The Foster Kid (Part 3) (A Foster The People Fan Fiction)

Nightmares And Confessions

            Mark kept his words; he made me stay at his house for the night. I had no choice but to play along before he starts yapping about some weird deep shit. Unfortunately, I was having one of those sleepless nights. It is the time where I just lay there in bed and stare at the ceiling, hoping that I would fall asleep at any second. Sometimes, that second comes, but other times I ended up just staring at the ceiling the whole night. This time, the second came; I finally fell asleep with a calm breath, which was surprisingly quick. But things turned because I had this nightmare that was just too hard to forget. I had this since I was a kid, sadly inspired by a true event.

            What if I was there with my dad when it happened? When some truck struck the car and the door of dad’s car peeled off. I saw the car after the accident, and I could imagine what exactly happened, every detail. It also explains why I hate trucks, why I hate driving near trucks, and why I nearly had a coma and died when Cubbie called me at three in the morning. Will I be thrown off the car when the door peeled off from the car if I was there? Will I even survive that tragedy? Will dad still be alive if I was with him? Maybe he had no idea that the truck was coming because he really wanted to get home as soon as possible. Maybe he would still be alive today if I was there to tell him about the stupid truck. I should have talked to him when mom called, tell him that I was okay and that he does not need to rush home. I should have talked to him and said to take his time and be safe because everything is okay. Did he die because of me? What if those little words could save his life? Could it?

            I woke up breathless and cold sweat damped my back. I hate that nightmare; it always makes me feel guilty. Everybody always say that it never is my fault but realistically, it is. I still think about that short conversation that I wish I had with my dad. Maybe I could change it if I talked to him for five seconds. Little things can make big changes, can it? Why is getting this out of my head so hard? I sat on the edge of the bed, legs dangling off the side. I was kind of hoping that a monster would grab my legs and eat me. I sat in the dark, staring at the door as I tried to shake the thought away. I started to trudge out of the room, following the noise from the television. Not sure what time was it, but I think it was already past midnight. With every heavy footstep that I dragged, I started to feel it again. It just came back pouring all over me, the feeling of guilt, grief, and mourn all came crashing in and was hitting me on the back of my head and chest. I wandered aimlessly around the house, my thoughts too busy to stop and think about where I was headed. The house was almost dark and if you see me, you would think that I was some hungry zombie.

            I felt like slamming my head on the door until I feel numb, I wanted to feel numb. I want to know how it feels like when your problems no longer matter, just once, a second or two. I miss feeling that, but things just worsens when you grow up. Some people are just unlucky, which includes me. They would have to face more problems everyday, and they would have to hide it with a fake smile. I do that, and I am sick of it. “Ally?” Mark found me wandering around his house, “What are you doing up?”

            “It’s just some bad dream.” I shrugged, but the eyes tell the truth.

            “Bad dream?” He arched an eyebrow unconvincingly, “Are you sure?”

            “Yes, I’m sure.” He kept looking at me with a blank expression,

            “Do you want to talk about it?” He finally said, “Let it all out?” I made no time to think about it.

            “Yes.” I quickly answered,

            “Come on.” He beckoned at me and chuckled,