The Colorless King || Stephen James

4 ~ Mad Dreaming Skills.

Mad Dreaming Skills.

A R A B E L L A

I'm running. I don't know where, but I'm running.

My heart is racing. So fast I hear it in my ears and I'm sure if I stopped, I could see my chest thump in sync.

My feet are bare, and dirt is stuck to the bottom of them, mud in between my toes. They're itchy from poison oak.

I hear a familiar voice behind me, I don't know what from, and I don't understand what is being said. All I know is that it scared me, and I need to run faster. So I do.

My lungs burn, my throat dry and scratchy. I heave a little, trying to get air inside of my system.

I feel shivers run up my spine, the hairs on the back of my neck standing up and making me gasp.

He's close. And he'll do anything to catch up.

I gasp, sitting up straight and holding my chest. Sweat falls down my back and in between my cleavage. I glance out the window and notice it is pouring, sometime during the night. That dream seemed so real. Like a vision. Has that happened before? I don't remember that, I would have remembered that. I think.

Forget it, Bella. Just forget it, it's just some stupid dream your mind had the audacity to make you dream about. I dig through my school bag and find my phone, unlocking it and checking the time.

3:34.

Jesus, what kind of brain makes you wake up at this time in the night? Or should I say morning? Whatever.

I slide my duffel out from under the couch, unzipping it and grabbing a sports bra, work out shorts, and a running jacket. I quickly change into them and put my hoodie up, leaving myself barefoot.

I pat Cheeseburger's head, whom is still sound asleep during not only the storm, but also my near heart-attack. I open the door to the old shed and step out, almost immediately getting soaked.

I start to jog, my bare feet slamming onto the mushy ground, mud and water getting slushed around my feet. I don't know when, but I notice tears on my cheeks. Crying and the cold probably make my cheeks red, and the tip of my nose and ears, I'll probably get a cold.

I gasp, feeling almost like I'm being pushed under water, my face and whole body covered with rain. I don't even know where I am going, just running. Am I trying to repeat my dream? Trying to get more information on it?

I don't know.

Before I know it, I hear the roar of a motorcycle, and I see it stop beside the curb a few feet in front of me, and by the time I become parallel with it, the mysterious figure has killed the engine, gotten off of the bike, and stopped in front of me.

The figure has a leather jacket on, black timberland boots, a tight black shirt, and black jeans. He or she has a dark cotton jacket under the leather one, and it's hood is up. I stop in my tracks and stare, wondering why on earth a person is out here at 3 am and stopping to freak me out.

Listen mister, I've already had enough fright for tonight (tee hee that rhymes), and I do not need any more, thank you sir.

The man or woman lifts their hands, brushing back their hood while practically shouting through the storm, making me by far more than shocked.

"Arabella?"

I listen to the voice, immediately recognizing it. Jaxon. What the hell is he doing here?