The Greene Effect - REWRITE!!

CHAPTER FIFTEEN - COMPLIMENTARY

Amelia Greene -

"Greene! Greene! Greene!"

Helplessness. Hopelessness. The most genuine fear I've ever felt in my life. All of those things make up these damn nightmares, a tiny section of a scarred mind. I want to wake up. But I can't. I keep hearing my name. I naturally search for the voice.

It seems so far away.

I gasp like I breached through water at the feeling of two strong hands holding my shoulders down. Fight kicks in and I thrash wildly, still half in my nightmare, but the person is stronger than I.

"Woah, woah, woah - Greene!" Zussman tries to keep me in control and a calm voice, "Greene, Greene, It's me."

I freeze, the outline of his face becoming visible. I recognize the glint in his eyes and relax, breathing heavily and feeling like I'd been suffocating under a mountain of snow. He wasn't holding me down; I was pushing so hard against his touch it kept me grounded.

He sits on the edge of my cot, still holding onto me. I can't see him clearly in the dark, but I know his eyes are worried. "You were thrashing and - yelling, kind of."

I glance around to see the other boys still asleep - Zussman's the lightest sleeper. I couldn't have been too loud, but he heard it anyway. "Oh, shit. Sorry, Zuss . ."

"No, it's okay, I was just worried." His body warmth becomes the only thing drawing me too him when I close my eyes. Though I'd prefer for him to head back to sleep, I divulge into selfishness, desiring more of his touch.

I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him into a hug, the urge taking control of me. He instantly relaxes into it, letting me squeeze him tightly. Stress leaves through my tight grip, fading into the night air.

"It's alright," he reassures, rubbing my back. His warmth calms me, though I know I'm wishing it was someone else doing so. Someone that if I touched now, they'd be ice cold. Bones.

I think he knows too.

Against my throat, the feeling of cold metal only sinks my stomach farther into the floor. He has no idea what that means, no fucking clue. Sometimes I want to walk over and rip it off his damn neck.

Why did Aiello think it was a good idea to put it on the line? Doesn't he understand what it is? Didn't he think I'd need it instead?

My temples burn with a headache, forcing me to clear my head before I turn radical with my thinking. It wasn't mine to keep, anyway. But I wish Zussman knew what it fully meant.

Maybe one day I'd tell him.

I think he'd understand.
--

Zussman said nothing about my dream once we were all up in the morning. I was thankful; I was rather embarrassed and knew the pitiful pick me ups wouldn't help, either.

Sometimes we just need to break silently. Zussman saw a part of me I like to keep private, and while I appreciate his efforts to comfort me, I hope it won't be needed again.

The only time he vaguely referenced it was when we were all getting ready to leave and report to Turner, and he met my eyes, nodding once as if to confirm I was okay. I nodded back and that was the end of it.

Aiello gently pulls on my braid as he walks past me. I smack his arm but it's only like a fly landing on his shoulder. He yawns and stretches, ready for a cup of coffee. And a cigarette.

"Asshole," I mutter. The other three walk out, each in their own stages of early morning attitudes. Stiles is the worst morning person whilst Daniels is the kindest. Zussman and Aiello will be fine after a cup of joe. I'm indifferent.