Fixing The Bad Boy ✓

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(🔝DRESS IN THE DREAM🔝)

ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝟕

I twirl her around and she giggles, the sound is music to my soul, the oxygen to my heart. I hold her one hand in mine, her other on my shoulder and my other hand sits on her hip. She removes her hand from mine and her arms wrap around my neck and my slither around her small waist. Her smile inches away from mine and she lays her head on my chest. We turn in a revolution with slow steps, I put my chin on her head and the smell of her hair floods my senses, leaving me weak at the knees.

"I'm scared, Mase." I squeeze her in my arms, holding her closer to me, trying to protect her.

"You're safe with me, Hannah." I run my fingers through her brown locks.

She pulls away from me and I frown as she takes a step backwards. "I love you, Mason."

A sense of deja vú appears as a loud noise claps and I try and push her out of the way, but it's too late.

She crumbles to the floor, her hair changing to blonde as she makes her way to the ground. Her pink, floral dress pools around her as she lies lifeless on the floor, blood staining the elegant clothing I had bought for Hannah.

"No!" The scream tears through my throat and I kneel down beside her body. I push the hair out of her face, but instead of finding her, it's someone else that lies in my arms. What should've been Hannah, is not. Instead of curly brown hair falling down to her shoulders, blue eyes that stare blankly at the sky, a button nose that sits in the middle of her face, I stare at another girl. A girl with blonde hair that feels soft to the touch, her green eyes stare at me and not the sky, blood running from the edge of her lips, her cute freckled nose situated above her bloody mouth and the edges of her eyes crinckle in a smile. Her cold hand cups my cheek and she whispers, "I love you, Mason."

And she was gone.

Her hand falls limp from my face, her eyes looking up at the starry night sky and her skin goes pale and her chest stops rising and falling.

"Katherine! No! Not her!" The tears fall from my cheeks and drip onto her cold skin. I sob into the crook of her neck, rocking us back and forth. "Not her." I whisper.

I fist my sheets, my back arching, my chest rises and falls too quickly and my heartbeat hammers against my ribcage. Sweat dribbles on my forehead, my neck, and my whole body, but I shiver from the cold breeze that comes through my window.

I feel my supper wanting to make a reappearance and I rush into the bathroom. I hurl and vomit into the toilet, making strange and disgusting noises. I cough out the remains of what's in my stomach and I feel someone's hand rub my back soothingly; a small hand that I have come to familiarize myself with.