Sweet Obsession (In Progress)

Chapter Two: Part Two

A/N:

Picture is of Paisley, who will be in the next chapter.

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 My dream felt different this time around. Instead of the silence and calm that usually accompanied the darkness, I had an uneasy feeling that something was going to happen. Soon after that feeling started so did the thumping.

It was slow and quiet at first, but quickly grew to be quicker and faster, bringing rise to my hysteria. I couldn’t think past the panic, as my mind was quickly becoming consumed by the cloudy depths of fear and anxiety.

My heart started to beat so fast that it hurt, its pace nearly mirroring the pounding in my ears. I tried to wake up, to cover my ears, but I was trapped, being held forcefully under by something unknown. Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, voices began to run through my head. A man, voice hot with anger, yelling something unintelligible, a woman sobbing, screaming, begging for mercy, and then a child laughing, squealing with barely contained joy. None of it made any sense. Everything was in pieces, fragments of conversations that seemed oddly familiar.

Then there was the pain, white hot as it moved through my body spreading up towards my face. It was as if I was being burned alive, and the voices – growing louder as the seconds ticked by – were only fanning the flames. I was fighting to stay sane and in control, swallowing down the scream that threatened to rip forth from my throat. I knew that once I caved, once I gave into the fire, it would consume me.

I was choking on my fear, the tears long past spilling over. I didn’t so much as dare to breathe for fear that my stoic demeanor would falter. It wasn’t long until my vision began blur, black spots appearing before me, but I held tight even as my lungs begged for oxygen. Just when I thought I was going to die, a shrill, ear splitting scream rang forth. I cringed inwardly before realizing that it was from my lips that the scream was coming from. I tried to stop it, to squelch the high pitched cry, but it was too late. As my discomfort grew, a fresh wave of heat hitting my whole body, I let out one last screech - no longer caring, just wishing that I could die already.

"Do not be afraid, my love. The pain is only as real as you make it," someone murmered softly. That voice... that deep, hauntingly familiar voice was the one that I had been present in my dream before. The one that had held an intoxicating note of something forbidden, something dangerously alluring, and something strangely calming. It was also the same voice that had said I was 'his', that I belonged to him and was 'his love'. What did that mean? I didn't belong to anyone but myself. Maybe it was my unconsious minds way of telling me that I needed to try dating.

I had been so distracted thinking about the voice, that I hadn't noticed the pain had all but stopped, now taking on the form of a soothing numbness. I breathed out a sigh of contentment, basking in my new found comfort. It was then that I noticed the black spots from before hadn't faded, but instead were taking on shapes, clumping together, and turing a variety of different colors. A gust of fridged air hit my face, and I shut my eyes against it. When I opened them again what I saw had me nearly doing a double take.

Confusion flooded my mind as I glanced around now finding myself in an old english style sitting room. What the hell? The floor was a dark stained wood, an intricately detailed rug lying in the middle of the room. Beyond that, there was a fireplace going with a painting of a couple and three small children hanging above it. I walked closer to it, between the two love seats and a glass coffee table that sat upon the rug. 

Once I was close enough to feel the heat coming off of the fireplace, I paused, taking a moment to study the family portrait. The couple, both tall and beautiful, were smiling at each other. The mother, a dark brown haired woman with emerald green eyes, was holding a little bundle, a baby with a blonde tuft of hair sticking up and bright blue eyes. The father - blonde hair combed back neatly, forced smile plastered on, and dark blue eyes shining with danger - had one hand around his presumed wife;s waist, and the other on the taller of the two young boys, who was standing in front of him. Both boys had dark hair, the taller one brown and the shorter one black. The taller one had green eyes and the shorter had the most innocent pair of brown eyes I had ever seen - a pair of eyes I felt I had see before. Of course, there was no denying that the famaily as a whole was striking, their beauty unearthly in it's magnitude. 

In fact, I was so entraced staring at the image, focusing hard on the smaller of the two boys, that I neary jumped out of my skin when I heard a loud, booming laugh from behind me. I turned around as quickly as my body would allow, trying to figure where the noise had come from, when my eyes landed on a small group of about ten people at the other end of the room. They were all crowded around something, smiling happily and talking amongst each other. It appeared that nobody had noticed my pressence. 

Feeling awkward about the whole thing, and not wanting to get caught for evesdropping, I cleared my throat in hopes of gaining someones attention. No body so much as flinched in my direction. So, gathering up my courage I managed to mumble a timid, "Um, excuse me. I seem to have-."

Another roaring laugh tore through the room, and I noticed this time that it was coming from on of the few men present. Still, no one acknowledged my presence. I would've called it rude, except that this had been a normal occurance in my dreams. That must be what this is then, right?

The group of people began to fliter out of the room, all moving with such grace, such fluidness, that it almost seemed inhuman. When they had all left, I looked over to see what they had been look at. A young boy, was sitting in a lone chair holding an infant. He looked to be around six and for the life of me I couldn't figure out why any adult would leave such a young child with a baby. It was madness! 

The baby made a noise then, a small cry, and I was about to intervene in any way that I could, when he surprised me. He began too coo to the baby, whispering soothingly and rocking the baby slowly in his arms, and it quieted instantly. I stepped closer, away from the fire place, until I was just a few feet away from them. Looking at him this close, though I could only see his black, messy hair, I could tell that he really adored whoever that baby was. I just got this undeniable feeling that fluttered wildly in my stomach. 

A small smile played on my lips as I realized that maybe it wasn't so bad for the boy to be alone with the child. He certainly seemed years ahead of any child that I had ever met. I peered down at the baby then, as he shifted his arms slightly bringing its face into better view. 

A shocked gasp left my lips as I backed away slowly, bumping into a wall. That baby looked just like me, but there was no way that was possible. It was just too insane, my mind trying to play tricks on me. But even I knew that was bull, this was real somehow. That baby was me, and this had to be some sort of memory. The biggest question was how? 

The baby began to whine again and the boy began to hum a slow melody. It wasn't long until the baby was alseep, but I on the other hand was panicking. What did this all mean? It was true that I had been adopted, but I would've thought that any memories from infancy would be gone. No one remembers that far back. And who was this boy? A brother maybe? Somehow, I doubted that. 

I was begining to get frustrated with myself, when I felt eyes on me and whipped my head up, in the childs direction. A breath taking pair of the most curious brown eyes met mine. The child, now identifiable as the younger boy from the painting, was staring at me. My heart stopped and a heavy lump formed in my throat, suffocating me. 

The baby, uh- little me, began to move around, stretching and curling in toward the brown eyed boy. And then he spoke, eyes still locked on mine. "I've got you," he murmered, sounding strange as his voice was that of a young child mixed with the familiar baratone of the phantom voice. His words, though seemly meant to innocently sooth the baby me, had seemed more like something that a stalker might say to his victim given the fact that his eyes were locked on me in a peditory manner.

I froze, feeling an odd mix of comfort and an unspoken threat hanging in the air. The boys eyes looked wild and posessive, a creepy thing to see on a child, but before I could respond at all the blackness swallowed me up again. 

The last thing I heard before I was left to my dreamless state, was the sole velvet-like voice that I was quickly growing used to, say, "I'm coming for you, little bird."