Torn Souls

14. The Disadvantages of Being Dead

Dream couldn't deny the hurt he felt. He also couldn't deny the complete understanding in the way George felt because once upon a time, he had felt the same way. So in the two days that slugged by, Dream was sat alone waiting for the moment he was forgiven or needed. Time here didn't exist yet he heard ticking in the back of his mind like there was a time bomb. But he didn't quite know what the obnoxious noise was. So there he sat, thinking about how he acted. Wondering what he could change. Wondering what he wouldn't change.

He was a mystery. He was a mystery and he knew it. He almost liked it. Dream could pretend to be anyone he wanted to be. He didn't have to be the nobody he was before. He didn't have to be the shy kid who didn't take chances. He had almost a second chance to be outgoing and fun. He could finally be a loving, kind person instead of the cold one who didn't know how to love. He just had to make things up with George. Dream would go to him the second he needed him. Until then, he would give the brit space.

What felt like decades ago, he was a small child. This was before he needed his self made armor to protect himself against whatever tried to harm him. He was small and weak, innocent and naive. It was him and his parents and everything was perfect. Then the first sibling came along. Then a second. And a third. Everything changed so fast. Nothing was perfect, not even close. And from there he grew up far too quick.

He thought constant quarrels with everyone in the house hold was normal. It was until that was the only way of communication. Nothing but bickering. Blame would be tossed around like a hot potato, not caring who it burned. Dream learned how to be defensive and how to have a quick tounge. He grew to be clever and witty. He never had time to be a child. He always burried his innocence. There were almost no memories of a happy house hold. It'd been toxic sense he was a small child. He was the oldest. Left to do all of the work, he practically raised them. His siblings were the messiest people he'd ever met and they wouldn't clean up after themselves. It'd take hours to make the house look semi decent. Not a thank you, not a "I appreciate it" came from either them nor his parents. The bickering became so consistent that there wasn't a single normal conversation. The air in the house became intense. Every word spoken was like a toxin being inhaled.

He shut himself off. He refused to let anyone in. So he would fall apart silently in his own silent space when he had even a moment. Mental health came collapsing down on him. Fighting to protect it was a struggle until it became a battle he would not win. Dream remembered that one time he'd ask for help. Yeah, he wasn't ever doing that again. He would never let anyone in ever. He would not be rejected in that type of way. Behind his parents back, he would go to the school council- well... went, meaning once. They told him that he was fine, siblings will be siblings just give it time. And we see where time got him, they were wrong and he was dead. He drowned himself in an ocean of pills of pain relievers. Ironic wasn't it? That was one way of pain relief.

Dream thought it would be dark. He thought there would be nothing. He imagined a dark void bringing extreme peace. A dark void that would leave him to rest. Instead, it was a loby. And it was colorless. White walls, floors, ceilings. White furniture, paper, pens, suits. Attention was quickly drawn when he was in a hoodie- a green one none the less. There sat a being behind a desk in a white suit. He wasn't sure if they were human. It had looked up from the clipboard they held and eyed him up and down. "We've been expecting you." It had said it's voice was monotone but smooth and pleasant. Doors opened to the right of the desk revealing a hall with paintings of what Dream presumed as greek mythology. The being led him down the hall for the corridor to open into a massive ball room. Pillars stood tall and the ceiling was a translucent dome allowing natural light to seep in. There were cracks in the walls made to add an old crumbling effect to go along with the plants growing where they could.

The being stood behind a podium with a book. An enormous book with a leather cover and crisp pages. He could smell the age it held from where he stood a foot away from the podium.

"You have a mission it looks like. Your time in your physical body is over, however your spirit was chosen as a gaurdian." The powerful voice echoed off the walls. They looked from the book up to him before giving an assertive nod and continuing. "George Davidson. A college student. Three years older than you... were. He's struggling as you were. Make sure he stays alive and you then will be redirected." The being informed. "Try not to let him know. It's better they don't know we exist. Being "solid" may only be acceptable when it is necessary. Visits and check ins here will be mandatory. You may exit through the door you came through." It gestured gently down the corridor and through the door. "Tell them as little as possible- nothing if you can. That's if you get caught. Good luck."

The first time he saw George he understood why it was George he was chosen for. He was a broken man who was truly still a boy at heart. George was filled with kindness but no one gave him a chance. He was fragile -helpless almost. The moment Dream saw him, he wanted to give him the world. It hurt seeing him so sad, anxious, and stressed. Dream saw the talent and potential that George held in the palms of his hands and end of his fingertips. But George just didn't see it in himself. Everything went accordingly well. Until it wasn't enough and he had to make himself apparent. He felt the world slow to a stop the first time George looked at him. But he stopped his feelings there. It wouldn't happen. That- that was just form of sympathy, surely. But the second time he was obviously apparent was a complete accident. And it changed everything.

From there, the bond between them grew. They were good friends. Dream got in trouble for that. He tried his best to get back to George, but he couldn't get away. He wanted to explain and give him every answer he could ever hope for. About where he went and where he was. And the meaning of the flowers. And what he remembered about his past life. How he died. Anything he wanted to know, Dream wanted to tell the brit. But he wasn't allowed to. And the deeper truth that was burried deep within his dead non-beating heart was that he couldn't. Dream could not bring himself to open up. Never again. Not to anyone. He swore that to himself. Even as the seams came undone he would sew them back. He would stand gaurd of all his broken and bruised. For as long as possible. Until he was strong enough to let George in.