Though he desperately refuses the conformities of modern novel tropes, George acknowledges he's just the same as every book character. A side character that is. Studying his way into writing a hit novel George has to master the ups and downs of his...
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"Oh, you're so vicious." Vicious Sabrina Carpenter ⚠️ slight violence⚠️
George
The sky is covered in winter clouds and the ground with frosty snow. I hate driving at all but driving in snow is even more nerve-wracking. And as much as he'd like to, Dream can do nothing from preventing me of it. His shoulder has to be rested for two weeks before he can even think about doing normal activities, let alone driving. He's silent now, eyes on the road outside of his Jeep window. I don't have much to say to him, and he surprisingly has nothing to say back.
I don't remember a time when we weren't ever able to talk to each other. We always simply worked it out. Now, I'm waiting for him to fix his own mess. Even if it's killing me not to try and smooth things over myself. So, we remain stowing in silence for a good hour and a half.
As we're pulling into the parking lot of the airport Dream blinks. Seemingly coming back into the world of the living, he looks at me for a moment then away, oddly ashamed. I tell myself it doesn't hurt but it does.
"You can um... you know, use the Jeep all break." He presses his thumb into a pink vinyl sticker that has Courtney's name on it. "For work or to go see... Kenneth."
Suddenly, he rips the sticker off and crushes it beneath his usable palm. I'm gaping at him, because what the hell? He doesn't spare a glance at me. "You're safer if you can leave when you want."
"I- Okay."
Dream nods and continues to take every part of Courtney off of the passenger seat. The stickers, the tiny perfume bottle stashed in the door handle, even the necklace he gave her that she left in the glove compartment, everything is gripped in his one weak hand. Solemn and almost hurt, I can't understand what's happening. He has chosen to say nothing about her since the day he hurt his shoulder. Not even the absence of her has brought forth words. The last I heard they were going home together.
"If you need me, call me." He still refuses to look at me. Those pretty eyes trained on the miscellaneous items between his fingers. "I don't care what time it is or what I'm doing. I will get back on a plane if I have to. Okay?"
"Dream..."
Sharper, "Okay?"
"Yeah," I say now. Huffing, "yeah. I know. Okay."
"Okay." Then he looks up at his rearview mirror and I catch the second he mourns the sight of a team keychain hung there. Little indentations surface on his frown lines. I couldn't even fathom what could be going through his head right now, there has to be a thousand things at least. Hockey at the top.
Dream looks at me finally, eyes miles away from what's actually happening. He obviously wants to say something, it's on the tip of his tongue, but he debates against it. Then he looks away once again, his working hand rips off the hung key chain from its original place. "Merry Christmas, George. My family with probably call you on their own accord."
