Stalker // DNF

36: Mirror

The echo in his eardrums dim as he hears Dream's stable voice carry through the vehicle.

'What?' he rasps, surprised that his body still reacts to shock as it flinches at Dream's words.

Dream lets out a cough of a laugh, no amusement apparent in the sound.

'Don't act dumb - I know the only reason you spent time with me was in the hope of putting me behind bars.'

George's mouth falls open, no air flowing in or out as he feels his lungs struggle to gather a breath.

'You know? You knew?'

'I knew,' Dream nods.

George's clammy hands, held in the handcuffs, dig into his thighs, the pressure feeble with George's weakening body. The added shock being thrown upon him countless times has made him frail, powerless.

'I knew when you asked me to try and get you to forgive me. I knew when you kissed me. I knew before you had even built up this whole scheme in your head.'

'How?' George stutters.

Dream smirks, the glee not meeting his eyes.

'I told you I know you, George. I watched you for months. I watched as my case tore you apart, exhausted you, devastated you when there were no more leads. I watched everything, all the damn time.'

A shake begins to form in George's hands as goosebumps crawl up and down his skin.

'I told you we're similar - you didn't believe me. But if I learnt anything from those months watching you, George; I learnt how to read you.

'You would do things I would do - small, simple things. I would react to something someone would say to you over the phone and seconds later you would react the exact same. It was like staring into a mirror.

'I know my weaknesses, consequently, I knew yours. I knew you were frustrated when you had to label my case as unsolved, I saw it... And maybe I should have left it there, I was off the hook and could go back to painting peacefully, with no further interruptions.

'But good god, George. I couldn't. I couldn't paint anything that wasn't related to you. I'd watched you for months - maybe even a year. I was fucking obsessed with you.

'I knew then how parasocial my relationship with you had gotten - it was bad. Instead of distancing myself - all I could think about was seeing you, touching you; anything I could get, and what I would do to get it.

'When I started luring you to me, I knew you wouldn't wanna be my friend. But as I said, I knew you and could read you like a book. I guessed before you even thought of your little plan that you'd do anything to get evidence against me. We're alike, see? Doing whatever it takes to get what we want.

'When you started being all friendly to me it solidified my theory. We were both getting what we wanted; you getting to know me. And even though it was fake, I fucking loved it. I loved your attention on me, I loved making you flustered, I loved talking to the man I'd only been able to watch for too long. Even though I knew it was temporary, I soaked every moment in.'

Dream stops, gathering his breath after his speech.

George's mouth hasn't closed, each word Dream uttered had pushed his jaw further down and caused the feeling of a thousand spiders crawling up and down his spine.

Dream glances to the side and George is reminded of the officers. He follows the others' gaze and sees one man being held back, clearly intoxicated. The other is being handcuffed by the other officer.

Oh god, I'm running out of time.

He looks back at Dream, the painter's words mushing together in his over-sensitized brain.