𝕞𝕚𝕣𝕣𝕠𝕣𝕤 ┉✧ L.T.

/ chapter eight /

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[ Cigarettes After Sex – Cry ]

[ Beach House - Silver Soul ]

[ Arctic Monkeys – I Wanna Be Yours ]

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I suddenly felt stressed, like he was expecting me to keep going, to keep opening up. I let go of him and looked away, outside the window; looking at the highway lights as the bus quickly speeded forward, made me feel like I was alone, talking to myself in my head.

"I seriously don't know how to explain it."

"I don't know either, obviously," Louis chuckled.

Which made me chuckle, too.

"Don't take it personally," I explained, my chest still heavy, my eyes still wet. I took a moment to dry them with my fingers, which were trembling less by then.

"I heard it the first time, thank you," Louis smiled with his eyebrows raised.

But it suddenly felt like I had no words to say.

I couldn't tell if Louis was just pretending to care, just because he happened to be there, or if it really mattered to him. However, as I looked outside the window, at a world that was still spinning violently, I couldn't tell if it was because of the alcohol or the dream. All I knew was that, maybe, I should at least try.

"I had a dream and it just looked so realistic."

Louis bit his lip before looking down at mine.

"Right."

"I- really realistic. I didn't even understand it was a dream."

"What am I supposed to say? That it's only a dream and it can't hurt you?", he smirked unemotionally, his voice soft but raw at the same time. It felt like his words were piercing through my head, tearing everything apart like a bullet through the night.

Maybe he is angry at me for saying that I can't just trust him.

"That's bullshit."

"Bullshit?" I repeated, wiping my eyes once again.

"Dreams are like ghosts," he said, looking reflectively out of the window, "they only scare you if you believe in them, however everyone hopes they're not actually real."

"Oh."

Louis chuckled; his little laugh felt like the sun coming out after a rainy night. "Don't pretend that you agree."

"I didn't say I do."

"Do you believe in dreams, then?"

I looked around; there was almost no light in the hallway, the only source was the streetlights from outside. Yet, it was enough. Louis would probably notice if I started crying again.

"I believe that our subconscious communicates with us through our dreams, and that's all."

His eyes widened. "Interesting approach."

The smile of irony that slowly rose in his face made me smile back almost without thinking.

"Back in college, they once told us that dreams are nothing more than your brain's way of interpreting what's actually going on in your life."

"What did you study in college?"

He shook his head, smirking as he thought about it. "Psychology."

My eyes widened. Does that mean he can understand I'm depressed? Because my therapist knew - he somehow knew and I didn't have to tell him. What if Louis could tell, too?