Once Upon A Dream ♡ Frerard

Twenty

Frank did not remember falling asleep. But now, as his eyes opened and sleep lingered as a blurry film over his irises, he realized that at one point he must have cried himself into a state of exhaustion, or keeping his eyes shut led him into sleep even if he did not plan to do so. However, as soon as he awoke, he remember glimpses of the dream he must have had - familiar pictures of his dreamland he hadn't ventured to in so long, only empty fields and a sun brighter than the one he remembered seeing in reality. He escaped his dream somehow and now his body would not let him fall back asleep. His eyelids felt heavy and his eyes dry, eyelashes carefully disentangling the more he blinked. As he looked up above him, the first thing he noticed was a plain off white ceiling staring down at him. There were lights overhead, white light bulbs screwed into slots in the ceiling and shining at their full capacity to keep the room as bright as it could be. Looking right into the light after barely opening his eyes made Frank wince as his pupils rapidly shifted size from the sudden brightness assaulting his vision. He sucked in a breath through his mouth, squinting and turning his head to the side.

He noticed that his body was laid carefully on a bed pushed against one of the white walls in the room. He was laying over white sheets and a thick mattress held up by a black bed frame, with one single cream colored pillow underneath his head. The mattress felt hard, if he were to sit on a corner it seemed that I would not sink in as a soft and comfortable mattress would underneath sudden weight. He looked down at himself, his hands at his sides and his fingers curling around the thin sheets. But now that he caught sight of his body, he realizes that his clothing was not what he had been wearing before he was taken away. Instead, he had been changed into a thin black shirt that reminded him of the scrubs nurses would wear in hospitals, the high v-neck and the short sleeves exposing his arms to the cold air. His bottom half was dressed in gray and thin sweatpants, the material slightly thicker than the flimsy fabric his shirt was made out of. His shoes, plain and white, appeared brand new and brought the outfit together to create a collage of morbid colors decorating his body. His skin crawled momentarily at the thought of someone's unfamiliar hands stripping him of his clothing as he slept, just imagining what parts they had seen. He inhaled shakily, slowly sitting up and taking in the rest of his surroundings.

In front of him was his own reflection sharing directly back at him. He could see his wide hazel eyes and his ashen face, his messy disarray of dark hair and how small he looked to his own self. There was a door there, a tall and white exit that appeared to be barred shut, a small slot resembling a doggy door built into the bottom of the sturdy steel. The room was otherwise empty despite a single lonely chair in the corner of the room, a countertop with a sink and cabinets beneath it that were heavily chained with a sturdy looking lock hanging from the thick and ruthless chains. Just from glancing at them, he knew they were cold and sturdy, if he wrapped his hands around them then his palms would sting from the chill seeping under his skin. He shuddered at the thought and bit his chapped bottom lip, assessing the sight in front of him before turning his head to see what sight the other wall held for him.

Some part of him expected to see himself once again, his side profile and his positioning on top of the bed with the heavily uncomfortable mattress. He blinked slowly, drinking in the way the lights reflected off of yet another thick glass wall, bright glares winking back at him to reveal the glass was the cleanest it would be. When he saw past the glass, he saw a room that mirrored his own in format and colors, including everything inside of it. The floors were pure white tile, without a stain or a smudge ruining the pristine surface. Frank's eyes drank in the room, so close to feeling hysteria sinking in, until his eyes landed on his own reflection once again and suddenly, he choked on his own breath.

His reflection was not his reflection. The person his eyes landed on was sitting with their knees drawn to their chest, dressed exactly the same as Frank, and appearing equally as pale. His nearly shoulder length black hair was knotted and disheveled, his lips were close to colorless and there was a particularly violent looking bruise tainting his beautiful porcelain skin. He was staring straight ahead of him with no expression on his face, like someone had reached into his chest and stolen all of the emotion from his heart.