I Am a Familiar Creak In Your Floorboards

9

YOOO!! I know, I know, It's been a while. Sorry about that :/ I've been quite busy so I will not make this too long! so this chapter is from Dream's perspective. There will be a chapter after this called 9.5 (also Dream's POV) that I am currently writing. I'm super excited for the next few chapter so AHH!!!

Like usual, I would love any feedback or comments on anything!!! Fun reading :D

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                                              Dream's POV

2 days a day till... George comes to Florida.

My heart stopped the moment I blurted the question of what I should call him.

"You could call me George. It's my first name."

The iconic duo back at it again.

Taking a deep breath in, my fingernails chipping against each other.

It's not like I could say I don't want to call him that.

It had been a while since I thought about George.

I don't really remember what he looks like, but his smile is one I'll never forget.

After all, I forced myself to forget.

I remember the first time I dated someone after that. Her name was Lenny, as great as she was, she couldn't really fix it me. I guess I just wasn't ready for someone else. Of course this was before I had come out to my parents.

Past memories come flooding back, only filling me up with sadness, which was not their intended purpose.

It's only a day until he arrives. He told me he had cancelled his other project and wanted to come earlier since he was interested in the job I had asked him to do.

My teeth grating against each other, I switched off my phone and dragged myself to the bathroom.

I pass the hallway to see patches comfortably laying on the carpet. A pint of happiness sparkes in me.

Taking a step forward into the bathroom, I turn to shut the door behind me.

I stare at myself straight in the mirror.

A pair of deep green eyes with specks of brown stare right back. Pale skin glowed across the mirror.

I pulled my hands up to my face, touching the edge of my cheeks. My fingers gilded across to the tip of my nose.

Not sharp enough.

My fingers rose up to the top of my forehead, pushing the blond streaks or hair off my face.

My hands, now at the back of my head, holding my hair in place.

What the hell am I doing

I let my hands drop, rubbing my face instead and placing my elbows on the edge of the sink.

The dull blond hair swiftly falls back above my eyes

I rub the back of my neck and turn on the sink.

I close my eyes and let the cold running water splash on my face.

I imagined a world where it was really George that I've been speaking to.

What would he say if he saw me?

I could feel the cold touch of the water, scraping, covering every inch of my face.