I opened my eyes, into the same whitespace I'd fallen into.
Paul lay sleeping beside me, his face emotionless, as cryptic in sleep as it was during the day. I wondered what if he dreamed about, if there weren't any emotions coloring them. Maybe he had nightmares, maybe fear was a selfish emotion, to preserve yourself.
Yes, Paul probably had nightmares.
He probably also flew alone,
A joy entirely his own.
He probably jumped from buildings with the impulsivity of it.
He probably dreamed of entire universes,
Created masterpieces of self indulgence,
Shooting through the sky of darkness,
Burning straight through to the fuse,
He'd live all at once,
Streaming glory all the way,
Painting with blood like fingerpaint,
He'd set the world to fire,
No sadness, or love,
Nothing in his dreams,
But him,
And beautiful freedom.
I blinked.
Where were we?
There was truly nothing here,
But empty space and blinding light,
I stretched my hand out before,
Expecting it to disappear in the thickness of the whiteness,
But it stayed stretched out before me,
Completely bold in the bleached light.
I sighed.
"Paul…" I shook his shoulder. "Paul."
He opened one lazy eye, and grinned with that sideways slant, stretching his hands up behind his head, he yawned.
"Well, good morning."
"What do you dream about?" I asked quietly after a moment, watching him.
He cocked an eyebrow at me.
"Well, you of course, dear."
"I'm serious."
He shrugged. "I don't know- does it matter? I'm not really into the early morning analysis."
"How do you even know it's early? It's blinding in here." I grumbled.
He sat up, running a hand through his dark hair, he glanced around in mild amusement as though he were just noticing we were literally nowhere.
"I still haven't shown you the best part," He grinned wolfishly at me.
"Oh dear god." This can't be good.
"Don't be negative, you're just a few clicks of your ruby red slippers away from home," He sneered.
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"I found, the solution, to your little do good fascination."
"Don't act like it's just me." I huffed half-heartedly.
"It is, really. I'm just mildly curious at to how he pulled this all off."
"Well, now that you've satisfied yourself, would you mind putting your sociopathic arrogance to rest and actually get to the punchline?"
He smiled at me affectionately.
"It's more of a visual thing, believe me."
"Then show me, okay?" I snapped impatiently.
He sighed mockingly, shaking his head, he grabbed my elbow, pulling me to me feet.
"Over here."
He started to walk off into the colorless abyss.
I hurried after him, running a hand through my hair.
What if I really could fix everything, and go home?
It'd been two weeks, and I was supposed to go home in less than another few to pack up my room for college.
Just thinking about reality, about school, a new start…
I hadn't had an access to a straightener or makeup for days. Much less a mirror.
Or a toothbrush.
I grimaced at what I might look like to anyone used to seeing my usual semblance, which is pretty much three thousand times better, thankyouverymuch. It was like those commercials where everything is hazy and washed out, until I wave my magic mascara wand, and all of the sudden- bam. There's the Suze we all know. And you know, don't think is hideously ugly and in need of a shower.
Father Dom, Jesse-
Jesse.
Fuck.
Even if I never ended up with Paul, I'm pretty sure things were permanently altered now between me and him.
He was my safe harbor, he'd always be there for me.
I just knew he'd probably never fully trust me again.
He'd always wonder what'd happened between Paul and I when he left.
Ughhh.
Maybe home isn't such a good idea after all, I thought grumpily.
"Here," Paul said, and stopped so suddenly, I fell slightly in to him, and he turned, holding me up by my waist, his eyes instantly flashing at the touch.
I straightened immediately, tucking my hair behind my ears, I took a step back. "Thanks." I said coldly.
And turned to face whatever his miraculous "solution" may be.
And nearly fell over.
A man, with a cracked, parched body and slick yellowed skin, pallid like bleached parchment, opened his mouth, and issued a very faint moan. Sitting belly-button high in a light, milky liquid, he had six or seven long needles feeding from exaggerated purple veins snaking up his arms like cracks in a windshield. His head was completely smooth and as thin as membrane, his lips opened slightly, he made another faint breathy sound, more of a sigh this time.
His eyes, staring foward,
Were blue.
Slater blue.
Icy and layered like a glacial cavity, they gleamed and shone with an alien beauty and intelligence,
Opened wide,
Denis Washington's hypnotic royal blue eyes
Were fixed on us.