Universe (VegasPete) R18

Chapter 71 - From our fathers

-Vegas-

"Meow..."

...

"Meow..."

...

"MEOW!"

I reluctantly opened one eye, groggy and disoriented. I was slouched in my desk chair, a faint trail of drool lingering in the corner of my mouth and what felt like dried tears staining my cheeks.

Half-awake, I scanned the area, searching for...A cat. A freaking cat because I was sure I just heard a meowing sound. Or did I dreamt it?

My eyes lazily darted around, expecting to find the origin of the sound, but instead, they landed on a pair of black shoes. I slowly lifted my gaze, tracing up the legs, past the chest, until I finally locked eyes with...

Lek.

I paused, squinting my eyes as I tried to focus, questioning whether I was still in a dream or experiencing some fucking weird hallucination.

"Meow, Khun Vegas"

Nope, definitely awake. What the hell!?

I sat up lazily in my chair, rubbing my face in disbelief. I glanced at Lek again, a sneer creeping up from deep within me.

"Did you seriously just meow, Lek?"

"Well, Khun Vegas, earlier you... uh... asked me to, so..."

"Yeah, I remember what I said, but damn, you really went all the way through."

"I'm deeply committed to my work, Khun Vegas."

I chuckled, a mixture of amusement and despair, letting out a heavy sigh. I shook my head, reaching for my pack of cigarettes and lazily lighting one up.

"Khun Vegas, I apologize for interrupting your nap, but while I was putting Nong Venice to sleep, I thought I heard you crying. Is everything alright, Khun Vegas?"

I looked at Lek, but my gaze eventually shifted away as the vivid details of the dream I had just had appeared in my mind.

As my fingers grazed my cheeks, I understood. Pete had left me in that dream. We had broken up. My chest tightened suddenly and a chill ran down my spine.

I took a big puff on my cigarette and exhale closing my eyes.

"I'm fine. I just had a nightmare."

I could feel Lek looking at me with concerns out of the corner of my eyes, even if mine were now lost in space.

I am not the kind of having bad dreams. Not that I can recall anyway.

However, when my mother passed away, sleep became a struggle. I would frequently wake up in the middle of the night, my heart racing erratically in my chest, drenched in my own sweat, without any clear understanding of why.

As I grew up, I started to believe that perhaps the lingering effects of losing her so suddenly at such a young age were the reason behind this.

Going into my father's bedroom in the middle of the night, seeking for some reassurance like any normal child would, was never an option. I knew all too well the response I would receive. I would likely be belittled, called names like "pussy" or "girl," and told to grow up a pair. Or maybe just punch in the face as a sleeping pill.

Vulnerability was not accepted. It was a sign of weakness, something to be ashamed of. So, I learned to suppress my emotions, burying them deep within me, while putting on a facade of strength and coldness.

And eventually, I became what my father had always desired: a psychotic, unstable mess with a fractured personality, incapable of forming genuine connections, incapable of showing compassion or love towards anyone but himself.