When you sleep, your sub conscience releases a river of images and thoughts giving you dreams. I've always believed that's all dreams were, a series of chemical reactions affected by everything from stress levels to eating too much before you sleep. For as long as I can remember Warren saw my beliefs in this as bitter. Despite his own moody, violent and chaotic nature he tended to harbor the same belief taught in most religions around the world. Somehow he clung to the idea that dreams interacted with the dreamer's soul, as some kind of riddle to your desires.
This is another reason I feel significantly belittled when around him, because he knows all about my own ordeal yet he cannot seem to be a little sympathetic. Not being able to dream, it makes me feel less human, and I would even accept nightmares with open arms. Anything compared to this constant prison. The only dreaming I've done is washed away in a bottle or alters the effect of reality in a pill shaped form.
For as long as I can remember I've always been one to suck it up and get the job done, but as I beat my hands on my steering wheel violently in the parking lot of the nearby 7-11, my throat lets out a mean ripping scream followed by angry tears. Some people have seen me as incapable of crying due to the hard facade usually worn and it's always pleased me in the past to know that I've played people so well.
Between bangs I'd screech out an obscene sentence "GOD" bang "DAMMIT" bang "AGGGGHH!"
Placing my hands on the dash, my face rested against the steering wheel while violent sobs echoed in the usually silent car. Everything I do ends up in some kind of wreck or new problem. My life has turned into a literal circle of having a problem, trying to fix it, creating new problems and most likely never fixing the original problem or just spreading it to others like HIV.
Parting from Sam was meant to be bitter on my half. Every action was cold, indifferent, and rushed. Leaving quickly with my new sack of goodies, the thick manilla folder awaiting me on his desk, was on the top of my list of things to do. No matter what, he still acted kind even in the slightest ways.
When I brushed my hair in his mirror he leaned against the wall behind me casually, with his lips pressed together firmly and arms crossed, staring at my reflection. It was obvious that he was calculating an action in his head as he followed behind me, still silent, out of the bathroom and toward his office.
His light, bare footsteps echoed and bounced off the walls as he moved around the desk to retrieve my well-deserved information. Handing me the manilla folder he grabbed my hand and looked at my blank, distant face as if there were no one else he'd rather look at and with narrowed eyes I knew I had successfully crushed him. Clearing my throat rather roughly, I removed my clenched fist from his grasp and again we dove into silence only to be broken when he mentioned . . . Warren.
Stopping before the metal door leading to the staircase, I turned to say a final goodbye, but saw pure honesty in his face as he spoke to me in a low, deep voice "He loves you." He stood a little straighter and looked at me intently as he added, "Warren."
Shaking my head from side to side with a 'tsk' noise I replied, "I'm told that a lot these days. Hearing it from his mother, the mega bitch and you Mr. Emotionally Disabled makes the idea rather ludicrous to even consider. Just let me go," taking a deep breath I finished, "I can only hope that he realized by now that he has imprisoned himself with all his insecurities and hatred. If he hasn't he'll never grow up and he'll never be free."
Turning around to face the door he quickly added, "He'd been stopping by the Warehouses frequently since you disappeared, accosting Cleo for information, that mediocre DJ with the speed problem," I nodded, "Well, orders from upstairs have had him rolling around town with false clues. Last night we sent him on his way as usual, but when we told him to get lost he made a scene about it and through a cigarette into one of the guard's face," Sam's eyebrows furrowed and he scratched his head, "About thirty minutes later, he showed up again and left a note downstairs just saying 'Sorry'. Then he left with someone we've never seen, but I feel it's someone bad."
With a sarcastic snort my eyebrows raised in amusement, "And you think he's in trouble or I'm in trouble, right? This is where you're going to tell me I'm too good for him or whatnot, I can see it. "Moving a step closing in his direction, I ground out " And you're something spectacular?"
"It's not . . . I just wanted you to see my favorite part of me and not my ugly side."
My eyes widened, "Oh yes! Stealing lyrics from a copyrighted song is how you really feel. Smooth. Really smooth."
" It's better than having nothing and you know it rings true," he shot back, "If you just stop this madness. Again, I'm begging you, please let us handle it. You'll be safe here with me."
" Ha haha. You're the most challenged person ever aren't you?"
"Why do you seek someone who hurts you?"
"I can trust that he'll do that, but I can't even trust you at all."
"Stay and I'll show you."
This was getting me nowhere and I needed to get out of this place before I suffocated, "Quit wasting my time and go shoot yourself."
