sparks

27

Dream

George slumps against me on the floor until he finally lets me convince him to move to bed. Once he actually gets into bed, he's out like a light.

The last few nights of restlessness and the stress of today, including all the crying, must of taken its toll on him.

He tries to fight me, for a little while. Well, not 'fight' me. He punches at my chest, purely out of anger. I don't think that anger is directed at me, though, I think he just need to get it out of him. He shoves, and he squirms, and thrashes.

But after every few minutes of fighting, he stops, and he drops back into my hold, and he continues to weep, and I continue to cradle him.

I take the hits, and punches, and I continue to take him back into my arms afterward, knowing he's not in his right mind right now.

I'd promised not to leave him alone as he dozed off, promising I'd stay with him whilst he slept. He's passed out on my shoulder, despite me still being in my uniforms jeans and shirt.

My head rests against the headboard of the bed, one of my hands curled around the nape of Georges neck, which I continue to rub softly.

I don't even know what to say. I have no thoughts, nothing fills the large empty space in my mind right now, nothing at all.

The one time I wish I could think about anything, and nothing comes to mind.

What's going to happen now? Where will the funeral be? Will George have to go? What does this mean for George?

I'm coming to acceptance with the fact that now the marriage will go ahead, and that will be that. Theres nothing that can be done.

The more I think about it, the worse I continue to feel. Though isn't that what acceptance is all about? Coming to terms with things, even with the things you don't want to have to come to terms with.

I catch myself circling back at what George had said. 'He killed her, I'll bet you anything.' The thought, as unemotional George had been when he said it, shakes me.

Would he? Would he kill his own blood just because they went against him?

It shakes me even more that I think he would.

That I think, as utterly insane as it seems, that he's the exact type of man to do something like that. He'd do anything if it benefited himself, that much has proven obvious.

I'm just circling back around the same two or three thoughts in my too-empty brain when the door gets pulled open, and behind it stand Quackity and Sapnap, both of their faces full of shock, and a slight of anxiety.

Sapnaps holding a pot of what smells like organic pasta. One of the only things George likes to eat.

I beckon for the two of them to come inside, and they do as I ask, creeping in quietly, the two of them perching on the edge of Quackitys bed. Sapnap lets down the pot on Georges bedside table.

Quackity, who looks fidgety, stands, very suddenly, and moves to stand above George and I.

He moves a strand of Georges hair out of his face, his own laced up with a raw amount of worry as he stares down at the sleeping boy.

"What happened?" Quackity asks me, making sure to keep his voice down.

Then I have to lapse into the entire story, starting at when George eventually let me in, ending when he finally began to doze off against me on the floor.

I think I see Sapnap physically pale when I tell them that his mother has died, and even Quackity has to retreat back to sit on the bed, looking a little faint.