Redundancy
Reoccurring Dreams.
He jolted awake, drenched in sweat. He drew deep, panting breaths as his eyes widened. His eyes darted around the room, searching for something that was lurking in the shadows, something that was bound to happen. Icy fear coiled around his heart, and anxiety crushed his throat.
Choking, choking, choking.
How many times has he had the same nightmare?
He stumbled out of his bed, and forced his legs to take him somewhere else—anywhere else.
“Pierre?”
He abruptly came to a halt in his escape. Spasms of fear shot down his spine, paralyzing him. Who was that?
“Pierre…”
He gathered all the courage he had left in his body. He slowly turned around.
It was David. A small pout lay on his lips. Sleepiness still lurked in his eyes. “It’s three AM, Pierre. Where are you going?” he sleepily mumbled, yawning.
Pierre’s eyes turned delicately glassy; tears threatened to spill.
“Did we die again?” David asked. He knew everything; all the nightmares, all the dreams, everything.
Pierre nodded shakily. Tears leaked from his eyes. His lower lip trembled. “I don’t want to die yet,” he whispered brokenly.
David’s pity for Pierre pooled in his heart. He’s never seen his best friend so torn, so shattered. Simple Plan was in their peak—not entirely the climax of their career, because so much better, and so much worse, things were about to come—and Pierre was the star. He was the mirror that reflected Simple Plan’s success and incredibility. And now he has reached his breaking point. His bandmates, his best friends were only left to stare at the shattered pieces that were once glorious.
“Come here, baby,” David murmured tenderly. Pierre quickly stumbled into David’s chest, bursting into tears. David led him to the bed. Pierre yelped. Screamed. Resisted the bed like two negative magnets would resist each other.
“Not the bed!” he shouted, choking on his fear. “Please, please, please, David,” he begged. His wide, watery eyes looked imploringly into David’s orbs. He couldn’t tear away from the gaze. Pierre’s crying built up in fortissimo—more severe, wilder. How could David not understand that the nightmares only come when you’re asleep? “We’ll die again,” Pierre whispered, torn.
“No, no,” David hushed. He wrapped his arms around his hysterical boyfriend. A strangled sob ripped from his lips. He hadn’t noticed he was crying until he tasted his own tears. “We won’t die,” he promised. “I won’t let them hurt you.”
Pierre’s crying grew tame. “Promise?” he sniffled.
David kissed the top of his head, and leaned his cheek on the spot he planted a kiss on. “I promise,” he vowed.
He pulled Pierre to the bed again. He switched the bedside light on as Pierre reluctantly lay down on the bed.
The light illuminated a fear in Pierre’s face that David had been oblivious to before. The tension, anxiety, and fear written on Pierre’s eyes made David want to kiss the pain away. He didn’t deserve these nightmares; Pierre didn’t deserve what this world gave him. He deserved so much more.
David shakily pulled the comforter over Pierre. He kissed his forehead, and then leaned his forehead on Pierre’s.
“I love you,” he murmured tenderly. “I won’t let them hurt you. We won’t die.”
Pierre leaned closer to David. Their lips lightly touched exactly the way he loved it. The gentlest kisses were the sweetest. “I love you, too,” he whispered, still afraid.
David crept to Pierre’s side. He wrapped his arms around Pierre as he snuggled closer to David’s chest. He ran his fingers gently up and down Pierre’s spine.
For a moment everything was quiet, still. Everything was calm. Perfect. Peace embraced the hotel room, making the air taste as sweet as love.
And then chaos.
A hungry fire burst through the window. Shards of glass scattered in the room, narrowly missing Pierre’s and David’s eyes. The fire wildly devoured everything in its path of destruction, quickly making its way to the bed.
Pierre screamed.
He jolted awake, drenched in sweat. He drew deep, panting breaths as his eyes widened. His eyes darted around the room, searching for something that was lurking in the shadows, something that was bound to happen. Icy fear coiled around his heart, and anxiety crushed his throat.
Choking, choking, choking.
How many times has he had the same nightmare?
Choking, choking, choking.
How many times has he had the same nightmare?
He stumbled out of his bed, and forced his legs to take him somewhere else—anywhere else.
“Pierre?”
He abruptly came to a halt in his escape. Spasms of fear shot down his spine, paralyzing him. Who was that?
“Pierre…”
He gathered all the courage he had left in his body. He slowly turned around.
It was David. A small pout lay on his lips. Sleepiness still lurked in his eyes. “It’s three AM, Pierre. Where are you going?” he sleepily mumbled, yawning.
Pierre’s eyes turned delicately glassy; tears threatened to spill.
“Did we die again?” David asked. He knew everything; all the nightmares, all the dreams, everything.
Pierre nodded shakily. Tears leaked from his eyes. His lower lip trembled. “I don’t want to die yet,” he whispered brokenly.
David’s pity for Pierre pooled in his heart. He’s never seen his best friend so torn, so shattered. Simple Plan was in their peak—not entirely the climax of their career, because so much better, and so much worse, things were about to come—and Pierre was the star. He was the mirror that reflected Simple Plan’s success and incredibility. And now he has reached his breaking point. His bandmates, his best friends were only left to stare at the shattered pieces that were once glorious.
“Come here, baby,” David murmured tenderly. Pierre quickly stumbled into David’s chest, bursting into tears. David led him to the bed. Pierre yelped. Screamed. Resisted the bed like two negative magnets would resist each other.
“Not the bed!” he shouted, choking on his fear. “Please, please, please, David,” he begged. His wide, watery eyes looked imploringly into David’s orbs. He couldn’t tear away from the gaze. Pierre’s crying built up in fortissimo—more severe, wilder. How could David not understand that the nightmares only come when you’re asleep? “We’ll die again,” Pierre whispered, torn.
“No, no,” David hushed. He wrapped his arms around his hysterical boyfriend. A strangled sob ripped from his lips. He hadn’t noticed he was crying until he tasted his own tears. “We won’t die,” he promised. “I won’t let them hurt you.”
Pierre’s crying grew tame. “Promise?” he sniffled.
David kissed the top of his head, and leaned his cheek on the spot he planted a kiss on. “I promise,” he vowed.
He pulled Pierre to the bed again. He switched the bedside light on as Pierre reluctantly lay down on the bed.
The light illuminated a fear in Pierre’s face that David had been oblivious to before. The tension, anxiety, and fear written on Pierre’s eyes made David want to kiss the pain away. He didn’t deserve these nightmares; Pierre didn’t deserve what this world gave him. He deserved so much more.
David shakily pulled the comforter over Pierre. He kissed his forehead, and then leaned his forehead on Pierre’s.
“I love you,” he murmured tenderly. “I won’t let them hurt you. We won’t die.”
Pierre leaned closer to David. Their lips lightly touched exactly the way he loved it. The gentlest kisses were the sweetest. “I love you, too,” he whispered, still afraid.
David crept to Pierre’s side. He wrapped his arms around Pierre as he snuggled closer to David’s chest. He ran his fingers gently up and down Pierre’s spine.
For a moment everything was quiet, still. Everything was calm. Perfect. Peace embraced the hotel room, making the air taste as sweet as love.
And then chaos.
A hungry fire burst through the window. Shards of glass scattered in the room, narrowly missing Pierre’s and David’s eyes. The fire wildly devoured everything in its path of destruction, quickly making its way to the bed.
Pierre screamed.
He jolted awake, drenched in sweat. He drew deep, panting breaths as his eyes widened. His eyes darted around the room, searching for something that was lurking in the shadows, something that was bound to happen. Icy fear coiled around his heart, and anxiety crushed his throat.
Choking, choking, choking.
How many times has he had the same nightmare?