Torn Souls

8. Mindful Monsters

George refused to go to work the next morning. Not after yesterday's catastrophe. But he felt guilty. What if something had just gone wrong and no one could help? Or what if someone was expecting him to help? The dread weighed down on him as he pondered whether to bother or not. He knew it wasn't fair, but life wasn't fair. he needed a break, he deserved a break. But what if the other employees needed help? And what if no one was there to open? Then he would get in trouble too.

George was too kind for his own good. Unaware of how to put himself first drained his will to see others, it pushed him into self inflicted isolation. However, he couldn't help it. His head drowned in consideration and selflessness. He hated being walked all over like a door mat. He hated the monsters that lived with him.

He wished life was more fair as he got in the shower. He wished people would be more responsible as he got out. He wished people were kinder as he got dressed. He wished that he had actual free time as he stepped out the door. And he especially wished the beautiful stranger had not interrupted the moment between him and the train as he walked down the street. More than anything he wished to go home as he saw that no one was at the cafe and there was a group huddled around the door.

As much as he wanted to run, he unlocked the doors. As much as he wanted to scream, he greeted the customers and apologized for the delay. As much as he wanted to cry, he smiled and quickly got everything ready.

He didn't know why everyone seemed to be worse than yesterday. Maybe it was his attitude. I don't have an attitude. Right? No. He dismissed that possibility as he continued taking orders and fulfilled them. His job wasn't the worst one out there. It was actually quite enjoyable when you weren't the only one working. It was enjoyable when he got to make things and did not have to deal with the bitterness of everyone. He found it incredibly difficult to stay positive at the moment. And the most he could do is fake a smile and nod. But he's been doing that all his life anyways.

By the time the clock hit 7, he was done. He didn't care if they were supposed to be open for another three excruciatingly long hours. He was done. He left, not cleaning up, not preparing for opening the next day. He was exhausted and frustrated. The smell of coffee made him sick. It was like inhaling toxins. He never wanted to come back. The ache in his head only grew as he walked through the overcrowded city. The sun casted it's last beams of pale light from just under the horizon.

George believed in monsters. Maybe not the ones that live under your bed or in your closet. And certainly not the soft and fuzzy ones. But the ones that lived in your mind. The ones that seemed impossible to get rid of. The ones who's mission was to kill you. His head was pounding, as if the monsters inside wanted out. But they would never leave him. He wished they would as he crossed the street without looking for oncoming traffic. He took the short cut throught the dark alleyways that could ensure doom. George didn't care if he didn't make it home. He sat on the park bench, the same one he met the cat on. He knew it was ridiculous but he hoped that cat would show up. He wished to have some form of comfort. So he looked up into the sky. He looked up at the comfort that had alway been there for him. "Hello moon" he whispered to himelf, studying the craters of the first quarter phase. The cat never came. It was a long shot, one he knew he would more than likely miss, but he hoped anyways.

Unfortunately for George, he had made it to the saftey of his home. However, the spark of hope fired up in his stomach as he found a white rose on the floor just infront of the door. Picking up the flower, he entered the apartment.

"God how do you make these fuckin' things?!" A clearly frustrated Dream was covered in flour. There were silver baking bowls scattered along with measuring tools across the counter. "You're hella talented you know that?" He turned around, leaning against the counter, both hands on his hips.

A tear slipped down George's cheek as he rushed into Dream's arms. He didn't know when the last time he had a hug was. He felt the heavyness of sadness being drained from his body, he felt lighter then he had for months. Maybe it was the way Dream held one hand on the back of his head to pull him in as close as possible. Maybe it was the way he smelled like autumn leaves and spring flowers. "People suck." George muttered into the ghost's chest

"Rough day huh?" Dream smiled faintly. He gently ran his fingers through the brit's hair, catching the smell of his shampoo.

"Yeah." George pulled away, quickly wiping below his eye, looking at the mess spread on the counter. "Where'd you get this stuff anyways?" He picked up the first failed attempt of a... cake? He wasn't quite sure. It looked like a pile of crumbs.

"Uh-" Dream rubbed the back of his neck. "Don't ask don't tell." He flashed a cheesy smile and picked up the bowl of batter.

This earned an eyebrow raise from George. "Okay, what have you done so far?" He picked up the recipe and examined the steps and ingredients.

"I combined the wet ingredients..." Dream explained.

"Okay... did you read the directions or just combine stuff?" George asked accusingly, knowing from his own failed attempts.

"Well.. its a cake George! Not- not rocket science." Dream whined out before putting the bowl back on the counter.

"Its not rocket science. You just have to follow the directions." George laughed at Dream. "Plus i know a better way to do it."

"Oh do you Mr. Know-It-All?" Dream picked up a hand full of flour and launched it at George.

"I know you didn't just-" The brit wiped the powder from his face.

"I know I just did." The smirk quickly vanished as a chunk of powder hit Dream's face. "Okay okay okay. Okay. I'm sorry."

"Thank you. So the first step to an actually successful cake-" George was cut off by another ball of power. "DREAM!"

Balls of flour were launched across his once clean kitchen, black cabinets temporarily stained white. The unfamiliar sound of laughter bounced off the walls, filling the apartment with noise instead of tense silence.

By the time they were done with their flour fight, the cake was ready to be finished. And George would admit, it did taste better when it was made with memories attached- or maybe because they were both covered in flour. Either way, they were the best memories he probably had ever made. They played fresh in his mind like a tape in a player. He hoped there would be more to come. But there was a question looming in the back of his mind. One that was like a nat, small and maybe irrelevant, but it wouldn't go away.

"Dream, what's with the white roses? Like why not red? Or- or pink?" George sat on the couch, positioning himself so he was facing the ghost beside him.

"I'm not exactly sure. If im honest." Dream put his cake on the table and reached into his hoodie pocket. To no suprise, he pulled out a soft, white petaled flower. "Maybe that's the flower I was burried with... like on my grave or something I dunno."

"They disappear when you do." George bit into another peice of the cake, while Dream only looked puzzled. "Did you not know that?"

"No I- I never thought about it. One day I'll get them to stay." They both just shrugged and finished their slices. They decided to finish the movie they never did finish the night prior. The dim tv screen was enough to cast a warm glow on the appartment.

Speech that came from the tv became mumbled gibberish. George's eyelids grew heavy, his head fell onto the ghost's shoulder. Dream gently pulled the brits legs over his own, securing him from falling over.

He was happy tonight. The monsters could rest. They would have their time. But their time was not tonight.

Maybe tomorrow and the week that follows. But not tonight.