Sorrow's Promise

Chapter 2

TRIGGER WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER. SEE CENSORED VERSIONS BELOW THE DOUBLE LINES.

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Overactive imagination. That's what my first foster mom had called it, when I told her about my dreams and tried to convince her that the three kids were real. She would smile sweetly, give me a condescending pat on the head, and make some kind of frustrating remark about how wonderful the mind of a child was. Ms. Young, the leader of the group home I ended up in later, didn't put it quite as nicely. She insisted, like she was some kind of dream psychologist or something, that the girl was me, and said that I had invented the boys to compensate for not having any friends in real life. To which I had retorted that I did have one friend, and had no desire to be friends with all the bullies that shared the home with me. I had gotten grounded for that one. But really, it wasn't my fault that I wasn't very good at making friends. She didn't have to rub it in.

Plus, from the very beginning, even before I started dyeing my hair and the girl and I actually looked just alike, I knew she wasn't me. I never saw things from her perspective, like in a normal dream. She also somehow seemed prettier than me, and there was no doubt that her life was much happier. The boys' faces I never saw quite as clearly, but I could tell that the silver-haired one was a little older than the girl and the brown-haired boy. I didn't know their names, but in all other ways I felt a bit like they really were my friends. When I was little, I used to imagine that they actually had been my friends, sometime during the time in my past that I couldn't remember. Maybe the girl was my long-lost sister, since we looked so much alike.

Then, sometime a little over a year ago, the dreams had suddenly turned to nightmares, full of monsters with glowing yellow eyes, and dark shadows that devoured everything they touched. At one point, I saw the beach where the kids always played crumbling and disintegrating into a black hole, but the kids themselves somehow still survived. I used to wake up from those dreams sweating and gasping for air, expecting to find my room crawling with monsters. When I told Aiden about the nightmares, though, he just laughed at me. Ever since then, I had kept them to myself, even now when the nightmares had calmed and gone back to regular, though sad, dreams.

I was lying on my back in bed pondering all of this, having just woken up from my third dream in a week. It had finally occurred to me this morning that there was one more difference this time around – the brown-haired boy wasn't actually there. I could still feel him in the thoughts of the other two, but his physical presence was missing. What on earth had happened to those three, to cause so much separation and sadness? It was bugging me, not knowing, but at the same time I knew it was silly of me to wonder. They were just figments of my imagination, after all.

After quite some time procrastinating, I eventually coaxed myself out of bed to get coffee and get dressed. My morning was spent in the public library, using the computer to search for job openings, with no luck. If I could ever find a job, maybe I could have a little more freedom, and not have to depend on Aiden so much for everything. But no one seemed to want to hire a fifteen year old, especially one with no experience, credentials, or references. I didn't even have "reliable transportation", which seemed to mean that not even McDonald's wanted to hire me.

Just before noon, I gave up for the day and trudged back home. Aiden was supposed to be coming by, and I had promised to throw together some lunch for us. I was just putting the finishing touches on our sandwiches when the lock clicked and he walked through the door.

"Hey, babe!" I greeted him with a smile, glancing covertly at his face and body language for cues of what the day was going to bring.

"Hi, Meli baby." I shut my eyes happily as he walked over and slid his hands around my waist, kissing the top of my head. He was in a good mood today.