acquainted dreams [t.r]

04

Anya could hear the faint hum of the walkman she forgot to turn off before she slept. She could smell the vanilla scented candle that was still lit from the night before. Anya was home, in the same cluttered bedroom she had fallen asleep in. She glanced around the room, as if to confirm what she really already knew.

She had been dreaming. Pretty fucking vividly at that.

"Anya, so help me god if you don't get out of bed i-"

"I was dreaming?" Anya mumbled, not quite recognising that her boyfriend was even there. "I was dreaming?" She ran her hands through her hair in confusion. "What the fuck." She continued to mutter a strain of profanities as she began to register that it hadn't been real. Of course when she was there, she had thought it could be a dream. But for her to have dreamt so vividly, to create a world with such detail. Anya had always had a creative imagination but this was not normal.

And she remembered everything.

She remembered Dumbledore, the headmaster, the talking portraits. The stupid bloody sorting hat. The houses, slytherin, everything.

She remembered Tom Riddle. In all his infuriating glory. She remembered his fake sincerity towards Dumbledore, his feigned concern for her well being after he had watched her be unable to stand, rather than help her. And his stare. She remembered how she had compared it to Patrick's.

Patrick.

Her head snapped up, reminding herself of his presence. Their eyes met, and Anya couldn't help but again compare Patrick's eyes to Tom's. Patrick's were angry, showing blatant emotion which Tom's had not.

"Anya do i look like i have time for you to be sat there staring at me like it's the first time you're fucking seeing me? Get the fuck out of bed now. It's 7:35, i told you i was picking you up at 7:30 but you never bloody listen do you." Patrick was often blinded by his annoyance annoyance, unable to stop his ranting and raving. "Anya!" He barked, now physically picking Anya up and placing her so she now stood, rather unstable, on her bedroom floor.

"What the fuck Patrick. I'm not a bloody rag doll you know." His touch had fully brought her back to reality. Anya pushed him away in annoyance, standing with her arms crossed whilst she glared at him.

"Ah good she's awake. Now get changed, like i said we were supposed to leave five minutes ago for school. I told you 7:30 Anya. If you would just bloody listen to-"

"Fucking hell i'm going, i'm going!" Anya rubbed her temples, having not been prepared to wake up to him yelling at her.

Patrick sat, perched at the end of her bed impatiently as she rummaged through her draws. Anya ignored his muttering about the state of her room as she stumbled around trying to find something decent to wear. Once changed, she sat on her floor in front of her mirror. She looked just as exhausted as she felt, as if she hadn't slept at all. She looked fucking awful. But there was no time to do anything but wipe away the mascara under her eyes, brush her teeth and throw half her makeup into her bag to finish in the car.

Anya stood in front of Patrick to imply that she was ready to go.

"How you manage to still look hotter than any girl in this school when you still look like shit is beyond me Anya." Patrick sighed, staring at his girlfriend.

"Thanks for the backhanded compliment." Anya scoffed, but her scowl softened as their lips met, tentatively at first. Her worries were forgotten as his hand gently held the nape of her neck, differing from the hardening rhythm of his lips. He jerked her closer, pressing his abdomen to hers, and Anya couldn't stifle the moan that was released into his lips.