did anyone dream like that? Only things that hurt. Why did anyone only dream the bad things? He didn't believe it was only dreams. It had to be for some reason he was seeing it all. Oh, how he wanted to just give up. Just admit that he didn't want to see anymore. Admit that it was too much for him to handle.
"Deal with it. I do."
Every time he wanted to curl up in a little ball and just let it all out, those words came into his head. His own voice, speaking with such intensity and fire that he got reminded of who he was. He was Vincent Grey! He wouldn't give up!
After having seen his mother was no more, he saw himself sitting with his back against the trunk of a tree. He had on a pair of gray pants and on his wrists and feet were the weightbands he had invented himself. His legs were crossed, as were his arms. He was unshaved, dirty and had messy hair. His eyes stared straight ahead seemingly lifeless never blinking as he rocked back and forth against the tree. Then all of a sudden, he turned his head ninety degrees to the left and was perfectly still. He had heard something. People. People were coming his way. He sprung from his seated position, grabbed his backpack and ran off into the woods, out of sight.
And only because he didn't want to meet anyone. Or anyone to meet him.
"I stand alone!"
All his life he had believed in the power of one. That if you are alone, you are strong. You don't need people. Depending on people makes you weak. And if you are weak, you will get hurt one way or another.
But was that image really the power of one? One that runs from people just so that he doesn't have to interact with them? No, that was that of a mad man who had spent too much time on his own and had started to fear people.
Fear. If you have it, then you are not strong at all.
"Underneath that macho shell of yours, you are much more vulnerable than you want to believe."
Wendy's words echoed within him like spoken straight from the heavens and even though he was not conscious, his heart sank as he began to realize that she really was right.
¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤- ¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤
In a hospital room somewhere on the coast of Kanto, a rather short girl with a blonde ponytail awoke only to find that she had fallen asleep sitting in a chair, leaning over on a hospital bed.
She looked around the sterile room and saw that the television set mounted on the wall in front of the bed was still on and had woken her up.
"Think you've got what it takes to be a Pokémon trainer?" The deep voice on the TV said
"Think it's all a walk in the park? That it is easy to be a good Pokémon trainer?" the voice escalated, sounding more and more enraged as he talked on.
"It's not!" Right after he had said that, four pictures of Vincent's face came onto the screen. Left profile, front, right profile and then a full body shot of him. All at the sound of a single drumbeat per picture. "BAM BAM BAM BAM"
"Vincent Grey." He paused a little for effect "Might be the toughest trainer in the world because of his incredible strength, unbeatable fighting strategies and powerful Pokémon."
"Welcome to..." The camera dove into Vincent's right eye before becoming totally black.
"A Grey Life!" The three words appeared on screen and the show was on, showing Vincent in his sleeping bag.
(not another rerun...) Every day since Vincent's injury, they had aired the first episode of 'A Grey Life' due to the inability to show new episodes. Apparently, the world was fascinated and in awe over the fact that they had seen a Pokémon trainer be maimed and hospitalised in the very first episode of the new reality show.
The newspapers were following him like wolves, analysing the scene of which he had been injured. Was he just stupid, with a deathwish or was he just very courageous? Could it have been staged just to get people's interest? Or could he be in love with the camerawoman?
The rumours were spreading like wildfire and it was hard to walk the town without hearing anything about either Vincent or the show itself, much to the satisfaction of the people in charge of it.
To sum it all up: the show was a hit.
She had heard of it when she plopped down in a chair that seemed incredibly comfortable because of her tired legs and flipped on her television set. The first thing she saw was Vincent in the small clearing with all his Pokémon out. She couldn't believe that it really was him standing there in the rain. She was convinced that she was dreaming when in the next minutes, he was abused over and over again by the large Pokémon. As soon as the show had ended she threw herself over the phone and found out where he was.
When she thought of it like that, she really didn't know why she had come at all. She hadn't seen him in a very long time and she wouldn't be surprised if he had forgotten about her. But still, she wanted to be there. To see if he was going to be ok. If there was anything she could do to help.
But still, one question remained. Why did she even care? She didn't know.
But she did know one thing. She couldn't stay any longer. She had already put up her duties too long. So she found a piece of paper, a pen and wrote him a letter to when he woke up.
(If he wakes up at all...) It was hard not to let that little thought slip into your head. But she really couldn't imagine someone as strong as Vincent not recovering. During her life, she had never met anyone quite like him. Sure, in her job she had met many buff looking guys with an attitude that reminded her of him but they were all just actors. None really was as strong in mind and will as Vincent was. Thinking like that really reminded her of how much she thought of him.
'Dear Vincent.'
'I have to say it's good to see you again and still... it's not. The last time I saw you ended with me crying for hours and you couldn't care less. Sure, you didn't know I cried but I doubt you would care if you had seen it. That part of me would like nothing else than to forget you ever existed. And then there is another part of me... The part that makes butterflies swirl inside of me when I think of you. The part that just wants to hold you forever. It was so long since we parted and I want you to know that you've been in my thoughts every single day.'
She put down her pen and read over what she had written. She really hadn't thought of it, just written exactly what she wanted him to know. She took a deep breath and crumbled up the paper into a ball.
'Vincent Grey'
'I have been here for three days now and you show no signs of waking up. If I could, I would stay longer but I have things to do. I don't know if you remember me or not but if you want to hear what I have to say, you should go to Hoenn. I won't be too hard to find.'
'Just take the challenge.'
She folded the paper in half and put in on the small table next to his bed. He looked so different when he wasn't awake. So peaceful... she wanted to kiss him on the forehead but decided not to. Instead she left him.
¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤- ¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤
White. Such a wonderful colour really. White like a beautifully shaped cloud on a summer day. Or white like snow, weighing down the branches of a tree. Or white like a bowl of rice in front of a hungry child. When Vincent opened his eyes white was not beautiful. Or wonderful for that matter. For the last two years, he had woken up to dew clinging to his body, sending shivers down his spine. The first thing he saw every time he opened his eyes had been green grass, trees and sometimes the ocean.
Waking up laying down on a hard bed, frazzling paper underneath him and clothes certain not his while staring at a blinding white ceiling was not something he expected. He had a hard time focusing his eyes so he blinked a couple of times and slowly came to realize that he couldn't hear anything. He noticed that only because his sense of smell came back to him like a brick to the head. Describing what he smelled was hard but it felt like a mix of drugs, old people and dust. The smell stuck in his nostrils and he feared that he would have the odour in his nose for the rest of his life.
Even though he stared at a flat surface it felt like he was spinning. He became nauseous and tried desperately not to throw up. He lifted his head to look around and saw what had to be the international hospital design. A nurse stood at the end of his bed and looked at some records when she noticed that he looked at her. She immediately looked around her to see if anyone was there and when there wasn't, she prepared a syringe and stuck in his IV while looking into his glossy eyes.
"no..." he tried to reach out to her and tell her that he would rather puke out his innards than go back to sleep and see more nightmares. But he was too weak and nauseous to even lift his arm more than a couple of inches. Just seconds after she had injected the shot, the room began to spin and the urge to throw up was the last thing he remembered before his eyelids closed once more.
When the drugs hit his system, he was sent back into the oblivion of his own mind. More nightmares... he was just so tired of seeing them.
This time he was lying on his back with nothing on his upper body. The dream was much more vague than all the others so it was very hard to make out any details. All he knew was that he was on his back and had no shirt on. Where he was, he did not know. It could very well have been outside in the winter because all of a sudden, he became incredibly cold. After just a few seconds, he had a hard time feeling his hands and feet. When he raised his hands to his mouth to blow some hot air on them, he became surprised that he barely could bend his fingers around each other...
He was losing heat and he was losing it fast. This was like nothing else he had been through before. Sure, he had slept out in snow and hard weather but that felt like a summer day compared to this. He didn't even feel that he was cold anymore. He just knew it became harder and harder to move. Part of him knew it was a dream but another part of him couldn't ignore the bitter fact that he really was extremely cold. His now deeply rooted survival instincts told him that if he didn't do something, he would be in big trouble. So he pulled his knees as high up as he could to his chest, lowered his head and wrapped his arms around his legs.
What else could he do? He couldn't very well get up and run around. Heck, if he did, he wouldn't be surprised if his legs would break like ice. It just got colder and colder with each second that passed. He really didn't know what to do. He couldn't take shelter anywhere because after all, it was just a dream. A very vivid dream but still a dream... That was what Vincent was telling himself the entire time. Soon, it felt like his mind was lagging behind just like his body.
It is said that if you die in a dream, you die in real life as well. Was that really true? Well, Vincent was going to find out soon enough...
But then, without warning, Vincent felt something. Waves of heat coming closer and closer to his chest. The heat intensified for a split second before he could feel the tips of four fingers rest on his chest above his heart one after the other and finally an entire palm. It didn't feel like a hand that belonged to someone. Somehow he couldn't feel someone else's skin against his. It just felt like someone in the way that it felt warm in a pattern that could only be from a hand.
He could feel his cold heart being surrounded by heat and then beating faster and faster, pumping warm, lifegiving blood into his stiff veins. His body shot out from the curled up position and it was almost painful how his back arched back like a whip. Every single muscle in his body was heated up in the matter of seconds. He breathed heavily as his body came back under control.
He didn't feel cold anymore. It was like there never had been any cold at all.
The warm hand left his chest and Vincent felt himself being embraced by a pair of warm, soft and gentle arms. His entire being was filled with affection at the loving embrace. His nose filled with a sweet, alluring scent that he recognized from somewhere before. Even though he had trouble giving the fragrance a name and a person to identify it with, he became glad.
He lifted his arms up to return the hug he was getting but the moment he raised them, it felt like the heat intensified. Much like a person tensing. The comforting warmth quickly became offensive and the heat grew sharp spikes burning their way into his body, forcing him to let go. The arms that held him pushed him away in a disgusted manner and thrusted a blazing hand into his chest to where his heart was. The sharp hand grabbed hold of his heart and squeezed and burned it to the point where Vincent couldn't even scream the pain he felt. Then, after just a few seconds, the heat disappeared completely.
No part of his body had any burns. Not even his chest where the hand had so brutally entered. The warm body was long gone and Vincent was left to the mercy of the extremely cold weather alone. But he didn't care. He just lay there on his side, staring straight ahead. He didn't feel the cold, Or the imaginary burns. He just felt an excruciating pain in his heart. It wasn't a physical pain but it was like his blood had been poisoned for every beat of his heart, pain lashed through it.
Sorrow, betrayal, despair.
Sadness overcame him.
What had he done to deserve this? Who had he hurt so badly that he needed to endure this abuse?
He couldn't take it anymore. It was too much. He had dreamt for so long and held on to whatever he could through every horrible dream after the other. But he couldn't do it anymore.
A lonely tear rolled down his cheek, freezing to ice on the way.
For the first time in ten years, Vincent Grey let himself go and cried.
A/N: sWell... I have nothing else to say except that this might be a little... confusing if nothing else. No need to worry, I will explain it all in the next chappie, k? Review will ya! ^^ / Yorun
A Grey life
Chapter 16: Nightmares
You should know these things before reading my story
" " people speaking
( ) a persons thoughts
Imagine yourself floating. Floating weightlessly in a pitch black sea having no idea how far under you are or which way is up, down, left or right. All you know is that you are not alone. You can't see anything through the murky water but you still know that there is something there with you.
Creatures that can see you. Looking at you like a pack of hungry wolves. Eyes staring at you with malice so intense that you can almost feel their hungry eyes on your body, planning when to make a move. But no matter how much you want to swim to whatever way you think the surface is, you can't. Your body doesn't do what you want it to. If you move even an inch, the creatures will come after you. You can do nothing to get away. You aren't in control anymore. Your life is in someone else's hands.
And the worst part is that you don't trust those hands.
Not exactly a pleasant feeling is it?
For Vincent, that would have been a very pleasant dream.
Vincent had no sense of time in his current state. It felt like he had been dreaming for hours, days even. But for all he knew he could have been dreaming for minutes. He dreamt one horrible thing after another, forgetting them as they went by.
He relived every excruciating moment in school. Pickings for soccer games. He was always picked last and how he just stood there, short in stature and sad in face.
"You."
"You."
"You. Then your team gets Vincent."
"You take him!" Matt, the little bastard. If Vincent only had been stronger back then...
Or how he was picked on. How he never had any friends. How he ran home and wept. How he got in fights. How he lost them.
He relived nine years of nothing but pain. All he felt was anger towards the people for doing that to him. Making him a complete and utter outcast. And making him despise every little weakness possible in both himself and any other person. The first thing he took care of was his own physical weakness.
But his worst dream had nothing to do with his former class members.
He found himself standing outside of their house as he remembered it in his world. Everything was dead silent. Not even the wind blew as he slowly walked up to the door and pulled the handle, opening it. Walking in, not hearing his mother calling for him he announced he was home in his usual 'not interested' tone. When she didn't reply, he walked up the stair, hearing one single thing louder and louder for every step he took.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Blood. Guts. His mothers face frozen in pain and fear.
He didn't even shed a tear.
And then it ended.
The little piece of his mind that wasn't dreaming tried desperately to convince him that they all were nothing but dreams. But it was so hard to just discard the horrible scenes as dreams. Why did anyone dream like that? Only things that hurt. Why did anyone only dream the bad things? He didn't believe it was only dreams. It had to be for some reason he was seeing it all. Oh, how he wanted to just give up. Just admit that he didn't want to see anymore. Admit that it was too much for him to handle.
"Deal with it. I do."
Every time he wanted to curl up in a little ball and just let it all out, those words came into his head. His own voice, speaking with such intensity and fire that he got reminded of who he was. He was Vincent Grey! He wouldn't give up!
After having seen his mother was no more, he saw himself sitting with his back against the trunk of a tree. He had on a pair of gray pants and on his wrists and feet were the weightbands he had invented himself. His legs were crossed, as were his arms. He was unshaved, dirty and had messy hair. His eyes stared straight ahead seemingly lifeless never blinking as he rocked back and forth against the tree. Then all of a sudden, he turned his head ninety degrees to the left and was perfectly still. He had heard something. People. People were coming his way. He sprung from his seated position, grabbed his backpack and ran off into the woods, out of sight.
And only because he didn't want to meet anyone. Or anyone to meet him.
"I stand alone!"
All his life he had believed in the power of one. That if you are alone, you are strong. You don't need people. Depending on people makes you weak. And if you are weak, you will get hurt one way or another.
But was that image really the power of one? One that runs from people just so that he doesn't have to interact with them? No, that was that of a mad man who had spent too much time on his own and had started to fear people.
Fear. If you have it, then you are not strong at all.
"Underneath that macho shell of yours, you are much more vulnerable than you want to believe."
Wendy's words echoed within him like spoken straight from the heavens and even though he was not conscious, his heart sank as he began to realize that she really was right.
¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤- ¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤
In a hospital room somewhere on the coast of Kanto, a rather short girl with a blonde ponytail awoke only to find that she had fallen asleep sitting in a chair, leaning over on a hospital bed.
She looked around the sterile room and saw that the television set mounted on the wall in front of the bed was still on and had woken her up.
"Think you've got what it takes to be a Pokémon trainer?" The deep voice on the TV said
"Think it's all a walk in the park? That it is easy to be a good Pokémon trainer?" the voice escalated, sounding more and more enraged as he talked on.
"It's not!" Right after he had said that, four pictures of Vincent's face came onto the screen. Left profile, front, right profile and then a full body shot of him. All at the sound of a single drumbeat per picture. "BAM BAM BAM BAM"
"Vincent Grey." He paused a little for effect "Might be the toughest trainer in the world because of his incredible strength, unbeatable fighting strategies and powerful Pokémon."
"Welcome to..." The camera dove into Vincent's right eye before becoming totally black.
"A Grey Life!" The three words appeared on screen and the show was on, showing Vincent in his sleeping bag.
(not another rerun...) Every day since Vincent's injury, they had aired the first episode of 'A Grey Life' due to the inability to show new episodes. Apparently, the world was fascinated and in awe over the fact that they had seen a Pokémon trainer be maimed and hospitalised in the very first episode of the new reality show.
The newspapers were following him like wolves, analysing the scene of which he had been injured. Was he just stupid, with a deathwish or was he just very courageous? Could it have been staged just to get people's interest? Or could he be in love with the camerawoman?
The rumours were spreading like wildfire and it was hard to walk the town without hearing anything about either Vincent or the show itself, much to the satisfaction of the people in charge of it.
To sum it all up: the show was a hit.
She had heard of it when she plopped down in a chair that seemed incredibly comfortable because of her tired legs and flipped on her television set. The first thing she saw was Vincent in the small clearing with all his Pokémon out. She couldn't believe that it really was him standing there in the rain. She was convinced that she was dreaming when in the next minutes, he was abused over and over again by the large Pokémon. As soon as the show had ended she threw herself over the phone and found out where he was.
When she thought of it like that, she really didn't know why she had come at all. She hadn't seen him in a very long time and she wouldn't be surprised if he had forgotten about her. But still, she wanted to be there. To see if he was going to be ok. If there was anything she could do to help.
But still, one question remained. Why did she even care? She didn't know.
But she did know one thing. She couldn't stay any longer. She had already put up her duties too long. So she found a piece of paper, a pen and wrote him a letter to when he woke up.
(If he wakes up at all...) It was hard not to let that little thought slip into your head. But she really couldn't imagine someone as strong as Vincent not recovering. During her life, she had never met anyone quite like him. Sure, in her job she had met many buff looking guys with an attitude that reminded her of him but they were all just actors. None really was as strong in mind and will as Vincent was. Thinking like that really reminded her of how much she thought of him.
'Dear Vincent.'
'I have to say it's good to see you again and still... it's not. The last time I saw you ended with me crying for hours and you couldn't care less. Sure, you didn't know I cried but I doubt you would care if you had seen it. That part of me would like nothing else than to forget you ever existed. And then there is another part of me... The part that makes butterflies swirl inside of me when I think of you. The part that just wants to hold you forever. It was so long since we parted and I want you to know that you've been in my thoughts every single day.'
She put down her pen and read over what she had written. She really hadn't thought of it, just written exactly what she wanted him to know. She took a deep breath and crumbled up the paper into a ball.
'Vincent Grey'
'I have been here for three days now and you show no signs of waking up. If I could, I would stay longer but I have things to do. I don't know if you remember me or not but if you want to hear what I have to say, you should go to Hoenn. I won't be too hard to find.'
'Just take the challenge.'
She folded the paper in half and put in on the small table next to his bed. He looked so different when he wasn't awake. So peaceful... she wanted to kiss him on the forehead but decided not to. Instead she left him.
¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤- ¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤-¤
White. Such a wonderful colour really. White like a beautifully shaped cloud on a summer day. Or white like snow, weighing down the branches of a tree. Or white like a bowl of rice in front of a hungry child. When Vincent opened his eyes white was not beautiful. Or wonderful for that matter. For the last two years, he had woken up to dew clinging to his body, sending shivers down his spine. The first thing he saw every time he opened his eyes had been green grass, trees and sometimes the ocean.
Waking up laying down on a hard bed, frazzling paper underneath him and clothes certain not his while staring at a blinding white ceiling was not something he expected. He had a hard time focusing his eyes so he blinked a couple of times and slowly came to realize that he couldn't hear anything. He noticed that only because his sense of smell came back to him like a brick to the head. Describing what he smelled was hard but it felt like a mix of drugs, old people and dust. The smell stuck in his nostrils and he feared that he would have the odour in his nose for the rest of his life.
Even though he stared at a flat surface it felt like he was spinning. He became nauseous and tried desperately not to throw up. He lifted his head to look around and saw what had to be the international hospital design. A nurse stood at the end of his bed and looked at some records when she noticed that he looked at her. She immediately looked around her to see if anyone was there and when there wasn't, she prepared a syringe and stuck in his IV while looking into his glossy eyes.
"no..." he tried to reach out to her and tell her that he would rather puke out his innards than go back to sleep and see more nightmares. But he was too weak and nauseous to even lift his arm more than a couple of inches. Just seconds after she had injected the shot, the room began to spin and the urge to throw up was the last thing he remembered before his eyelids closed once more.
When the drugs hit his system, he was sent back into the oblivion of his own mind. More nightmares... he was just so tired of seeing them.
This time he was lying on his back with nothing on his upper body. The dream was much more vague than all the others so it was very hard to make out any details. All he knew was that he was on his back and had no shirt on. Where he was, he did not know. It could very well have been outside in the winter because all of a sudden, he became incredibly cold. After just a few seconds, he had a hard time feeling his hands and feet. When he raised his hands to his mouth to blow some hot air on them, he became surprised that he barely could bend his fingers around each other...
He was losing heat and he was losing it fast. This was like nothing else he had been through before. Sure, he had slept out in snow and hard weather but that felt like a summer day compared to this. He didn't even feel that he was cold anymore. He just knew it became harder and harder to move. Part of him knew it was a dream but another part of him couldn't ignore the bitter fact that he really was extremely cold. His now deeply rooted survival instincts told him that if he didn't do something, he would be in big trouble. So he pulled his knees as high up as he could to his chest, lowered his head and wrapped his arms around his legs.
What else could he do? He couldn't very well get up and run around. Heck, if he did, he wouldn't be surprised if his legs would break like ice. It just got colder and colder with each second that passed. He really didn't know what to do. He couldn't take shelter anywhere because after all, it was just a dream. A very vivid dream but still a dream... That was what Vincent was telling himself the entire time. Soon, it felt like his mind was lagging behind just like his body.
It is said that if you die in a dream, you die in real life as well. Was that really true? Well, Vincent was going to find out soon enough...
But then, without warning, Vincent felt something. Waves of heat coming closer and closer to his chest. The heat intensified for a split second before he could feel the tips of four fingers rest on his chest above his heart one after the other and finally an entire palm. It didn't feel like a hand that belonged to someone. Somehow he couldn't feel someone else's skin against his. It just felt like someone in the way that it felt warm in a pattern that could only be from a hand.
He could feel his cold heart being surrounded by heat and then beating faster and faster, pumping warm, lifegiving blood into his stiff veins. His body shot out from the curled up position and it was almost painful how his back arched back like a whip. Every single muscle in his body was heated up in the matter of seconds. He breathed heavily as his body came back under control.
He didn't feel cold anymore. It was like there never had been any cold at all.
The warm hand left his chest and Vincent felt himself being embraced by a pair of warm, soft and gentle arms. His entire being was filled with affection at the loving embrace. His nose filled with a sweet, alluring scent that he recognized from somewhere before. Even though he had trouble giving the fragrance a name and a person to identify it with, he became glad.
He lifted his arms up to return the hug he was getting but the moment he raised them, it felt like the heat intensified. Much like a person tensing. The comforting warmth quickly became offensive and the heat grew sharp spikes burning their way into his body, forcing him to let go. The arms that held him pushed him away in a disgusted manner and thrusted a blazing hand into his chest to where his heart was. The sharp hand grabbed hold of his heart and squeezed and burned it to the point where Vincent couldn't even scream the pain he felt. Then, after just a few seconds, the heat disappeared completely.
No part of his body had any burns. Not even his chest where the hand had so brutally entered. The warm body was long gone and Vincent was left to the mercy of the extremely cold weather alone. But he didn't care. He just lay there on his side, staring straight ahead. He didn't feel the cold, Or the imaginary burns. He just felt an excruciating pain in his heart. It wasn't a physical pain but it was like his blood had been poisoned for every beat of his heart, pain lashed through it.
Sorrow, betrayal, despair.
Sadness overcame him.
What had he done to deserve this? Who had he hurt so badly that he needed to endure this abuse?
He couldn't take it anymore. It was too much. He had dreamt for so long and held on to whatever he could through every horrible dream after the other. But he couldn't do it anymore.
A lonely tear rolled down his cheek, freezing to ice on the way.
For the first time in ten years, Vincent Grey let himself go and cried.
A/N: sWell... I have nothing else to say except that this might be a little... confusing if nothing else. No need to worry, I will explain it all in the next chappie, k? Review will ya! ^^ / Yorun