The Boy and the Beast

7| orthodontic

I stare at the blank document on Wattpad. I can't get words to make sense the way Casey does. I read a few of his works—might I say, he's probably the new John Green, maybe even better.

I drum my fingers on my dark oak desk in a reciprocated sound. I don't even know what I'm going to name this story, all I know is that it's about my nightmares.

The blank pages stares back at me, the frequencies flashing black lines through my eyes. It's not as if the lost frequencies wasting the power will magically shape rows of black letters to make words sound like sweet rivers of orange nectar. If only the ideas I had in the back of my mind could flow onto the screen and merge into good grammatical sentences explaining every detail to the cranny.

Woe is me. 

My bedroom door creaks open before the Hazel-eyed Monster peeks through the crack. He blinks at me blankly before slipping into my room.

"Aye, Butch," he greets, closing my bedroom door behind him. His weight faints onto my bed, his limbs sprawled out.

"Sup," I greet feebly, not even practicing lip movement.

"Your sister's down in the living room with your sleeping therapist."

I swing around, eyeing him cautiously. Why would my sleep therapist be at my house? Her office is all the way in Miami, and that's at least an hour's drive away. His stare is rested on me like an anchor, curiosity glittering in his eyes.

"Why didn't you tell her that I take your nightmares away?"

How does he know he takes my nightmares away? I never told him—hell, I never even mentioned it to anyone that he takes them away. It muddles me why he, of all people, is able to remove the nightmares from my mind. Is there something I should know of him? Is he actually adopted and my brother? Is he my lover? Will he show me in the correct career path?

I blink at him.

"I could've helped you."

I open my mouth to speak, but something stops my speech when it drops onto my lap. I close my mouth immediately, staring at the white calcium capsule resting on my lap.

My tooth spontaneously departed my mouth like a dead bird. I look back at Dominic, watching me with anticipation. I grip the tooth between my fingers before trying to shove the tooth back into my gum. It slides in quite easily, which is a quite contrary to belief.

"I could've helped you, Alistair," he stands up from the edge of the bed. His words keep replaying in my head, as if he swore me off. Would he really want to help me? It's not as if lying with another man in bed could be normal.

"I don't know," I mutter, feeling the remnants of my teeth dust over my pants. I grip the teeth, shoving them back into my gums. I bite down on my teeth to keep them from falling out. It's frustrating—I can't even talk without my teeth raining out like a thunder shower. I want to explain to him why I didn't tell him and ask how he knows about what the sleep therapist asked me. "I don't want you to mix in with my life."

I line my teeth with my fingers, trying to keep them from falling out. I am not wasting two years [going longer] of my life with braces to get this smile from something you see on the Animal Planet channel to Theo James' perfect smile.