Beautiful Lovers

3.

EDITED

Another chapter! I hope you like it :)

"Gosh, who knows why did the... dreams even come?" he thought to himself glumly with eyes on the people swinging in the bus. He wasn't angry, because after so many days his mind was filled with... a dream, but because he didn't know, why it did and why did it seem like it wasn't even a dream.

Like a red line on the grey background, the last few days maybe even weeks bled through the paper and confused him. Like a lighthouse in the middle of the storm, those visions woke him up in the loneliest nights. Fractions of memories, which he didn't understand visited him and mocked him. So many unanswered questions were raised when he dreamt of magical worlds.

"Not dreams. More like nightmares." Paris thought to himself bitterly.

"But can even nightmares be that real?" he reminded himself of something he already knew and felt how right he was. Not even night terrors could make the thudding of hooves so loud.

Paris's eyes were on the white walls. The bus swung and the fluorescent lights added to the darkness behind the windows. He sat in the blue seat for over twenty minutes now and the screen above the heads of his fellow passengers showed only a few stops before he could return to his cold bed. What would he dream about though? What would fill his mind? Torn throats? Mouths opened in a silent scream? Drunk celebrations that smelled after piss and sweat? Did he really want that?

"But last night...it was different. Why?" The boy leaned on the cold glass.

That time Paris wasn't absorbed in the fear of another. He wasn't trapped in someone else's body. When he woke up, he wasn't covered in sweat and with breath stuck somewhere in his throat. When those nightmares started a few weeks ago, he was almost scared that he would disturb his roommate, Bena. But she didn't really care much.

"Does anyone even care anymore?" noted that annoying voice in his head. Paris wanted to silent it with an eye-roll, but he stopped himself. Was he really going crazy?

In that dream he was himself. It should've been a relief. But it was far from it. Maybe in some way, he was glad, but he wasn't glad that he saw those grey eyes. Because that girl didn't answer any of his questions. And he had loads.

Where was he? Where were they? Who was she? Was he even dreaming? Or was there something more to it?

From the moment he gazed in those metallic, fearful eyes, from the second he heard her frantic breath and worried face, he knew it was her. They were her nightmares that trapped him. Her palms, which he gazed upon so often were scarred and bloodied. And he couldn't help himself. Paris couldn't be mad at this girl for cursing him with her demons. He had to ask though. Who was she? What was her story? It was so weird, because like everything the answer was in the reach of his hands. He heard the words the girl heard. He saw the horrible things, which were supposed to be trapped in her mind till the end of eternity. He felt her fear when they heard those words that still made him freeze.

"The princess is just a sacrifice."

What was that supposed to mean?

He pitied her. Because the feeling of desperation was engraved in her mind. He knew what was it like when her eyes filled with tears when the only thing, she dared to do was... live. That was her crime. He didn't want to know the punishment. Or maybe he kind of did... Paris drew the picture of her grey eyes with golden circles, her light brown hair and that ugly scar on her lips into his mind. Because he didn't want to forget that somewhere in the world... or another one... there was someone in pain. The boy felt like he owed that to her. If that made sense. Paris knew she was real. He didn't know how. Like this whisper just... told him. That he shouldn't fight the force.