[i]Timothy, what do you think you're doing?[/i] Tim opened his eyes, but there was still darkness all around him. His breath was heavy, he felt lightheaded, he was starting to sweat. He felt something dripping down his arms, warm and sticky and strange. He tried to look, but he couldn't make his head turn to do it. He tried lifting his arm up so he could see it, but they felt like they were attached to his sides. Tim struggled for a few minutes, trying desperately to see what was going on. But he couldn't do it. He couldn't move his arms at all. [i]Honestly, dear, how could you be so insensitive?[/i] He turned, trying to locate the source of the voice that was talking to him. It was definitely feminine, older. But there was nobody around to speak to him. Nothing but darkness. Darkness and the warmth that was trickling down his arms and dripping from his fingertips. He desperately wanted to look at the source, to do anything, to find [i]someone.[/i] He was getting frantic. His breathes were heavier. If he could see anything, it would be in double vision. He felt like he was about to pass out. He was going down. Soon he would-- [i]Dont you care about your mother?[/i] And there, standing in front of him, was his mother. Looking angry. She wore a purple cardigan over a simple flowered blouse, along with a pair of black mom jeans and shoes to match. Her brown hair, which was beginning to grey, was pulled back into a loose ponytail, little strands frizzing out here and there. She was slightly out of shape, and she stood with her arms crossed, posture straight. She looked angry. Tim wondered why. He wondered if he could speak. He tried. "M-mom, I--" [i]Dont![/i] She said, effectively cutting him off. She shook her head. [i]You cant talk your way out of this one. I am so...furious! I'm furious that you would do such a thing![/i] Tim was dumbfounded. He had no idea what she was talking about. But she looked so angry. So [i]disappointed.[/i] He could make things right, he was sure of it. HE just had to apologize for what he did. Whatever it was he did, she could forgive him for it. She was his only parent. She could forgive him. "Mother, please, I'm so sorry for--for whatever I did, I didnt--" [i]Just imagine if I walked into the bathroom and found you like this. How would you expect me to react? How? How is any mother supposed to react when she finds her sons body?[/i] Tim stopped breathing for a moment. He couldnt say anything. He didnt know what to say. The warmth was still dripping down his arms. It was driving him crazy. HE [i]had[/i] to look. He tried looking again, and he found that his head would cooperate with him this time, and he looked at his arms. Blood. He nearly shrieked in terror. There was a steady stream of thick, red blood, flowing out from the area where your arms begin to bend, right near the center. There were deep lacerations on each one, letting his blood run freely. He tried holding one down, covering the wound, but it was useless, blood was covering his hands now, flowing through his fingers. He began to cry. Sob. Break down. "What the fuck?! Mom, what--" She was gone. He was alone. Alone with his burden and his darkness. "Mother, wait, come back, dont leave" He shouted through his sobs, needing someone to be there. Someone. Anyone. [i]Anyone.[/i] But nobody would come. And he was alone. He was so alone. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Tim woke with a jolt, breathing heavily, in a cold sweat. He was back on his fluffy couch. Back in reality. He frantically looked around. He was in his apartment. He was back above the bakery. He grabbed at his arms. There were no cuts. There was no blood. He was just fine. He waited for his breath to return to normal, which took a while. He waited still for his heart to stop beating faster than a heart normally should. That took even longer. But, after a few minutes, that went back to normal as well. His throat felt like a desert, though. He sighed shakily, falling back into the couch, staring up at the ceiling fan. This was the fifth time in two weeks he'd had that nightmare.He didn't like it at all. He let his hand go through his hair, combing it backwards. He slowly regained his sense of reality. He blinked a few times before he stood up from the couch, moving to the kitchen now. He grabbed a clean glass from the sink, filling it with water from the spout. He drank it all without stopping, and when he finished it all, he put the glass back down in the sink. He leaned back against the counter, completely awake now. Trying to forget about what he had just experienced, he started thinking of the day before him. He planned to fill it with coding and work and coffee a-- Sophia. She wanted to hang out with him today. She asked him. [i]She[/i] asked [i]him.[/i] But he was nervous. There was something about Sophia that equal parts calmed and startled him. He thought of not going. He never really gave her a yes, so he could easily just not go and just tell her that he needed to do a lot of work or that he got sick or something. That could work. As Tim tried to develop an elaborate scheme to get out of any kind of social interaction, his eyes wandered, eventually falling on the white board. His thoughts stopped, centralizing on what he had written there weeks ago. He sighed again, shaking his head as he read and re-read his note. [i] Talk to someone. Make a friend. Stop being such a loser and go make a goddamn friend you piece of shit.[/i] "Fuck..." he whispered under his breath. "...I need to listen to myself. I need to. I need to. I need to stop being...so alone." Tim went through his normal morning routine of jelly toast, a shower and a shave, followed by brushing his teeth. He got dressed and made himself presentable. He tried not to think about the nightmare. He instead thought about Sophia and about becoming friends with her. HE looked at himself in the mirror, telling himself that he would be normal. That he would be cool. No embarrassment today. "Make a friend. Make a friend. Make a fucking friend. You can do this." he said as he pulled his coat on over his shoulders, pulling something out of the faux fur on the hood as he did. He looked himself over in the mirror one last time, nodded, and swiftly turned around, heading for the door. He messed up before, but he wasnt going to mess up again. Not this time. He was nervous, but he pushed the feeling deep into his gut. He wasnt going to have it today. He was going to socialize if it killed him.