Boys Will Be Boys

Chapter Seven

Author's Note:

Gah. Okay. This chapter. Hits me right in the feels every time. Which is weird, because I wrote it so I should definitely see it coming. But still. Enjoy!
Vote, fan, share, comment, etc. <3

xoxo,

Q.

Holy. Shit.

Ho-ly shit.

Holy fucking shit.

I have no other words to describe the way I’m feeling this morning. I sit upright in my bed, my eyes the size of saucers, staring at absolutely nothing, completely at a loss for words—even words for inside my head, for myself.

I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what the hell is going on inside my brain right now and I’m scared to vocalize—even in my head-voice—what I’m thinking deep in the back of my mind.

I dreamt about Emery Scott.

I freakin’ dreamt about Emery Scott.

Holy shit.

You know what the worst part about it is? It was a good dream. No, not just a good dream—one of the best dreams I’ve ever had. Oh my God, why? Why the hell was it a good dream?

I want to slap myself in the face really hard. I swear, I really want to do it. What the hell is wrong with me? Holy shit. I can’t even put words together.

“Boys! Don’t be late for school!” my mother’s voice wafts into my room and I try to make sense of her words in my head.

Oh my God. School. With people. With Nate. And Jess. And Alana and Katy. And Toby and Drew. And Bryce and Tyler and Mike and Chase and all the basketball guys.

And Emery.

Sweet Baby Jesus and Mary, Mother of Christ.

How the hell am I supposed to go to school and act like everything’s normal, when I just had a freakin’ dream about freakin’ Emery Scott?

Holy shit.

It hits me square in the face like a water balloon.

I had a dream about Emery Scott.

I dreamt about him.

I enjoyed dreaming about him.

No, stop, Luke, you’re just psyching yourself out. It was just a dream, chill out.

But I can’t chill out, because it wasn’t just a dream. This is seriously weird, man, and I need to figure out what is going on in my brain.

Unfortunately, I don’t have time for that right now, as I have to get dressed and drive me and my asswipe of a brother to school.

I function on robot-mode, just doing everything automatically, without even thinking. I jump in the shower and stand under the water for two minutes, before grabbing a towel and hopping out.

I pull a Ramones t-shirt over my head and worm my way into a pair of black jeans, before shoving my feet into my one and only—and very beat up—pair of Converse.

After mechanically getting myself ready for school—and don’t ask me how I did it with my brain still not functioning—I head downstairs.

I allow Mom to plant a kiss on my cheek and then grab Gabe by the ear and drag him out to the car, all the while not saying a word and ignoring Gabe’s protests.