glitched | ✔️

o n e

Chelsie POV

Have you ever woken up, seen something move in the darkness and been absolutely paralyzed? You pretend to still be asleep, pull out your cellphone.
Your first thought is often that there's an intruder, right? I mean, that's what any reasonable person would assume.
Most kids might faint, instagram, pray, or call a parent. I call my best friend.
You turn the camera so they can see who (or what) it is. They sigh and patiently inform you it's only a helium balloon.
This has happened to me more times then you could think. My little sister seems to think it's funny how each time it creeps me out.

She's a butt.

Trust me, it's not funny. But— determined to get over my fear of helium balloons— the next time I woke up and glimpsed something moving I gritted my teeth and pushed the fear away.
"Not funny, why is putting balloons in my room so entertaining to you? Are you five? It's twisted." I mumbled groggily, trying to slow my rapidly beating heart.

"I don't see how that is at all relevant to the situation, but... okay?"
My eyes flick to the teenage boy looking at me strangely from my beanbag on the floor. Wait. Wut.

I shriek, bury myself under the covers, and chant that it's all a dream, I will be awake any moment to find an empty room and a sunny morning.
A muffled sigh comes from across the room.
"Hiding under the covers won't do anything, Chelsie."

I am not even embarrassed to admit I fainted. I am much more embarrassed to add the fact that I nearly suffocated under the covers, due to before mentioned fainting.
When at last I regained consciousness my heart seemed like a whole drum set in my ears. I was drenched in nervous sweat and my lungs were burning.
I poke my mouth out from under the covers, dramatically sucking in fresh, cold air.

"You look like a fish."

Oh yeah.
The possibly psychopathic intruder.

He's just sitting there, looking like a freaking model, a dark eyebrow raised in impatience.
"Done with your theatrics yet?"
Now that I've managed to calm myself I take a moment to study him.
I can't deny he's good looking- psycho or not. I am suddenly seriously regretting my decision to wear a unicorn onesie to bed.
I look ridiculous.
Than it hits me.

This is a dream.
Of course! I knew I should have gone to therapy for that whole balloon thing, I am clearly scarred for life.
With a sense of newfound courage I look dream-boy in the eyes. In the forestry green eyes.

"Look, stranger, as nice as it is to be visited by weird stalkers in my dreams this is a very awkward situation. Can I get some suitable clothes on, if you have the decency to allow it?"
The dreamy (hah. see what I did there?) teenage boy actually blushed.
"Oh. I didn't know, sorry," he coughed awkwardly.
I hid a smile. My brain was able to conjure some cute boys.

Not more then thirty seconds later I was dressed in simple jeans and a t-shirt, no longer looking like I was five years old at a slumber party me and my best friend Amara may have had in the fourth grade.

"Okay, you can open your eyes now," I say cheerfully. Now that I know this is a dream it's a whole lot easier to talk to this boy.
I mean, he's just someone my mind made up, right?

The kid opens his eyes and leans back into the beanbag, looking perfectly at ease. He surveys me calmly. I stare back.
"I suppose you're wondering why I'm here?" He finally says, with a slight tilt of his head.