Torn Souls

16. The Moon is fading again

So if everyday felt the same way it had for the past 3 years, why did today feel so different. Like it was an end to all things. Like after today there would be nothing to worry about.

Don't get me wrong, it didn't make George feel any better. He'd rather it just be over and done with instead of the looming feeling of something that was yet to happen. He sat unmoving from his place in the window. The sunbeams had woken him up. They illuminated the dust particles that floated through the air. He knew there was no chance of him being on time if he waited even just five minutes to start moving. But George couldn't get up. His limbs were stiff and sore. Pins and needles sent sharp pains shooting up his leg. Swinging his limp leg over the edge, he hit it against the wall a few times while wincing.

He hobbled from the living room and into the bedroom, grabbing extra clothes before hobbling to the bathroom. He didn't bother criticizing himself as he swapped clothing throwing on clothes that were like the rest; once upon a time they fit. He didn't think it mattered how he appeared. No one would so much as glance at him. As much as it felt like a thousand eyes bore into the back of his skull, no one actually noticed him.

Not even as he sauntered through the door letting it close behind him. Not even as he walked halfway down the isle and to his seat. Not even as his bag wrestled in the silent class room. The papers and notes stacked higher and higher as the minutes ticked into hours. The frustration and tention between students and professors grew painfully thick. They didn't actually expect this to be done right? There's just no way. This on top of jobs? It wasn't possible. Mentally and physically. It felt like a trap. They just lured the students in to suck them into a pit of debt and an ocean of sadness.

It didn't help no one ever actually showed up to work their shifts. George was overworked and underpaid. It was ridiculous how snobby their customers could be. They tore George apart without even knowing. Which is exactly why as soon as he stepped foot into his apartment, the tears didn't hold back.

In the dimming sunlight at five o'clock, his senses were sent into overdrive. Absolutely everything was touching him. The fabric of his clothes iched and felt like it was trying to squeeze him until he suffocated. His hands became claimy and felt too big and everything felt small. But in his eyes it was the opposite, everything looked huge and he was just a small little rat that fell to the floor. And god, the noise. Of course it was rush hour. Of course everyone was blaring their horn and yelling and screaming and some idiot just had to be blasting music. George's mind was silently blaring it's own thoughts, it was either loud and racing or silent and stiff. He couldn't tell. Was it hot or was it cold? Was he sweating or was he shivering? Possibly both. It felt like it was 100 degrees but it also felt like ice was freezing his blood over.

He felt the panic wash over him. It was all too much at once. He wanted to throw something he wanted to scream. All he could do was sit in his own silence wishing for everything to come to a grinding halt. dream... Dream... DREAM! The screaming stayed in his head. Nothing was strong enough to become verbal nor physical. Against the door he sat, paralyzed and panicked. He couldn't handle all of this. The work. The bills. Himself. His health. Just too much.
"DREAM... please."
No one came. Just like before. Like he promised. Some promises go better unspoken.

The sun had long ago set disappearing below the horizon plunging England into darkness. On the plus side, the moon had grown bright in the sky. It was hardly visible from the window from the brit's place on the floor. The door handle held his weight as George pulled himself up. His heart ached for Dream. His skin longed for his contact. He gathered all the strength he had left to reach for the blanket they laid side by side under just a week prior. The rooftop was the closest place that reminded George of the ghost. The golden '402' printed on his door flashed back at him as he pulled it shut. The trip he made down the hall was slow. Cracks grews thicker in each wall allowing mold to thrive.

The air nipped at his nose and cheeks as he pulled the blanket tighter around him. He just wanted a veiw of the stars. The tears that continued down his face began to grow still and freeze in place. Hiccups interrupted the peaceful night. The moon was in its waxing gibbous form. It was going away again. He still had time before it completely disappeared. And he didn't want to be here without the moon. But his mind wouldn't shut up and allow him to admire the moon while it lasted. George engaged in his head, just to see what it would say.

And so he began to think again. Thinking was a dangerous thing for him. Thoughts popped up  like popcorn in a pot. Intusive, sudden, random, loud. Deafeningly loud.

If he were to go, what would happen? Who would care- if there was anyone at all. His parents, who would have to plan and pay for where his lifeless body would reside. The ghost's who would have failed his only mission. Who failed his first mission. All because of his own selfish desires to leave this bitter earth.

Without a second thought, his blanket fell and he moved to the edge of the roof. He let his legs dangle off the side. He smiled down at the cars rushing below. It wasn't a happy smile. More of a numb smile. The height made his adrenaline rush through his veins. The wind rushed through his dark tousled hair. His eyes and cheeks were dry. It was a beautiful veiw. He wished he had the will to enjoy it longer then just a few moments. After all he had failed, new fears grew and flourished pushing him to run and hide. Hide and run from what could have been his future. He leaned foward on his legs and toward the pavement 100 feet below. Maybe this was the final way out. Maybe there was a way out after all this time. Maybe the running could finally come to a grinding halt.
If i slip- if I loose my grip.. I wouldn't make it. I wouldn't have to deal with this.
George inched closer and closer to the edge. Inches away from peace. Inches away from the dark void of peace. He just had to let go. He just had to let himself fall. No one had to know.

"NO!" George let a scream he didn't know he had in him. It burned his scratched and dry throat, he cried out. "Please..."

Strong arms had wrapped around his waist just seconds before the brit would've fallen. They lay on the ground, limbs tangled together. Dream refused to let go. His face burried in the brits shoulder, one arm crossed again his chest tightly. George kicked and fussed like a small child. His frustration boiled over into sobs and screams. Pleading for Dream to just let him go. To let him be free from the torturous life.

"Why won't you let me go?" George sobbed. "Why must you... just- insist..." he choked on his words before giving up and collapsing into his arms.

"I'm sorry. Im so, so, sorry." Dream whispered into the brit's shoulder.

"If you're sorry just let me go." George thrashes in a final attempt only to fail. "Just let me die!" He knew his arms were to thin and weak to push Dream's arms away but he still tried. He swallowed the saliva that grew thick in his mouth and pawed the tears from his eyes. "Just let me go."

"I can't. Please just stop." Dream's tears ran faster.

"Why are you just so adimant on making me live in this hell hole Dream? Why?" Their tears mangled together as George fell back into Dream's chest. The question barely escaped his lips, "Why?"

"Because I love you."