GEORGIA SLEPT UNDISTURBED for the first time in a week. Rest was granted, in the absence of her fears. The memories of her being kicked out may still remain for a while, but at least she would not be plagued by restless and fitful terrors.

Since the first night on the street, she had scarcely gotten four hours of sleep everyday. She had tried —even during daylight, but nothing helped. She had still woken up, shaking and panting, before being sick in the gutter. Throwing up had scared her all the more until her cycle had come again those few days ago.

The retching had just been a result of her nightmares, then. It had almost been a relief, after fretting over from where her next meal would come; or where she would sheep; to stumble upon that abandoned building and set off the spell. Just so she could return.

She hadn't known where else to go.

Purple was being far more accommodating than Georgia knew she deserved. She might try to repay that kindness later, but for now, she would sleep.

And dream about nothing.

The morning came quickly, rousing Georgia after what felt like a mere hour. But her head did not pound. She felt no fatigue. The only pain that lingered was in the healing wound on her left arm.

For a brief moment, most was right with the world.

She actually jumped out of the sleeping bag, skipped to her backpack and for the third time in her life, mused over what to wear for longer than two minutes. In the end, she went with a new pair of blue jeans and a carefully pulled on loose grey t-shirt, underneath a warm electric blue fleeced jacket.

She would have to do without a bath —again —because there was no bathing room in the shop. It got her wondering if Purple and other Dreamcatchers alike ever bathed. Though if they did, it would make sense. Perhaps they did not sweat, but anyone could get dirty.

When Georgia wondered out to the front-of-house she was greeted with a clean, tidy pink and white room. The only thing out of place was the tarpaulin-gram in the roof. Not seeing any trace of the Dreamcatcher, Georgia walked over to the counter. A note lay there.

I hope that you slept sufficiently? Georgia echoed in her head, frowning. Purple was very obviously dancing around the situation, hoping not to offend nor trigger the teenager in any way.

Georgia scoffed softly. "...So formal."

It wasn't exactly a dislikable trait —the teenager simply wasn't used to Purple's prim and proper manner of speech. She then glanced at the clock on the wall. It displayed a quarter past nine.

Sighing, Georgia wandered back to her temporary room in search of some breakfast.

With a packet of untoasted strawberry Pop Tarts and a berry juice box in hand, she sidled back to the front counter and perched on a stool.

It was mind-numbingly boring. As the seconds ticked on and the harsh wind howled outside, the girl realised just how quiet and empty the world had become. Usually, even around this time there would have been some moderate foot traffic; citizens heading to work, store owners and early shoppers.

It was eerily quiet.

As though everything had already died.

She still watched the stray pigeons peck at the rubble, and the ash flitter in the chilly air.

Ten minutes on, the remnants of the Pop Tarts were crumbs and bits of icing, and the last drops of juice would be forever lost at the bottom of the box. Georgia tossed her now loose hair back over her shoulder before her gaze snagged to the front door.

No. No damn way —

She stood up so quickly that the stool flew backwards and toppled over onto its side.

Her eyes were wide, horrified, and her skin paled as she beheld the sight of the one person she would have been content with never seeing again.

Yet Joshua Walker seemed just as stunned, frozen with one hand on the door handle.

No. No. No.

It had been about two weeks, she knew that, but there was still something unsettlingly undifferent about him. Like he was stuck on pause, immovable. As though he hadn't really caught up with time.

His hair remained raked and unbrushed; his clothes minimally changed ( which suggested to her that he hadn't even bothered to freshen up in other ways ). Disheveled, was the word Georgia would use.

And she saw him eye her from where he was —her new clothes and how well she was coping. Maybe he wasn't coping. Maybe what she had done; how she had simply disappeared...maybe it haunted him.

But...No.

She would not let him get too close. Not again.

She wasn't afraid of him. Just...careful. Uneasy.

The girl realised that she had two options: be a complete and total coward and run to the back room, or tell him right then and there to piss off.

After a brief internal debate, she chose the latter.

She must have been out of her mind.

Every step closer; every breath she gasped for, hurt in the most unimaginable way. She was walking on eggshells —feeling them crunch and cut right through the soles of her shoes and into her feet.

Georgia stopped when they stood a foot apart. Her breath stilled as she dared to meet his gaze. It was cold and distant. He actually glared down at her, like he had been the one who had been wronged.

The girl exhaled and glanced at her shoes. Had Joshua always towered over her like that? He was so much taller than she remembered.

It took a lot just to reach for the door handle.

Then she opened it slightly.

"What...are you doing here?" Georgia sighed, trying to sound nonchalant, but it sounded more as though she was on the verge of tears.

"I could ask you the same," the boy returned.

His voice was just as broken and hoarse as her own.

"It says closed for a reason, you know." Georgia's eyes then narrowed to the glass jar in one of his hands. Joshua's eyes followed. It was half empty.

"I...came to return it," he explained.

She didn't want to hear what he thought of it, in any form. But she still could not stop herself from asking, "Did you...take some?"

The boy glanced at the end of the street, and gave no answer. Not even a nod, or a shake.

Judging by his body language, Georgia had no doubt that he had indeed taken some of it. He had seen it then —what they had done from her perspective.

How it had hurt. How she had not complained.

And maybe what she would have one day wanted, in another world; another life.

"Are you not satisfied?" she murmured.

Joshua snorted. "Are you seriously asking me that question? How can you possibly think that this dream of yours would satisfy me?"

Georgia fiddled with the buttons on her jacket. "I made it for you," she insisted. "I thought...you might hate me less if I gave you some sort of explanation."

"Goddamn it, Georgie —I would've appreciated it if you came to tell me all of this in person," he sighed.

She clicked her tongue. She now hated him calling her by that name —Georgie. He had hissed and groaned it. Therefore he had forever ruined it.

Her arms wrapped themselves around her torso as a sort of automatic defence mechanism. "...I couldn't face you," she whispered earnestly.

"Bullshit."

"It's the truth," the girl insisted. "I felt so...weird and broken afterwards. Like you had taken a part of me. And I think it'll always be with you."

Joshua groaned —in frustration this time. "Oh for God's sake, I knew that you'd be like this."

Georgia frowned, and the tension in her muscles tightened and loosened all at once. "...What?"

"I knew you'd be such a girl," he scoffed. "I knew that taking your virginity was a bad idea."

"What do you mean, I'd be such a girl?" the blonde said icily. "You think that girls are the only people who care about their bodies and wellbeing?"

"Uh, yeah," he quipped. "Look, I get it, to an extent. Your purity is supposed to be precious or something. That's whatever. But you asked for it, Georgia. You wanted it. It could've been anyone else. And I didn't force myself on you. I haven't done anything wrong."

I'm a fucking minor, she wanted to scream. You agreed to fuck a minor; that's your crime.

He was right though. She had asked. Begged, probably.

"Anyway," he sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I can see that it freaked you out after all. You don't have to pretend. That's why I'm here for you. To protect you. We don't have to do anything like that again. But I want you to come with me, Georgie."

Georgia's brows rose. It was at that point that she stopped feeling sorry. She stopped feeling bad for what she had done. She stopped seeing what she had wanted to see in Joshua Walker, and began to see him for who he truly was. A sexist, egotistical prick.

"...Fuck off," Georgia whispered.

"Excuse me?"

"I said fuck off," she said a little louder, her green eyes burning with hatred. "I want you to disappear from my life. Don't keep looking for me."

"What?" he frowned. "What the hell are you talking about? Georgie, come on. You can't tell me that you're still sore about it all —"

"You know what? I am sore," she snapped. "You left bruises, dumbass. And even if you hadn't —my feelings are valid. Stop shutting them down and writing them off with some sexist bullshit. I can't believe I didn't see it sooner. You're the worst."

Joshua's jaw clenched. That expression —he had never given her that expression before. For the first time, Georgia was afraid. He pressed against the door, slowly pushing Georgia backwards.

And pushing the door open.

The girl gasped, and pushed back.

"Stay away from me," she said, her voice wobbling.

"Don't be so unreasonable," the older teenager purred. "Maybe if we just talk it out, you'd see that I'm the best thing for you. Georgie."

He was almost inside of the store.

No. This wasn't supposed to happen. It wasn't supposed to go this way.

It was all going wrong. She couldn't breathe. She was drowning in air. And Joshua didn't even care.

She cried his name in a strangled rasp, clutching her chest. He would not stop struggling. She pleaded, until tears streamed down her face and she felt that her knees would give way. There was no sympathy within his blazing eyes. Grey like a thunder storm.

Like that storm in a glass bottle.

How fragile, she thought. How delicate humans are to have such storms raging within them and not completely break at the strain. At the torment.

Georgia let go of the door. Let go of the situation. Joshua stumbled inside, grabbed her by the shoulders —but she was nothing, no one. And that slither of nothing fell, and brought everything down with it.

Georgia Henwick-Barrow was sure that she was delusional. Why else would she have suddenly sat up, clothing untouched, in her sleeping bag?

Her gaze swept the room.

Why was she the only one in it? Had she not woken up earlier? Indeed —her clothes were different from the day before. She had most definitely already changed. Then why had she been asleep?

A sharp twinge of pain erupted in the nerves of her left arm. That cut wound. Joshua had forcefully grabbed her there. Her muscles pulled taut as she remembered. What else had he done?

She examined herself. Nothing hurt beyond her arm.

He had not done anything. Yet.

She was sure that Joshua Walker was still there, lurking. Thinking about all of the filthy degrading things that he wanted to do her —preferring that she was conscious so that he could hear her scream.

She began to shake.

No. This is worse. So much worse.

She wouldn't go out there. She couldn't. Her legs would not move; her body refused to respond. She was paralysed with absolute fear. And it was so much worse than that nightmare.

But she heard no footsteps. The floorboards did not creak. It sounded...empty.

Georgia stood up onto her shaky feet and cautiously padded out in her socks to the front-of-house. He wasn't sitting on the stool by the counter. He wasn't on the little bench in the waiting area either. She deemed it safe to walk around and look thoroughly.

She really was alone.

It was deserted. Not a whisper of breath.

Her body slackened slightly, long enough for her to notice a new note beside the one that Purple had left. She did not have to guess who had written it.

She took one glance at the arrogant apology, and crumpled it up in her right hand.

"Prick," she hissed under her breath.

He had apologised, yes, but he had not hesitated to drill in his beliefs one last time. He wasn't sorry for indulging her. He wasn't sorry for being upset with her reaction. Georgia decided that that was fine. She could let that go. At least though, he had apologised for scaring her. And assured her that he would never take advantage of her, in any situation —not matter what they felt for each other. If they felt anything at all.

She actually breathed.

He didn't do anything. I'm safe.

I'm safe.

The icy hatred and anger in her heart had melted a little at that fact. But it did not thaw.

Georgia would be content with never crossing his path again. She then glanced up at the clock and sighed. Purple would be coming back soon.

author's note |
i can safely say we're at least a quarter of the way there.
and yes, undifferent is technically a word.