Begonias

Chapter Thirty Five|Not Good

Do you know the saying? Everything is calm in the eye of the hurricane? Or is it there is always calm before the storm? In his mind, it didn't really matter. In his mind, right now? It was all the same.

It had been just a week since the photo was posted on Twitter, and to say dream team twitter went absolutely rabid is an understatement. But it's cooled down now. In fact, everything has.

Including Dream's temperature. His normal warmth was lost, and to say George was confused was probably an understatement, but hell if Dream knew. George probably didn't even notice or care.

Any time the boys wanted to go out, Dream just apologized and used the excuse that he needed to record, or stream, or edit videos, or post about a milestone or like something on Twitter; He used any logical excuse to get out of going outside of the house.

He was terrified that someone would see them all together and know that, well, Dream was Dream.

He was scared. He was deathly afraid, and he was even more terrified that that phrase could almost be taken literally.

He was dropping pounds by the day. His throat was constantly raw from coughing. His skin was paler, his lips were redder, his hair was thinning just a bit.

And Dream was scared.

Dream was terrified all the time. Any movement spiked his heart rate. Any sudden noise made him scream. Any touch made him flinch and pull away.

Except for George. George was the only good thing right now.

When he saw George, the world burned at his feet. When he heard George, angels sang. When he smelled George, he couldn't bear to pull away. When he felt George, he never wanted to let go.

Through all the constant anxiety, constant fear, constant longing- Dream wasn't stupid, or clueless. He wasn't wondering what was happening. He wasn't unsure.

He knew exactly what was going on, and he knew he could do something about it. But he was afraid to.

Because what if it was too late?

He asked himself this as he looked at himself in the mirror one night, his checks shadowed and his eyes sunken; There was no more light in them.

He lived in a world of uncrossed 't's, and undotted 'i's. He lived in a world of constant hunger, constant stress, and it was constantly moving, ticking, time trickling on without him while he stayed and wondered and waited desperately for some sort of solution.

He was scouring the internet until his wrists ached, and that was when the anxiety wasn't gnawing at him. When it was, he would mimic it, gnawing at his lips, his fingernails, his nail beds.

He was frail and broken, falling apart and in love.

Tired. Tired of trying to face this huge, inevitable thing that was going for his throat. This force of nature.

It hurt, hurt, hurt. Everything hurt, whether it was a phantom pain or a bruise, a scar deciding to sting or a fresh scrape on his newly delicate skin- it all hurt.

And it hurt even worse when he was falling deeper and deeper, and the ecstasy becoming more and more inviting, the want to hold, to kiss, to keep him growing stronger by the day.

No matter how tired he was, he was plagued by horrible, gut-wrenching nightmares, because the disease didn't want him to sleep, it wanted him to think about a love he could never have, replaying the cycle of self-doubt and hopelessness on repeat until he broke.

Until he succumbed.

Until he gave in.

It wanted to break down his walls until they were nothing but rubble and dust in the air. It didn't care about him in the slightest; He was just nutrition, a sub-par meal to feed on.

When he stood up, his world spun. When he sat down, he never wanted to get up. When he got a break, he quite literally wanted to just die there.

TW, Suicide Contemplation

And he contemplated it.

He thought about it a lot.

Probably at least two hours a day he was psyching himself up, trying to convince himself to push the blade a little harder, slash it quickly across his wrists.

He had a noose made out of tied together sweatshirt strings.

And a second made out of unused wires.

He had a whole bottle of antidepressants he's stopped taking because it only makes things worse.

TW over

But he never had the guts to do it. He never had the guts to pull that metaphorical trigger.

He felt blind to the world, and George was the one thing he could see.

But he knew it was bad whenever he felt, literally, like he couldn't see.

The tunnel vision was so strong, that his mind melted away. It was like ferrofluid, and George was the magnet. It was a struggle to navigate his room to even get to the food he hoarded away from the others, or to go to the bathroom.

He told the boys repeatedly not to worry about him. But this disease was trying to take him out in the worst way possible.

And he couldn't stand it.

Literally.

Now, when he tried to get up, his brain went completely white and he'd almost fallen over about a million times.

He knew this wasn't good. He was weak. He could barely feel anything. His senses were tuned in to George and nothing else. He could only hear George and reassure him that he was okay, and the others just had to take his word for it, because he couldn't hear them.

It got even worse when he was convinced he couldn't hear his own heart beat. He was sucked into silence suddenly, like one day he suddenly went deaf. The blindness was gradual, but this was sudden and terrifying.

It was the absolute worst when he couldn't feel anything anymore. He couldn't feel his clothes on his skin. He couldn't feel the carpet on his feet. He couldn't feel the warmth and small comfort of his sweatshirts.

This wasn't normal.

He was gone in every way. He was going insane. He could barely move, and when he did, it was like he had run a marathon.

It was time to end it.

Before he couldn't end it.

This can't go on any longer.

Dream crawled out of his closet, not trusting himself enough to walk all the way across the room.

He was close to the bathroom where he kept his blades; Just a couple more feet and he'd be there.

He tried to stand up.

He swayed.

The last thing he saw before the world was covered in darkness was the floor coming towards him, fast.

Second chapter of the day.

AN

Normal Hanahaki won by a whopping 26 votes here my guys.

This is the same chapter but without the Zombie.