#jayleh

It was a dream. It had to be a dream. There was inside of him both terror and a thrill. He felt sick with it, the feeling dancing around in his hand. And Jared felt cold and warm at the same time. The air that hit against him was cold. The blood was warm. There was hesitation strung along his insides, tying them in knots. He wanted to withdraw from him, wanted to move away but eh knew that he couldn't. He knew that that even if he yelled and yelled at himself over and over again to stop he wouldn't.

He had hit him, just once and he had fallen. Hit his hand. And there was blood everywhere. It was a small dark puddle there on the ground, staining the carpet. Running through. And Will could almost taste it.

How had it happened? Anger? What was he angry about? There was nothing. His mind was drawing blank after blank. He was aware of the tears in his eyes. He was aware that he was cold all over and that his heart felt like it was stopping.

He was consumed, over and over again with the same burning fire that had filled him. He wanted him to die. He wanted to stop. And he knew that nothing could be sorted through within the workings of his head until it was over.

It was a dream. And he would wake up soon.

He tightened his hands around his throat, he watched as it turned blue under his hands. He wanted to see his face puffy and broken up. The smell of blood was thick on the air.

He felt sick.

But it was only a dream. A small dream.

And soon it would be over.