Sweet Obsession (In Progress)

Chapter Two: Part One

A/N:

Picture is of Rosaline.

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Memories 

When I woke up, I was once again in my own bed, with nothing more than an ache in my neck and a small throbbing in my temples. The next few days passed in a blur. I called in sick to my paid internship for some local chemical company as an I.T. and systems programmer, and didn’t leave my flat for anything.

When my parents, Kent and Jane Asheford, called to ask about going to brunch this coming Sunday, I declined, stating that I had a previously planned engagement with a big shot from work to discuss company numbers. Even though that wasn’t my department, they bought it. I felt bad for lying to the two people who had loved me most in this world, but I just couldn’t focus on anything other than that dream. It felt like I was missing something huge.

I tried to sleep as often as possible, in hopes that I would revisit the dream, or hear that voice again, but it was all to no avail. I thought that if I could see it again, and pay more attention this time, then maybe this feeling I had would begin to make some form of sense. It was a useless thought, because all that I could see in my dreams was black. Everywhere was black.

It wasn’t until Friday night -after a vigorous attempt to raid my kitchen had turned up nothing but a box of saltines and a packet of expired tea - that I realized I would need to go out the next morning for groceries. I didn’t much like ordering in as the food was usually grease-filled and fattening, and I had opted for a much cleaner diet around my freshmen year of college.

Having gone to bed after devouring an entire sleeve of the salty snack, chased by a glass of ice water, I didn’t expect that I’d be hungry any time soon. I was, of course, wrong. I woke up around one a.m., tangled up in my sheets, with a gnawing sensation in my lower stomach. I thought to try and quell the feeling by eating another few crackers. Big mistake. My hunger was so severe that it was bordering on nauseating, and all it took were those few crackers to push me over the edge.

In a rush I was running to the quaint bathroom located in the hallway, just outside my bedroom. I barely made it to the toilet, hastily flinging it open with shaky hands, before the contents of my stomach spilled from my lips. When it was over, I flushed the evidence and leaned back against the wall as sobs began to wrack my body. I don’t know why I was crying, maybe because I had been losing my mind over something so meager, that it wasn’t even deserving of my attention. Or maybe I just needed this, to let go of all of the tension that had been building up inside me.

I decided then and there that I would go back to work on Monday, and that I would call my parents and tell them that I would be happy to have brunch with them on Sunday. It was, after all, pretty stupid to let a dream get to me so much that I put my life on hold.

With my mind made up, I decided to shower and brush my teeth before going back to bed. It’s something I always did when I got sick. It didn’t matter that I had managed to keep all traces of vomit off of me, I still felt dirty.

After getting cleaned up, I threw on some light pajamas and climbed back into bed - careful to leave the sheets off of me this time - before falling back into a dreamless sleep.