A Demonic Dance

Chapter Fifty One: Please

I love how everyone is going 'why do all the books I read end sadly' BOO THIS BOOK STILL HAS LIKE 12 CHAPTERS LEFT CALM YOUR SOCKS DOWN YOU STILL HAVE 33,000 ish WORDS TO TEAD LIKE BOO

Anyway, in case you've gotten this far without figuring it out yet, fair reminder that things in italics most of the time are things people have said in the past :)

Cold. George woke up cold and alone, his face stiff from the dry tears, his arms empty.

He woke up with a thousand thoughts rampaging through his head, begging, screaming, shouting for something he couldn't have.

It was like a form of torture, longing so much for something that was just out of your reach.

Of course though, it was all George's fault wasn't it. He'd done this. He'd pushed Dream away.

Was it selfish for him to already want him back?

Trying to ignore his screaming mind George rubbed his eyes slightly, trying to scrub away the fatigue that still gripped his body. His attempts however were fruitless.

Every one of his limbs felt heavy, stiff and immovable. It was almost if his body had just decided it didn't want to work today. That it would rather let him wallow in his tears, let them slowly drown him.

How was he supposed to do this? How was he supposed to cope?

Looking back that statement may seem selfish, wondering how he would cope while Dream was out, god knows where, even more alone than him.

Something that was yet again, all thanks to him.

Eventually after what felt like a ridiculous amount of effort he managed to pull himself so he was sitting up in bed, but even there he didn't feel like having the energy to do anything.

So he sat there, head hitting the headboard with a thud, drowning in his thoughts.

Even without Dream's things turning the room into a tip there were still some parts of him you'd never be able to take away even if you tried, no matter what.

Take the ceiling for example. You wonder, how the hell could a ceiling remind him of Dream? Impossible right?

But that was the problem. Even things like the pack of cards by his head and the crudely drawn star constellation on his roof found a way to remind him of him.

"Stop." George said to no one but himself, cradling his head in his hands, already feeling stupid tears threatening to fall.

He was going to be just fine.

Eventually he pulled himself from his sheets, legs shaky beneath him as he trembled over to his wardrobe, wrenching it open with one hand while he used the other to stabilise himself. He knew that if it wasn't there he probably would have collapsed to the floor.

He really was pathetic wasn't he.

This point was only proven further as he scanned his eyes over the hangers, looking for something he could change into, he'd spent well over 24hrs in the clothes he was in of current and hoped maybe a change of clothes would help.

Grazing over the items hung up, he noticed how empty it seemed without Dream's things hung up next to his.

There was one item of Dream's still hung up though, somehow managing to stand out despite its blandness to the human eye.

'Does that mean you see my hoodies and stuff as disgusting puke yellow? Oh my Lord that's disgusting.'

George slammed the door shut again almost instantaneously, squeezing his eyes shut as he took a deep breath.