🫧Bubbles🫧 | DNF

🫧 Chapter 6 🫧

Extreme fear can neither fight nor fly.
— William Shakespeare

"Kristy, I don't think you recognize how bad this is!" George had been passing back and forth in his therapist's office for the past fifteen minutes. He couldn't bring himself to stay still. He wanted to be doing something—anything—to get closer to fixing his bubble.

"Yes, but that means we're having a breakthrough, George. I think it's very good you stepped out of your own comfort zone and are now communicating with your new friend."

"No! It's terrible!" George gave an exasperated cry and put his head in his hands.

"I understand this is scary. You're used to shielding yourself from everyone, but now you're starting to get ready to have friends again."

"I don't want to have friends again!" George felt his eyes prickle with tears, and he just slumped down onto the sofa. He felt a lump form in his throat. "I don't wanna go through all that again..."

"George, look at me. It's all gonna be okay. Just give it some time."

George opened his stringing eyes and looked at his therapist. She gave him a soft smile of reassurance.

"I know everything won't be; you don't have to gaslight me into it." The boy doubled over and put his cheek on his knees, his arms wrapping around the underside of his legs.

George felt a shift in the room, and shortly after, the sofa dipped in a bit to his left. Kristy didn't touch George or talk to him, and he was quite thankful for that. He focused on his bubble and the throbbing pain it was in because of the crack. George focused his eyes on the wretched lines that Clay had left. The crack was about the size of a clenched fist, like Dream had actually punched his bubble. And it sure left an indent.

"My bubble... It's... a protective layer. Walls that I put around myself... It was supposed to be an unbreakable bubble. Impenetrable. It was supposed to be indestructible."

"Yes, you've told me this before. I'm aware it's indestructible."

"So how- So how come it's starting to crack? How come it's all starting to crumble down?!" George's voice cracked. He sniffled and wiped his nose with his sleeve. George looked at the tissues on the coffee table in front of him that always separated him from his therapist. His hands were too shaky to reach out and grab one.

"You need me to grab you a stress ball?" Kristy asked after George seemed to be calming down from his sniffles.

"No, I have mine..." The boy reached into his pocket and pulled out the blue, squishy ball.

"That's good that you're carrying it with you." George could hear her beaming at the thought of him taking it everywhere in his pocket.

"I squish it in classes if I don't understand something or when I need to go up and talk to someone."

Kristy couldn't help but smile. "Even though you might not see it, I think you've improved a lot with your mental health, and you do a lot better socially as well. It's progress, and it's wonderful."

"Thanks, Kristy..." George muttered under his breath.

"Maybe... you should give Clay a chance. He seems like a good kid, and it seems he wants to be your friend." She nudged George with her elbow.

"He's desperate; it shows." George let out a chuckle.

"Well, don't keep the man waiting, let him be your friend. Little steps, George, remember."

"...Okay, I'll give it a try."

~~~

George, in fact, did not give it a try. It was his third day laying in bed not doing anything, and all he felt was dread enlaced with guilt. It's been too late; there's no point in trying to make amends. Hell, Dream probably hates him now. Someone unwilling to commit to a friendship, to have a shred of genuity, to not panic, and to shield yourself from close friends and loved ones.