Ye olde psychic handshake/unconscious astral projection you don’t need a psycho portal for
Raz doesn’t need to investigate the psyche reaching out to him in the midst of a nightmare but the kid’s heart is bigger than his gigantic head so, of course, he’s gonna do something about it
The dog barking woke her up and she cursed its little yappy mouth while reaching for the light switch. It couldn’t have been later than four in the morning and what was the little thing doing making so much noise, there better be a good reason. And yes, there it was, the clock ticking on the wall, it showed the time: 4:45. Dark and empty outside, except for the noise of the dog barking, filling the air with its rancor, filling her stomach with sickness, filling her mouth with hot angry words. She cursed Mrs. Thomson, cursed the shitty duplex with its blistering walls and thin cheap windows, cursed the fact that she was thirty-four and still had to wake up to this kind of shittiness, and worse yet, had to do it alone in a twin-sized bed without a companion who she could cling to and whine to and generally float with in this sacredfuckedup situation. She imagined roasting the dog on a spit and then felt the hot dizzy feeling of shame because, after all, she loved animals, she even loved this dog most of the time, but her brain ached and her stomach hurt and she just couldn’t deal with this bullshit right now, it was goddamn 4:45 in the morning.
She did not look at the man sitting below her because she was aware that he was staring up at her, like a dog, and she wasn’t sure what he looked like, but he was probably god awful, probably had a goatee or some fuzzy facial hair, and she could feel his glance on her. She knew he was watching her not because she could see him out of the corner of her eyes but because there was that prickly knowledge that comes whenever somebody is watching. She had been completely unaware of everybody around her, full of the music, just watching the sight in front of her, when she knew, just knew in that way that always presents itself. She could feel him looking at her and she wasn’t sure if it was a friendly look or leering, it really didn’t matter because it was unwelcome all the same, so she stared ahead and purposefully scrunched her forehead hoping that he would see that she was too enraptured in the music to notice or care for his presence.
For a full day she sat beside the window and looked, glanced, pretended to be busy, pretended not to look, blinked her eyes and peeked through the blinds through heavily mascaraed lashes. When would he come? When would he show up? She cursed his schedule acrimoniously. Why couldn’t he ever stick to a goddamned time? Then she could have at least known when to expect his little truck, little shorts, little bald head. She felt like a fool. Why was she waiting for this little man? Everything little, everything miniature and hairless, and yet somehow, in some bizarre tingling way, attractive. Almost desperately so.
![Distorted self[ie] #fragment #cubism #allseeingeye](https://64.media.tumblr.com/f4a4c1c9a1b54ee35ae1dbd10b4c8526/tumblr_npwntqQHXJ1qa135mo1_640.jpg "Distorted self[ie] #fragment #cubism #allseeingeye")
