Stalker // DNF

32: No

George stands still in shock, his hands tightening on the door handle and feeling the rising urge to slam the door shut to protect his mum.

He swallows harshly and leans forward towards Dream so his voice doesn't carry around the apartment.

'Yes - This is a terrible -'

'Honey?' He hears a chair being scraped across the ground as he assumes his mum has pressed herself to her feet. 'Who is it?'

George's eyes go wide in fear as he hears her footsteps become louder as she comes nearer to the door.

No.

He instinctively begins to shut the door, ignoring Dream's face and simply focusing on erasing his presence. His movement is quickly stopped by his mum arriving by his side and cupping the door to pull it back open again.

No!

'Don't be rude, were you just going to shut the door in this gentleman's face?' She says with a confused smile, her eyes turning to scan Dream.

Her question is met with silence due to George's rising panic. He turns to see Dream staring in surprise at his mum, the painter's hands now ripped out of his pockets and holding each other tight in front of his stomach.

George's mum shoots Dream an oblivious smile, letting go of the door to push it open further.

'And who is this handsome young man?'

Dream looks swiftly at George, a similar level of panic present in his eyes. When his gaze drifts back to George's mum, the alarm seemingly disappears and he stands up straighter, extending an arm out.

'Hi, I'm Clay.'

George feels a brief pause of relief at his company not having introduced himself as, 'Dream.' He doesn't know why Dream would have ever done that, but explaining the story to a big fan of the anonymous painter, his mother, would have been difficult.

The relief is quickly torn away as George drifts his eyes to Dream's extended palm.

Don't! He wants to scream at his mum. Please... don't.

She holds out her arm, meeting Dream's hand mid-air to give it a welcoming shake. The simple greeting feels like a punch to George's stomach.

'Clay - lovely to meet you,' she steps back and retrieves her palm, turning slightly to angle her body toward her son. 'How do you know George?'

Dream's anxious expression returns as he gazes at George again, his stare lingering this time as if pleading to be given the answer. George's mouth goes dry, but before he has a chance to stir up a lie, his mum has caught sight of the unsure glances.

'Oh... I understand.'

George's neck snaps back to his mother, seeing her knowing nod as she looks from one to another.

'No! He's just a friend,' George panics, any lie being better than the conclusion his mum had come to.

His mother smiles smugly, uttering, 'Okay, sure,' with a wink.

George feels a line of sweat developing on his brow as he frantically looks from one face to another. His fingernails dig into his palms as he hopes the pain will distract him from his fear, which would allow him to solve the problem at hand.

'Well, I'd better get to know you then, Clay,' his mum continues, stepping back and creating a pathway for Dream.

Dream stays glued to the doorstop, his eyes wide and confused, begging for a signal from George.

Nothing is given, George is desperately trying to sweep together unfinished thoughts to form a coherent plan. But all he can focus on is the naivety of his mum, the racing of his heart and the pain vibrating through his palms from the pressure of his fingernails.

'Don't be shy, come on in,' his mum says kindly, extending her arm towards the seats her and George had been sitting at in solidarity moments ago.

Don't move, George pleads internally.

Dream stands taller as he leans his weight out of his hip, looking back at George's mum.

Don't -

He takes a step forward, his foot crossing from public territory into George's private home. George feels a sense of faintness come over him as he watches Dream shuffle nervously over to the chair, his eyes scanning the room on his way.

His stalker was in his house. His stalker was talking to his mother. He had put his mum in danger. How had he let this happen?

'So...' his mum begins, settling herself down on the stool and watching as Dream does the same opposite her. 'Are you the real distraction that's been keeping my son away from me?'

George feels as if a knife is being twisted into his abdomen. He's kidding himself thinking he has any control over the unfurling scenario.

He slams the door shut and rushes over to the other side of the counter, leaning his sweaty palms on the tabletop whilst wishing he could throw himself between Dream and his mum and create no suspicion.

'Mum - Clay doesn't really have the time -'

'I'll only be a minute, George,' she interrupts, not taking her focus away from Dream while raising her eyebrows expectantly at him.

George can't do anything but observe as Dream clears his throat and digs his hands into his thighs.

'Um... yes? We've been - spending time together?..' he replies uncertainly.

George squeezes his eyes shut. Embarrassment would be flooding his veins if it wasn't for the fear flowing instead. The fear was only for his mother, who was unknowingly chatting to a criminal.

'Interesting,' she turns to shoot a glance at George. 'You've kept this quiet.'

He can't muster any words to defend himself. He feels weak, lightheaded.

'I... I -' he's pathetic. He can't reply and he's pathetic, pathetic, pathetic.

His mum tuts with a small smile, turning back to Dream.

'He was like this is high-school. He would never tell me or his dad a word about any partner, he would just let us find out other ways,' she laughs. 'You would have thought he'd change by now, but apparently not.'

Dream smiles, his eyes crinkling upwards.

'What was George like in high-school?'

Despair coats George's fear, forming a combination which causes him to chew his brittle fingernails down.

In a helpless state, he watches as his mum feeds more information to his stalker and sees Dream lap it all up with a smile. Dream sits in the room he'd watched George live in for so long, probably gathering more details to fuel his obsession. Had George been deluding himself this entire time thinking he had even a slight amount of control over his stalker?

He knows he's in further peril whilst simultaneously not knowing what Dream could do with the new facts. But all he can think about is his mum, his poor, unknowing mother, sitting opposite a felon which George should have cut ties with far too long ago. Thanks to him, she had been fed to the lion, but it was uncertain whether George was a filling enough meal to satisfy the animal.

His fear for his mother encourages the gnawing of his nails, filing them down to his nail plate. She carries on telling childhood stories and George's mind continues to drift and he wonders at what point had he stopped fearing for himself? When had he stopped caring for his own safety?