Fragile: Chapter 5

Author: the-stressmushroom

Word Count: 800

Rating: NC-17  

Warnings: This chapter is pretty safe, some gore but not much

A/N  Hi, guys!  It’s been tooooooo long!   My summer has been so hectic so I took a break from writing and now I’m back!  I hope to update this fic at least once a week, so enjoy chapter five and know that there is more to come soon!

Phil’s POV:

I wake up to something warm cuddled up next to me, the white linen sheets cocooning two bodies, one pale and one tan.  I can smell a deep eucalyptus scent drifting from the curly hazelnut hair that tickles my nose and a slight yawn escapes from Dan’s mouth.  “Good morning sleepy head” I muse, my voice husky and gruff.  “Good morning,” Dan says, looking up at me with innocent eyes.  I lean down and brush my lips to his and he hums with contentment.  His hand drifts its way into mine, his warm fingers interlacing with my cold ones.  A soft purring comes from just bellow my waist and I look down to see Beatrice cuddled up in between Dan and I, her silhouette cast gently against our bodies as the soft morning light shines through my window onto the bed.  God knows how long its been since I have involved myself in any sort of relationship, whether it be emotional or physical, and it’s a nice feeling to wake up to another body in your bed.  Dan cuddles up to me more, pressing himself impossibly close, and I feel an incredible warmth spread through me.  I feel vulnerable with him, but not uncomfortable.  I’m fine with Dan seeing the things that invade my dreams and cause my insecurities.  We fit, like two puzzle pieces.  I’m not a rash person, never one to rush into things, but after only two weeks with Dan, I’m ready to free fall.

Two Months Later

I hear the door slam shut and the sound of shoes being thrown unceremoniously into a corner.  Dan was out early this morning, hopefully he brought coffee home with him.  However, the lack of the dark liquids aroma rushing through the air dampens my hopes of this coffee dream becoming a reality.  Sheets of rain pelt the roof and windows creating a hollow rhythm that fills up the empty spaces of the apartment.  I stand from the bed, the sheets falling from my shoulders and I stretch my arms out, the vertebrae in my back popping and cracking with the motion.  I pad forward, pushing the door open, and find Dan in the hall, our eyes meet and I freeze.   Dan is covered in red.  Red everywhere.  His dark clothes somehow darker.  His brown curls matted and crimson against his head.  His face dripping with the liquid I can only assume to be blood.  The malicious look in his eyes, the one I rarely see, but still notice on rare occasions, is their.  But it is not fleeting as usual, it is consuming.  The sparkle, the naivety, the soul that I usually see when I look into Dan’s hazel orbs is consumed by a void of insanity.  He holds a box cutter in his hand.  He looks down at it, breaking eye contact, and then back at me.  His face has morphed into a hideous grin that stretches across his cheeks in an unnatural fashion.  His eyes are dead, no emotion in sight, and he walks toward me.  I cannot move, I cannot breathe, he raises the blade and I scream.
I shoot up in the bed letting out a sharp gasp, and Dan shifts beside me.  I am drenched in sweat, and my hands are shaking slightly.  I look to the faint glowing numbers on the alarm clock and see the time reads 3:07 am.  This dream, this nightmare, is a recurring addition to my evenings.  It’s not always the same beginning, but it always ends with a blood stained Dan murdering me.  Two months.  We have been together for two months.  I look over to the beautiful boy laying next to me, his body curled inward on itself in the fetal position.  He looks so fragile like this, so gentle, he could never even hurt a fly.  I know Dan.  I know how he likes his tea, two sugars and a dash of cream, how he uses my shampoo in the shower, how he cleans up dishes right after cooking, how he cries at the end of Grave Of The Fireflies, and how he kisses my nose and says ‘I love you’ before bed every night.  And yet, I feel something dark about him, that I cannot shake.  It started about three weeks ago when a CCTV cam caught The Artist walking away from a crime scene.  We could not make out a height, weight or any discernible facial but we could see curly brown hair, and a black jacket.  Dan has that same jacket.  Sure, it could just be coincidence, but now these dreams of him are haunting my nights, and I know that if he was a killer, I might not be able to hurt him.

A/N I know its just a short return chapter, but don’t worry, something big is coming