Read part one here: http://suchafreakingidjit.tumblr.com/post/94949179838/lose-control-open-imagine Read part two here: http://suchafreakingidjit.tumblr.com/post/95050590843/part-two-of-this-open-imagine Read part three here: http://suchafreakingidjit.tumblr.com/post/95520362858/part-one Trigger Warnings: Bullying, depressed thoughts, loneliness, allusions to drugs and one night stands Listen to this while you read: http://youtu.be/PWxqd90-XWI He stirred in his sleep, perturbed by the absence of your warmth pressed against his side. His hands fumbled deftly across the mattress, fingers slipping under silky sheets, until they found your soft skin, his arms immediately encircling your waist to pull you back into his side. You let out a soft groan in protest, not stirring from your deep slumber. He smiled into your hair, snuggling closer to you and holding you tight. His fingers slipped under the edge of your oversized T-shirt (stolen from his wardrobe of course), skimming gently over the small bump just beginning to protrude from your lower abdomen. He felt an overwhelming sense of love and peace. Everything was perfect. You let out a small sigh, rolling over to face him. Your beautiful eyes opened slowly, clouded with dreams as a sleepy smile spread across your face. He continued to gently trace your baby bump, returning your smile with one of his own. "I love you," he whispered. And then you were kissing him, and all he knew was bliss. Your lips slid against his like satin, warm and inviting and oh-so-soft. His hands moved to your back, pushing you closer to him as you moved your own to his hair, tangling your fingers in the sleep-mussed locks. This was true happiness, and if Heaven existed he hoped that it would consist of nothing but your kisses. You pulled away, smiling up at him with sparkling eyes, your voice a breathless gasp. "I love you, too." He awoke, cold and alone in the floor of an empty apartment. He sat up and looked around in confusion, finding himself in the corner, wrapped in a couple of thin blankets, as he had all but forced you to take his sleeping bag. You were curled up in the warm bedroll now, sleeping peacefully despite your tear-stained cheeks. He felt a stab of guilt, knowing he was the cause of your tears, but was quickly distracted as he remembered his dream. He ran a shaky hand through his hair. This was the first time in years that his sleep had been occupied by anything but nightmares. And yet, he almost preferred the violent visions of darkness and blood. He awoke from those dreams feeling relieved, not strangely empty as he now was, longing for your touch. The dream had been so vivid, so real, that for the first few seconds after he woke he had expected to find you next to him, loving and warm. After such an unrealistically welcoming dream, filled with love and happiness and light, reality seemed cruel and almost painful. His deep thought process was interrupted when a small sound passed your lips, something like the noise of a distressed kitten. He looked up, concern clouding his eyes as he slowly moved towards you, taking care not to make any noise. You were tossing and turning in his sleeping bag, letting out small whines and soft groans, eyes screwed shut. He gently reached forward to press the back of his fingers to your forehead, gasping as the heat of your skin burned his. To say you had a fever was an understatement. You were burning up. He didn't know what to do. He ran his hands through his hair, staring down at your troubled face. You must have gotten sick from being in the rain and never getting to dry off properly. It was all his fault, all his fault for not getting you a towel, his fault for not finding a better place to stay, for not at least providing you with some better blankets. He was consumed with worry. If anything happened to you... He took a shaky breath. Nothing was going to happen to you. He wouldn't allow it. He would die first. He ruffled through his backpack, searching for the meager fund of cash he had stowed away there. When his fingertips finally brushed the crumpled bills, he breathed a soft sigh of relief as he pulled them out, reading the tiny 20 printed on one bill and the 10 on the other. It would have to be enough. He gazed longingly at you. His stomach lurched at the thought of leaving you alone. His lips ached to kiss you goodbye, but he knew it would only distress you, and he had done enough of that already. So he simply left, pulling up his hood and squaring his shoulders against the torrential rain and howling winds. He had walked nearly two miles by the time he arrived at the dingy 24-hour pharmacy, and he was completely soaked. In a way he was thankful for it, appreciative of the frozen chill reminding him that he was alive to feel such things. He entered the pharmacy, quickly scouring the dirty shelves for cold and flu medicines. Anything to bring your fever down. The cashier was a large woman with a messy, frizzy head of grey-brown hair and a pair of cheap glasses adorning her wrinkled, scowling face. She looked like someone who didn't know the first thing about medicine. She didn't ask him for his ID, which he knew was standard procedure for some of the items he was purchasing. She barely spared him a glance as she tossed the medications into a plastic bag, accepting the wrinkled paper currency that he offered as payment. She tucked his receipt into the bag, and he took his purchases and left the store. The whole exchange passed by without either of them uttering a single word, which suited him just fine. As he trudged back through the terrific storm, he couldn't help his mind from drifting to the first time he noticed you, the angel among all his demons. He was sure you had forgotten the event, lost among all the chaos of your first few weeks of high school, but to him it was everything. It was only three weeks into the school year, and he already loathed the cinderblock building and it's poorly illuminated hallways, along with all the people crawling around the fortress like ants. Today had been an especially miserable experience -- before first period he had already been slapped and cursed at by the promiscuous redhead he had occupied himself with the previous weekend (something about him not calling her afterwards like he promised). Then, in second period, the teacher sprung a pop-quiz over the chapter he was supposed to have read the night before. He skipped third, opting instead to pay a visit to the dim alley behind the school, where some of his more apathetic acquaintances tended to hang around, always willing to lend out a cigarette or something stronger. This, of course, lead to him being given detention for his intoxicated attitude in his fourth period class. Lunch period would have been a welcome distraction, except that he spent the first ten minutes of his free time being repeatedly slammed into a locker by a group of cocky male seniors who smelled like weed. He felt like he was trapped in a downward spiral, like rainwater swirling into a storm drain. Lunch was nearly over, and he hadn't even bothered to step into the cafeteria. He wandered aimlessly through the halls, finally beginning to sober up, leaving a dull ache in his skull. He was considering the pros and cons of dropping out of school, or at least playing hooky for the rest of the week. And that was when it happened. He was just passing the library. A group of the new freshmen had just left the book-filled sanctuary, giggling in half-hushed voices and generally not paying attention to their surroundings. They only looked up when the group of rowdy seniors from before returned, slamming him against the wall with a force that he knew would leave some nasty bruises. Most of the younger students quickly fled from the scene, fearful of being drawn into the conflict. But one remained. He was able to catch occasional glimpses of her as he lay in the floor, curled up to protect his vital organs from the kicks that just kept coming at him. She looked like an angel, from her casual, barely-styled hair to her youthful, innocent face with the eyes widened in concern, to the way her small hands gripped the books in her arms tightly as she chewed on her lip, obviously bothered by the blatant act of bullying taking place before her. Once the attackers had dispersed, the girl slowly approached the broken boy left behind on the floor. She knelt down next to him, laying a cautious hand on his shoulder. "Are you okay?" He looked up at her and his heart skipped a beat. Did she know how long he had ached to be asked that simple question? Did she know that no one had spoken so kindly to him since his early childhood? Her easy smile and sympathetic eyes told him that she was simply kindhearted by nature, but in that moment she was his savior. "I'm fine." He muttered, allowing her to help him to his feet. An unfamiliar warmth spread through his fingers when she grasped his hand in hers for support. He wasn't one for physical affection, but he was overcome by the odd urge to wrap you in a hug. "You should tell someone about them." Her words interrupted his brooding, causing him to turn to her with a wary gaze. "No one would do anything about it. Nobody cares." He shrugged one shoulder in a show of indifference that he wished he actually felt. "I care." She spoke softly, like one would talk to a wounded animal. He wondered just how much of his fractured existence she could see. More than most people would have bothered to observe. "You're just saying that. Tomorrow you won't even remember my face." He smirked in an effort to soften the bitterness of his tone. "Thanks for the help though. You should get going, lunch ends in a couple of minutes." "You're welcome, any time." She smiled, gathering her books and turning to walk to her next class. She turned, throwing one last friendly grin over her shoulder. "I'm (Y/N), by the way." That moment was all that he could focus on as he approached the unused apartment building that the two of you currently resided in. He owed you for that moment, for your sympathy. He owed you everything. He clambered through the window, finding you asleep as he left you. He gently lowered himself to the ground next to your sleeping bag, popping open a packet of cold meds and tipping a single does into his palm. He lifted your head with one hand, gently slipping the pills into your mouth. He grabbed a nearby water bottle, trickling some of the liquid into your mouth until you swallowed the medicine. He pressed his lips briefly to your cheek, laying you head back down. "That's my girl."
