Dreamer

02

 I don't believe that dreams are made to predict the future. Dreams are just a series of our thoughts, images and sensations that we all make up in our minds. Whenever I have one, I forget it instantly when I wake up. But why can't I forget this one?

Pulling my legs into my chest, I dug my face into my knees and listened to the tick of the wall-clock.

Tick-Tock-Tick-Tock-Tick

The dream felt all too real.

It brought chills to rise up my arms.

The voice that whispered my name sounded all too familiar, yet I couldn't place a name nor a face to it. The morning is chilly, the soft wind blew on my curtains and made me shiver. I stared at the wall clock, opposite of my bed, the short arm pointing at five and the long arm pointing at six.

5:30

My throat feels awfully dry, sitting up, I sighed. My hands ran through my hair, taming the mess of brown hair entwined with one another. I stood up and walked towards my bathroom, staring at myself at the mirror, heavy bags are under my eyes and it made me feel even worse than waking up to a nightmare. I leaned over the sink and splashed my face with water, looking back at the mirror, everything suddenly turned dark.

It was like a flash of black and then everything went back to normal. Fear spiked through my heart and I gasped, holding onto the sink for support. My eyes clenched shut as I evened out my breathing.

What was that?

I stared too long in the mirror, taking in my appearance, waiting for everything to flash black again but it never came.

Walking towards the shower I stripped and started the water, I leaned my head against the tiles and closed my eyes. The dream playing over and over like a broken record player, every detail and sensation still vivid and felt more real each time I repeated it in my head.

My eyes closed, my vision flashed red and a hand hidden in the shadows rushed towards me and I stumbled back my eyes flashing open and looking around, my heart painfully beating against my chest. The dream started creeping back but it started to change, darker, scarier; taking a different turn. Is this all just in my head?

Turning off the shower I got myself dressed.

My breath still heavy from the sudden flash of whatever I had seen in my dream. My mind started to play games on me as I've been spooked from the dream I had. I hated it. It felt like it was nagging me on the back of my head and ready to jump whenever I wasn't alert.

I paused as I caught my image on the mirror on the back of my door. My eyes bored a hole into every inch of my body as I looked at myself in disgust. Every inch of me was something that made me uncomfortable, thinking about it made my skin crawl as I continued to stare at myself.

I didn't know when I started to feel like this about myself, I would stop myself if I could, but this was something far out of my capabilities. It just happened to be there, nagging at me, eating away at my confidence and feeding my insecurities. Thinking of being comfortable in my own skin was a distant memory or maybe even a fantasy I could only wish to achieve.

Somehow, I couldn't look away, even when I hated that even myself didn't like what I was seeing. If I could only look better, I thought as I pinched my stomach and sucked it in and faced sideways. I pulled my lips together before facing away from the mirror, my stomach sinking as I continue to get dressed for school.

"Charlotte!" I heard my mom call from downstairs. I didn't bother to reply as I smoothed down my skirt, the uniform felt tight on my body. The blouse hugged my chest and shoulders too tightly, and the skirt felt suffocating around my waist. I closed my eyes and wrapped my arms around my stomach as I could already feel the gazes of my peers on me, engraving the words they whispered among themselves on my skin.

It made me hate myself more.

Forcing myself out my thoughts, I grabbed my bag beside the door before walking downstairs, the smell of pancakes filling in my senses. My stomach grumbled as my eyes trained towards the open kitchen where I stared at my mother's figure cooking at the stove, as if feeling someone staring at her, her steel gray eyes glanced towards me.

She smiled, "Come on, I made pancakes." She said nodding towards the plate at the island table. My chest hurt when she smiled, I felt like I was hurting her by being like this.

I had second thoughts whether I would take on her invitation for breakfast but my feet betrayed me before I could decide as I entered the kitchen to sit on the seats by the island. "You're early," She said as she placed another piece on the plate, she gestured for me to start eating so I did. Taking a few pieces and placing on the empty plate in front of me.

Mom didn't say a word afterwards and just finished cooking, when she placed the last piece on the plate she frowned at me. "Finish eating, you'll be late." As she wiped her hands on her pants, leaving the pan on the stove she walked around the island to tuck my hair behind my ears.

My chest squeezed as her eyes held mine, smiling before she walked past me to walk towards her room. I bowed my head as I breathed; my throat closing up as I could replay what had happened. My mom worried for me more than I did myself and feeling like this made me even more guilty than I should.

Whatever self-loathing I was feeling could possibly hurt my mom in the future but I can't stop that from happening. That was one of my selfish thoughts as I bitterly closed my eyes to get myself together before my mom could get back.

I grasped the plate and opened the trash, stuffing the pieces of pancake inside before putting the plate on the sink. I grabbed my bag and started to rush outside before my mother could come back to the kitchen. My stomach turned as I couldn't handle even the sight of food with a body like mine. This is punishment for myself.

When I had stepped outside my chest still felt like it had when I was inside. Clutching my chest I focused on breathing properly, glancing at the door before I started walking to school.

No matter how much I dreaded going to school, I still come back every day, besides it being a priority for a student's attendance. I had this way of putting myself in situations where I felt like I deserved all the scorn and hate thrown at me. It is what I should expect for someone like me, I can't take any less.

My hand subconsciously reached for the side-pocket on my bag, pulling out a cigarette and a lighter, I placed the cigarette between my lips and lighted the other end, inhaling 'til I could feel the smoke in my chest before I exhale and the smoke, disperse before my eyes.

The tightness of my chest eased, the smoke made me feel calmer, I put back the lighter and took a few more hits before I threw my head back to stare up at the sky.

The bleak and cloudy sky was clearly not on my side.

It's 'gonna rain.

"Lucky me,"

But that thought didn't make me walk faster. I kept my pace on the walk to school.