Wicked Minds and Wicked Hearts

- 1 Year Before -

Mal

Mal was dreaming, or at least he thought he was. The cracked stone floor of the ruined building was sharp and cold against his bare feet. He looked down at himself. His grey and white plaid pajama bottoms hung from his legs loosely. The grey t-shirt he had worn stuck to the skin of his torso in a fashion tighter than he remembered it being. He was hyper-aware of his senses, something that wasn't usual for his dreams.

He turned his gaze to the ceiling. An abnormally perfect circle was cut out of the ceiling revealing a blood-red sky. Streams of the red light illuminated the inside of the ruin, not that there was much to look at. Crumbled stone and what might have been pillars littered the tiny room. The only thing remarkable about the setting was the giant, pitch-black hole in the ground.

He leaned forward to get a better look at the hole. He could feel a cold breeze coming from it, but somewhere in his stomach, he knew it was only a gimmick. A trick to make him think that the pit was more inviting. Granted most dark pits are not inviting, but Mal couldn't help feeling like he was supposed to jump into it.

He picked up a loose stone off the floor and tossed it into the hole. He waited for any sign that the stone had reached the bottom. The sign never came. Goosebumps raised on his skin causing his nearly white arm hair to stand at attention.

Boom

Boom

The floor beneath his feet began to shake.

The stone underneath his feet began to fall away. The pit was growing bigger.

In a panic, he clumsily backed up. He fell backward. He tried crawling away, but the pit was swallowing the morphed world at a rate faster than he could respond to. The stone under him gave way. His stomach felt like it was in his throat as he plummeted to what he knew would be his death.

He could feel all his senses leaving him. His body was beginning to freeze. Despair crept into his bones, and all he could do was stare at the bloody sky as he fell.

This is the end

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His eyes flew open. His heart was trying to escape his chest. He struggled to calm his breathing. The sweat on his neck was becoming sticky. He sat up slowly and threw his shirt off. He ran a shaky hand through his sweat-soaked hair and wiped the dried sweat from his neck. He felt disgusting, but it was much too late to shower. The house Charlotte had helped him buy had the noisiest pipes and he knew for certain that if he hadn't woken Jennie up already, that would.

He felt a cold arm snake around his stomach. Her skin was soft and welcoming. He lowered his back down onto the bed. Her honey eyes were waiting to take in his distressed state. She ran her other hand over his forehead. She felt it with the back of her hand. She was checking for fever. Even she couldn't stop herself from performing her maternal instincts. Stupid babysitting job.

"Bad dream?" Jennie's voice was quiet, still partially thick with sleep. She kept stroking his hair despite it still being a little wet.

"Yeah. I'm okay." The deepness of his own voice shocked him. Even though he had hit puberty eleven years ago and was now twenty-four, he was still not used to his morning voice. He cleared his throat in an attempt to make it go away, but it stayed. "Vivid dream. Sorry for waking you."

She rested her hand on his cheek, "You don't need to be sorry, my love." She leaned closer to him and planted a tiny kiss on his lips. When she pulled away, he leaned back into her and kissed her, deeper this time. He could never get enough of her. He lived and breathed her. She was all he wanted in his depressing, little life.