"You keep pointing that gun at me and blabbering on about how much you've been wanting to kill me. I'm beginning to doubt your commitment."
"Did you have to piss it off Bronx?" Chuck asks.
"Yeah, babe...I kinda did," is his reply.
There was a fight. That's the only thing that matters in the beginning. The only intel needed on the situation at hand. A fight: defined as a violent struggle involving the exchange of physical blows and weapons.
Our group was in a fight against IT. Blood had been spilled to get them here. The leader of our group is Bronx. He'd found out a truth. Something the world wouldn't be able to handle. Imagine your worst dreams were a reality. That was this. And imagine the boogie man existed. That would be IT.
Anxiety was in Bronx's voice as he challenged the enemy. His hand was shaky from a loss of blood perhaps or maybe even just fear. Everything had led to this. This was the revolution.
They'd risked it all to be here right now and fight the enemy. Freedom was at stake. This wasn't just a fight.
Its eyes are glowing red at this point. Bronx had spent most of his teenage years looking for IT. And now IT was right in front of him. All he had to do was kill IT right now. IT attacked first. The bullet spat out of IT's handgun, red in the darkness. The gunshots start flying at their allies. Fuck. It hit Rodney in the chest, propelling him backward in an awkward cartwheel. Bronx's motions stutter as though he himself had been hit when he sees the impact.
"Rodney!" Chuck screams out.
"It's too late for him," Bronx stops Chuck.
Too late. Rodney is struggling to remove his mask. They all had masks on. If they didn't during these missions IT would have identified them a long time ago. NEVER take off your masks. Rodney's mask is a red one. Rodney was a tough motherfucker too. One of the last ones remaining. Now it was just him and Chuck. They'd started this mission with a full team. And now only down to two. He looked back over at Rodney. For a few seconds, Rodney looked up at the moon as if trying to admire it one last time. Then the black waves folded over him. Rodney had fallen to the concrete already gushing blood. The entry wound was dead center to his neck, perfection if you considered that sort of thing. Something only IT could have done.
Bronx can feel his anger brewing up and he attacks.
The moment played out in slow motion, his gun followed the arc his body swung in. He shot. Damn it.
Too late. Too late!
"IT has back up," Chuck is saying.
He knew what Chuck was referring to before Chuck had said it. The sudden movement out the corner of his eye. A thick dread fills Bronx's stomach. He watches as Chuck held his gun. From the waist up they were women of haunting beauty, their large elliptical eyes like great pools of dark liquid. Their clothing was as black as the night sky with patches of armor plating. Their legs were powerful hydraulic machinery about three times the height of regular human legs with large bird-like three-toed feet at the bottom.
They release a heavy mist into the air. They are trying to protect IT—-conceal IT.
Chuck pulls him down behind a wall, "We're surrounded on all sides."
Chuck is breathing heavy. Bronx gives him a hard look. If anyone would have made it, it was Chuck. His planning had gotten them this far. Chuck was careful but he was afraid. And he showed it. The fear traveled in Bronx's veins too but never made it to his facial muscles or skin. His complexion remained pale and matt, his eyes as steady as if he were shopping for shoes. He let out an understated sigh and turned to leave, showing he wasn't afraid to take a risk.
"That just means we can attack from all sides," is Bronx's response.
A sudden gush of pain jolted throughout his body. His stomach ached, his arms lost tension and his legs began to weaken. "IT will not get the better of me," he thought as he dropped to the ground. His tongue was soaked in the taste of blood. Bruised and winded, with a leg in agony, he filled the chamber of his gun with the last remaining bullets he had. His head was pounding as he looked around through the distraction of the enemies.
"I have to. This is our ONLY chance to end this war."
He moves forward. A wild abandonment and a maddened desperation. He'd come this far. He'd lost so much. He'd lost so many friends. He wasn't going to lose anymore. Then Bronx does the unthinkable, he wants to know the right angle and the mist is making it difficult to work out the enemy position. Without awaiting an order he shimmies over the top and commando crawls toward the enemy. Nothing. So he gets up on his knees and peers into the swirling white, tinged with the muddy green of the field. A violent noise cracks into the startled air and he does not need to look down to know contact has been made.
A gunshot wound.
A fatal gunshot wound.
But not his.
"Chuck----what were you thinking?" he asks.
Chuck had thrown himself between the attackers. He'd taken a bullet for Bronx to protect him. Something only a lover would do.
"You're the love of my life," Chuck responds to Bronx, "I know you hate when I say that."
"I hate it because I never deserved you."
"You deserved love for the million things you did that you never knew you were doing," is his response, "My only regret is that I can't finish the mission with you. I'm sorry."
His words splinter inside Bronx causing more pain than any gunshot. Goodbye. He's telling Bronx that there will be no more walks in the park, no more birthdays with Chuck at the bowling alley and no more romantic evenings after training. No more training. No more planning and plotting to take IT down.
" There's nothing to be sorry about," Bronx whispered back.
"Go. Get out of here before they come."
He had no choice. He had to leave.
All his friends were dead now. Every single last one of them. As he runs back where he started he sees the dead bodies of his friends. Everyone who lingered on the final mission. Everyone who died. The scenery was gorgeous in a vile way, and he wished he could stop to take it all in.
But right now, his heart was thudding in his head and the trees around him were spinning off the ground as he exited the compound.
He couldn't breathe, his lungs were crying out for mercy. But he couldn't stop.
They were on him.
Tears roll down his eyes. Gunshots break out. Maybe he should let one of them hit him. It'd be easier. Easier than living life without his partner in crime. Without the love of his life.
He would make it out of there alive. Alive but not living. Waking up screaming realizing that he'd come so closer and lost everything. And all he could do was keeping thinking: "What a coward I am!" Helpless, hopeless, lonely.
And so, when he retreats from this conflict when he finds his way out when he survives he will keep fighting.
Always fighting to find IT. For what IT did to his friends. For what IT did to Chuck.
He will bleed- slowly, agonizingly-drop by drop, until he either met with a bitter, bitter death---one fit for a coward or he'd meet IT again.
And get his revenge...
One day. One day he'd make a new team. One day he'd take on IT again. For Rod. For Chuck. For Danielle, Amanda, Cassandra, Chelsea, Tyler and all his fallen comrades.
But not today. Today the dream of freedom died with Chuck.
He finds his computer in his car. He hacks into the system. He puts on his microphone.
His voice is shaky as he announces to the others; if there were others still fighting the good fight.
"If you're hearing this, don't send backup. I am the only survivor. The Revolution is over. We've lost..."
My name is Cassius. But this story isn't about me. Not really. It's about HIM.
I still remember the day I saw him walk into the class for the first time. He was almost a head taller than me, my eye level was looking at his perfectly structured biceps as he tries to squeeze them through his jacket as I walk past him to get to my seat. One of his hands had a leather glove on which I think is a bit geeked but kinda sexy. The class in my University was stadium style, so he had to step up to get to his seat and it's as though he's ascending into heaven. As I was staring he suddenly jerked his head to move his hair, it caught the light and the white gleam nearly blinded me. His hair itself was like fallen snow in winter, each snowflake falling perfectly, freezing together into curls that framed his tanned face. He paused for a moment and for a moment I was so afraid that maybe he noticed that I was watching him so intensely, but instead he navigates his eyes scanning the room until he finds an open seat.
He's wearing a biker jacket. Some ripped up jeans making him seem like a badass. Even worse with the scowl, he has on his face as though he was irritated by something. Even then I find it weird that his biker jacket has a symbol:
It was the source code symbol usually used by an operator in programming
languages. It shouldn't have been weird. It was a fucking class at Tech University.
But he looked dangerous. Not like the other students. After a few seconds, he
perks up again. His nose was straight, his dark skin was like spun gold, his
lips perfectly formed, parted slightly, his breath, I imagined, moving in and
out in steady streams of air.
How would I have known then that this boy would be the life of me and the death of me?
Suddenly he looks up at me.
I caught a flash of his dark almost midnight black eyes that seemed to sink into a dark abyss framed by tangled black eyelashes before ducking my head and pretending to boot up my computer which was already on.
"Cassius you in there?" my best friend Dree asks.
The teacher is talking about equations. It's always about Equations. We went to the Toronto Institute of Technology. One of the leading Mechanical Engineering schools in the world. It was a brand new school built right on the outskirts of the city. The main building was the Masterson Research Facility. The same facility that my mother worked in. She hadn't been the same since my dad's accident. She was so busy though that I barely ever saw her anymore. I lived on campus. I went to school. I had a best friend. Sure I was gay, but I mean honestly it felt like I lived a pretty normal life.
I try not to look back at the boy as I lean into Dree, "Who is that?"
"Oh, that guy...he came in yesterday when you were sick," Dree explains, "I guess he's supposed to be really sexy or something because Stella Masterson basically called Dibs in front of the whole class."
It was something Stella Masterson would do. I'm not surprised when I see her walk into the room with her skimpy little dress on and take a seat right next to the new dream kid. She says something to him and he seems a little confused by whatever she says. He smiles back after a second and I see all these white teeth but then he turns and looks forward as though it's nothing.
"What's his name?"
"I don't know. I wasn't paying attention. Do I look like Stella to you? Not into guys," Dree responds, "Remember?"
I roll my eyes, "Is it a little gay in here or is it just me?"
Dree never forgets the opportunity to let me know that she is a lesbian. As
though her butch haircut and the Military boots didn't give her away. I'd known
her ever since I was a kid. We'd grown up in Phoenix. I remember our parents
got us the same Computer Science tutor. It was pretty much hell and the only
thing that made learning all this crap bearable was Dree.
All these years later---not much has changed.
"Can you just---find out?" I ask.
"Curious Cassius at it again."
"I'll find out for you."
Curious Cassius Rice was the name my dad gave me when he was alive. He said I was just like him. I just wondered how everything worked. I just had to figure things out. I just kept prodding. Kept asking questions. He didn't mean it in a bad way though. He loved that about me. That was while he was alive though. Dad isn't around anymore. My mother had to work late at her job at the University and Dad decided to bring me in for Freshman year.
I remember the day like it was yesterday.
I see his phone blinking.
And I'm Curious Cassius so I am wondering about it, "Dad you got a text."
"I'll read it later."
"I can open it."
I get his phone. I read it out loud, "To whoever reads this. They erased us. This is all that remains. Remember us. Please."
It was a number he didn't have saved.
He sighed, "Goddamit they're still fighting. They must have found me somehow. Hacked my phone...idiots. Never know when to quit."
I remember him saying that and it would haunt me the rest of my life.
I never get the answer. My father is distracted. He wants to see the text for himself. So he reaches over.
Next thing I know a car accident happens. He's dead. I survive.
And after that day no more questions. No more curiosity. Not until today.
"God, I KNEW you weren't a Dyke!" I hear a voice states.
The shrill sound of it could only mean one thing. Stella Masterson had been unleashed. Stella was the kind of girl who was spoiled beyond belief. Her Dad was Rod Masterson, the billionaire tech investor. He donated the library to our University. Because of that, his family gets to come here for free. I don't even think Stella was interested in half the stuff we learned in class. She didn't need to be. The teachers passed her for just being a Masterson.
I can see Dree roll her arms back. I knew Dree well. She'd gone up to that boy to ask his name and Stella, being the control freak she was had gotten a faster interception than an NFL defensive lineman. Dree wasn't taking it well either. She was going to hit Stella and knowing Stella, Dree would be sued into oblivion and forced to drop out. So I grab Dree...just in time.
"Whoa, whoa, everything OK here?" I ask.
"Who the hell are you?" Stella asks.
"Do I look like I'm joking?"
"I'm Cassius. Charles Rice's son. Your dad and my dad were best friends back in the day. I tutor your brother. You interviewed me for a job at your dad's lab a week ago."
"Actually it's a work study," I correct her.
Stella is completely confused as though still trying to figure it out.
"Well, maybe you can help us out---Work Study. Your DYKE friend is hitting on Stella's future boo," Lizzy Pence says.
Lizzy and Dominica were basically Stella's lapdogs. They did whatever she said when she said it. No questions. No arguments. It was almost like clockwork. Honestly, I didn't even think Dominica was in this class. I was pretty sure she was just here to take notes for Stella.
"You mean the same future boo who is walking away without a care in the world for Stella OR this conversation?" Dree asks.
Dree is aggressive. Always has been. She's not wrong though. The mysterious boy is already down the hall. He doesn't care even the slightest about the argument. I watch as he pulls out something strange. A stopwatch. And he stares at the stopwatch as though trying to figure something out. It's so fucking weird.
"I know you've always been obsessed with my life, Dree, but can you PLEASE just get out of my space for a moment?" Stella asks her.
"There's nothing about your life that I want."
"I'd tell you to eat shit, bulldagger, but everyone knows you'd probably enjoy it. Everyone knows all girls like you do is eat out."
Stella smiles. She's always been cruel. As though being rich and attractive wasn't enough of a stereotype. It was as though she wanted to go out of her way to fill the role of the popular mean girl. No one needed that. This wasn't high school. But she still would show up in with her stiletto heels, smug expression, her blonde hair and her high sense of privilege wherever she went.
Dree looks at me. This time she is asking permission.
And this time---I'm not stopping her.
"HEY! HEY! HEY!" a voice states, "What's the problem?"
Everyone stops and I recognize why. It's Coyote. Yes, his real name is Coyote as well. Coyote Masterson. Let's just say the Mastersons made enough money to name their kid a stupid name such as that. Coyote, however, was used to stopping shows. Walking into a room and stealing the oxygen.
"Coyote, this BITCH is getting on my nerves," Stella complains.
Stella winds up her face in a way that only Stella can do. From the looks of it, even Coyote seems somewhat irritated by Stella's bullshit.
"Stella aren't you ABOVE this situation?" is his response.
I don't like how he says it. I don't like how it rolls off his tongue. It's Masterson sense of entitlement. But he speaks the only language that Stella understands and before I know it Stella is walking away with her nose in the air and I'm left looking at Coyote.
Coyote smiles, showing off his sharp jaw, chin, and cheekbones. His eyes set on me like a hawk with his two blazing hazel eyes. I let out a shaky sigh.
I'd known him for two years now. He was pompous and self-absorbed but nowhere near Stella. And without Coyote I doubt for any moment that Stella would have been the least bit palpable.
"No problem study buddy," he smiles, "I was going to text you anyway. Not too long from now. We have to get ready for----that uh----test---"
That's when I see Dree overhearing the conversation, "Don't, Cassius."
I know what she's talking about. I know exactly what she is warning me against. It doesn't matter. Because I always fall victim to it.
An hour later...
" I know you want to see all of me. I know you want to swallow this dick."
We were in such a position that we could clearly see ourselves in the mirror. He led me towards the bed, where he sat down. I raised my legs and displayed my asshole. He released himself showing off his long hard dick.
"I should stop doing this," I admit to myself, out loud with a red embarrassed face but an even redder throbbing wet asshole.
"But you won't," is Coyote's reply.
Dating. That's what he said. We were in a relationship just a low key one. He liked to make things clear. He liked to tell me to "Raise my cunt." He immediately sets to tonguing me and lingering at the task for some time. My lips begin to swell and when he tries to insert his tool, I push away trying to get whatever little control I can get from this situation with Coyote.
"Not like that. Get on the bed."
He nods. He climbed on top of me and I grasped his dick. His million dollar dick. The golden dick that held me captive all these years. So many guys liked me but it was always tragic. Maybe it was my curiosity. Anything that was too easy to figure out never caught my attention. What else in the world is more complex than the DL heir to a technology dynasty? This was some complicated dick and I wanted to figure it out. I paraded it awhile against my lips until it was enough for my so-called `cunt' to slip on top of him. Before I know it, I'm riding him so strenuously that it was almost painful.
"You're so warm. Your cunts so warm..."
Round the time he came, and I could feel the warmth of his man juice as it oozed inside of me. I could hear his heaving sighs and see his eyes roll in the back of his head.
He's coming. And all of a sudden, I feel disgusted with myself...again.
"You're leaving...just like that?"
I don't know why I'm always surprised. I don't know why I'm so hurt, even now. I look up at this guy and I am confused again. Sometimes he seems like he's in love with me and other times he does things like this. He cums and leaves. Just like that.
"C`mon, baby, don't be like that. You know I'd spend the night but..."
"You sleepwalk," he states, "You've been doing it since freshman year."
Usually, I let him go. A part of me feels like it's easier. Whatever pride I had maybe I can maintain it by not begging him to leave. Today was different though. Today was the same weekend that my father died. My roommate moved out at the beginning of the year so I didn't have anyone to be here with me.
"I thought I stopped that," I state.
He shakes his head, "No. You haven't. People are...talking too."
The way he says it is odd. As though he's trying to tell me something without actually saying it.
"Is that why you don't claim me?" I ask, "Is that why we've been having a sexual relationship for two years and we're never in public together?"
He pauses. Coyote leans in. I knew he wasn't all bad. A part of me knew that
he could get any girl or any guy for that matter in the school that he wanted.
But he came back to me for some reason. Maybe the sex was just that good, or
maybe a part of him actually liked me. The scary thing
is deciding where one line ended and the other began. With Coyote it was never
He hesitates, making sure this time he phrases his words carefully, "We'll get there. One step at a time. How about this. You find out how to stop your sleepwalking and I'll spend the night more."
"How the hell do I do that?"
"My sister Stella used to do it a lot. My dad tried recording her while she slept. Tried to figure out if there were any triggers that he could reference."
Interesting, "Did it work?"
"Well, Stella has a house off campus, about 6 bedrooms so she ended up being in different ones all the time. So it was recording nothing most of the time. But I mean look at the size of this dorm. Don't think you're missing much."
"Ha, nah this is an asshole...MY asshole..." he states, grabbing me up by my asscheeks and fingering me a bit for one good measure.
Coyote leaves anyway and I'm left with just one thought in my head. I needed to figure out what the hell was up with the sleepwalking. I needed to find a way to make sure that Coyote felt comfortable enough to be around me. And I know it was a bit pathetic but right now at that moment I'd do anything possible to make him just want to be around me.
It's later that day. I'm struggling to stay up. I'm sitting in the park outside of the Design and Manufacturing hall. I'm pressing my head down in the notes. This class is going to be fucking hard. A major element of the course is the design of a root to participate in a challenge that changes from year to year. The theme is cleaning up the planet and it's inspired by the movie Wall-E. Where the fuck does one start on something like this?
I see Coyote. He's with his friends. Usually, that meant I wasn't going to get much more than a head nod. You would think an Engineering School didn't have "cool" kids. But then you realize there were some students who literally had parents who were paying their way into this place. So yeah. Those were the cool ones. You couldn't get much cooler than that.
I sigh after a few minutes. Doing work outside usually cleared my head but I was so distracted today and I didn't know why. Maybe it was the sleepwalking. The lack of sleep specifically. It happened again. I woke up last night in bed fully dressed with dirt all over my shoes.
I didn't get it.
I pick up the phone and think about calling my mother. She'd get it. She'd understand. Right?
I put the phone back down.
My mother wasn't the person I went to for help with school. She wasn't really the nurturing type. That was always my dad. I was a daddy's boy. The only problem with being a Daddy's boy is that now Daddy was long gone.
I pack my things up and start leaving. Might as well go meet Dree at her dorm. She might have something to eat or----
A voice interrupts me. It's kind of blunt. Not quite rude but approaching it. Never been called "You..." before in that way. If it wasn't this deep intriguing voice like velvet I would have snapped. I turn at that moment and my mouth almost drops open when I see HIM standing there. The first thing I notice is the Titanium white hair and then the whole Cyberpunk thing he has going on. The boy who I saw in my class. He's standing there and for a moment I think someone more interesting is behind me. One of the Mastersons? Or hell, maybe even one of those other rich legacy kids?
He's looking at me.
I'm not the smoothest person in the world. I find myself struggling to take him all in. He's even more handsome up close and personal. I am staring at his lips. The kind of lips that always have this shine as though always slightly wet. He has something else on the same leather jacket but with a black t-shirt and black jeans. The jeans were so tight they look painted on. They show off this ridiculously muscular legs and this bulging crotch area. Seeing him in all black with his flashing white hair is dope.
"You forgetting something?"
His voice is deep dark, rich and strangely specific. As though he's searching for the words while he's talking. It's so unique. Like liquid gold. As though he melts the words off his tongue.
"Everything at this point."
I laugh at myself. It's the only thing you can do at this point when one of the most attractive guys you'd ever seen in your life is speaking to you. Look stupid, Cassius, why don't you? Not like anything you could possibly do at this moment would look cool to someone who literally defined cool. I mean he literally is like some sort of painting. I can't believe how attracted I am to him. And what's worse is that I look like crap today. Bags all underneath my eyes. I'm pretty sure I'm wearing the same clothes as yesterday. I'm a fucking college guy after all. So yeah. I'm not expecting to run into perfection made human.
"You can't be so forgetful You've forgotten your phone," he states with a weird almost disappointment in his voice, "You wouldn't want to lose something like that. How would people be able to navigate to you."
"Navigate as in traverse, travel, commute----"
"I know what navigate means," I state, "It's just a bit...strange in that sentence is all..."
Especially from a guy dressed like him. He has this whole too cool thing going on but he seemed smart.
He bites his lip as though somewhat confused, looks down at that ground and thinks for a bit. It's odd but for some reason, I keep wondering if anyone else finds this guy as irresistible as me. The way he bites his lip. The way he looks away. The way he looks back at me after a few seconds with extreme interest and somehow an air of indifference all at once. How was that possible? He'd done it back in class. The same look that he'd given Stella. As though there was something deep in him but he wouldn't lower himself to show that off. He'd given it to me as well.
"Listen, I'm not from here," he states.
"I don't hear an accent."
He puts his hand on his head and scratches it a little bit, "I guess maybe people who are different don't always seem that way..."
"I didn't mean to offend."
"Toughen up, sir. What the hell do you have to apologize about? You're lucky."
"Lucky for what?"
"Lucky you fit in so well."
The more I talk to this guy the more I don't understand anything that he's talking about. What does he mean that I fit in so well? As opposed to what?
I pause and just smile, "Thank you. I guess. Also, thank you for bringing me back my phone. May I have a name for the person I owe so many thanks to?"
"Bronx Barnes," he says.
"Interesting name...I knew a guy named—-"
I want to keep the conversation going and I think he knows that. Maybe that's why he puts his hand on my shoulder and when he touches me I swear I melt. He doesn't smile this time. His face is really serious as though something hard is coming up.
"—3:33 pm...damn it...got to cut you off."
"Did you have something to do?"
"It's not you. It's just..." He pauses, "I should get going. 3:33 pm."
"Why do you keep saying that?"
"There are moments in time, Mr. Rice, that trigger inconsistency in the code. An interruption in functionality. Though I would love to talk more Mr. Rice, it seems like now isn't the safest time. We'll reconvene again shortly, I'm sure..."
The way his face gets serious makes me turn around. When I turn around I see this figure standing there. An older man maybe in his 30s. He doesn't move. Doesn't smile. He has on all black. A black suit with black sunglasses. He's staring our way. It's strange how he's looking. He's definitely not a student. Security maybe? I wasn't sure. I'd seen the security guards on campus, and they definitely didn't have on expensive suits.
That's when I notice something else.
"Wait Bronx, how did you know my last name?" I start to ask as I turn back around.
But when I turn Broxn is gone...
"He's a fuckin' asshole," Dree tells me later that week, "Coyote is a rich pretty boy with absolutely no substance at all. You should drop him. I know a guy who basically is in love with you. You know Anderson?"
I meet Dree in her dorm room. I want to tell her at this moment I'm not even thinking about Coyote and what's weird is this is the first time in forever that I'm not thinking about Coyote. For the first time, I'm thinking about someone else. I'm thinking about Bronx. The guy who seems to get lost so easily in conversations but somehow has this natural charm even while struggling with the most normal things in everyday talks.
But I shake off the thought of Bronx only to be reminded of who this Anderson person is that Dree keeps going on about.
"Anderson with the body odor who got caught with gay porn playing on his laptop in Thermal Sciences?" I ask, "No thanks."
"What about Anthony George? He's handsome, he's sweet, he's obsessed with you and he smells good..."
"Jesus Christ will you ever just fall for someone EASY. Ok, he's not some DL guy with this crazy family dynamic but at least he's not going to ask you to record yourself," Dree states, "Please tell me you didn't do it?"
"It's not just for Coyote. I'm curious too..."
"In what way?"
"I guess I want to know what happened to me as well."
"So did you watch the recording you made of yourself?"
"Not yet, was kind of scared," I state.
It was a good question. I'd always known I had issues with sleepwalking but what was weird was the sleepwalking happened. Sometimes I'd come back with strange things. I'd be out of breath like I'd done a lot that day. Sometimes I'd be really dirty. Other times I'd be drenched with sweat. And even worse there was one time that I had blood on my clothes.
And I wasn't sure whose blood it was.
"Nothing," I state, pushing the thoughts out of my head, "Let's just watch it."
I open my laptop and press play. I fast forward through the sleeping until the point that I'm waking up. Dree looks closely.
"Did you just say something?" she asks.
I rewind and play again. I am definitely saying something but I can't tell for the life of me what it was. When I say something though I sit up in the weirdest way. My body stiff as though being lifted up by strings but somewhat heavy.
I sit there on the bed just staring into the darkness 2:00...2:30...3:00...no movement.
Then 3:33 am hits.
And the camera shakes as though there's some sort of disturbance.
"An interruption in functionality," I notice out loud.
"A what?" Dree asks me.
I can't think about where I remember hearing the phrase but then I remember almost exactly. The conversation with Bronx Barnes.
At 3:33 am I get out of bed. I go to the door. In that same moment, 4 figures walk into the room as though they were WAITING for me to open it for them! I can't see their faces. They are all wearing black suits it seems. My heart is racing. Did I just LET someone in my fucking dorm room? They stand for a second or two not saying anything and then they touch. All 5 of us just hold hands in the room and that's it for a while. Nothing more.
And that's when I see one person turn towards the screen. One of the strangers in my room that is.
"Holy shit," I state.
Dree is just as shocked as me, "Is that the new boy with the white hair?"
What the fuck was going on while I was asleep?
I nod, "Yeah, Bronx Barnes."
To read the next chapter in advance go to www.crushedcrown.com