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Touched by Demons, though I fall into grace.

Hands.

I pick up my wallet, tossing and catching it a few times before walking out of the spare bedroom. Frank is sitting on the couch, watching All In The Family. He showed me a few episodes, and I wasn't interested, so I retreated to my room to read.

"We need to talk," I say, sitting down in the chair next to him.

"Alright," He responds, reaching to the TV to pause it.

I open my wallet, pulling out a few pennies and setting them on the table. I nod at him, and he picks up the dirtiest one.

"What's this about, honey?" He asks.

"What year was it made in?"

He pauses, studying the coin further. "1972."

"The next one?" I say, and he picks up the next coin and takes a look at it. A look of confusion and disbelief crosses his face, and he reads the numbers on the penny.

"1973. How is this--?"

"The next one?"

"2004? What the fuck?"

"You're not gonna believe me, but I was born in 1982. I finished college in 2004 and started teaching too. In 2005, I got married. In 2007 my wife and I died in a school shooting."

He opens and closes his mouth, blinks, then squints his eyes.

"I know how unbelievable it sounds, so I'll elaborate. Are you Christian?"

"No. My parents sent me to a Catholic school, though they let me out of it when I stink-bombed the church."

"This is gonna get even crazier because of it. I'm Catholic, but not the stereotypical type. For God's sake, I'm dating you! So, I woke up in heaven, or hell, or whatever. It was white for miles. Then the devil showed up. He's a bitch by the way. He said that if I killed someone, he would revive my wife and me. I did it, as anyone would. I woke up in Wisconsin, 1972. It was April. I stole a car and came here, where I met you. You were who I was supposed to kill. My ex-wife means nothing to me. And, I know you aren't gonna believe me, but please consider it."

I twisted the story a bit to appeal to his humanity, but it's close enough. He rubs his thighs, his eyes wide. Our eyes don't meet, and I hate it.

"Wow. What the fuck."

"Yeah."

"Is that why you have the coins?"

"Yeah."

"Do you have any more proof?"

"Mmm hmm," I pull out my ID, setting it in front of him. "That's everything. Name, address, expiration date, birthday."

"Wow. That's--That's insane." He rests his hand on mine, squeezing.

"You believe me? I wouldn't."

"Yeah," He says, smiling softly. He leans in, and I do too. Our lips meet, and our eyes close. It's not a passionate kiss, though it's full of emotion.

He leans back, though I don't open my eyes. His hand caresses my cheek, and I giggle.
"I trust you." He continues, patting my knee.

---------------

Hands. That's all I see.


Crawling towards me, lapping over each other. They're all fighting on which one of them can reach my throat first.


But they're already there. I'm not laying on my bed anymore. It's just... hands. The walls are hands. The dresser is made hands. The trees outside of my window are hands. If I try to run, they will only latch onto my ankles and pull me down further. It's best to not struggle, even if I still go down.


The fingertips creep on the back of my neck, and I twitch at the touch. It only encourages them more, though. It grips on my throat, choking me. It happens every night, but I still can't escape it.

My hands jerk up to free my throat, but the hands hold me back. They hold me tighter, leaving red marks on my skin. I scream out, but no one listens. No one can listen. For no one tries.

I begin to get lightheaded, and my skin begins to vibrate. My lips have turned blue by now, and I'm bound to pass out by now. I crave unconsciousness, but the hands shake me. They keep me from salvation. They keep me awake.


"Gerard!"

I rapidly sit up, hitting my forehead on someone else's. The man groans, and falls over my knees. But I recognize his black hair.

"Frank!"

He sits up, and I throw myself into his arms. His chest is warm, a perfect place for my tears to pool. It's also bare. Knowing that? It only makes me hold onto him tighter. I lay my head on his skin, shutting my eyes in an attempt to keep the tears from flooding out. They leak out anyways, though.

"Baby, why were you screaming? Bad dream?" He asks in a soothing voice, running his tattooed hands through my dry hair. "I'm here for you if you want to talk about it."

I sit up, wiping my tears from my cheeks. My face is probably red and puffy, and my skin vibrates from the sobbing, but I don't care if I don't look particularly attractive at the moment.

"It's--I don't know," I say, looking down at my hands. I hate my goddamn hands! They're just like the ones in the dreams. "Ever since I... died... I've had these... uh.... they're not like tremors.

They're worse than tremors--they're--they're these terrors. And it's--And it's like it feels like someone is gripping at my throat. And squeezing--And it's every night! And I can't get rid of them..."

He takes my hands, but I shy away. I see him frown, and I assure him that it's me, not him. "No--No! I just... I don't like hands that much, seeing as dozens of them choke me every night." I rush out the words and let a small smile out.

"Well." He says, standing up. "I'll be right back."

I wait exactly 57 seconds before he comes rushing back into the room. He hands me a pair of gloves and puts on an identical pair.

"Just so you don't have to see them."

I smile, pulling on the black gloves. They're thin, so it won't make my hands too hot. "Thank you..." I mumble, cracking my knuckles. "I don't think I can go back to sleep," I say.

"Maybe... Nah, that's crazy." He mumbles, shaking his head. I encourage him to go on, and he smiles. "Alright. Would you maybe wanna sleep in my bed tonight? If--

I cut him off with a kiss, my gloved hand holding him close by the back of his neck. We share ecstasy for a few moments before breaking apart, resting my foreheads against his. I smile a bit, biting my bottom lip and looking at him through my eyelashes. "I'd love that," I say.

He grins and then takes my hand. We walk to his bedroom, just across the hall, where he climbs under the covers. I follow him and snuggle up close. His body heat keeps me warm; I barely need the bed sheets. He turns around and looks at me all romantic. I smile and give him a quick kiss, or at least that's what I intended. He wraps his hand around my waist and licks his way into my mouth. A moan escapes my lips, accompanied by a dark red blush.

He climbs on top of me, pressing his knee in between my thighs. I let out another moan as he shoves his tongue down my throat.

I wrap my arms around his neck, smiling into the kiss. I start giggling, and soon he starts, too. He falls off of me, to my left. I turn over, smiling as he snuggles up to me. He wraps his arms around my bare chest and I let out a sigh of happiness.

"So you're a little spoon." He jokes.

"Like you didn't already know!"

I close my eyes. One month ago, this is the last thing that I would think of doing. Waking up from a night terror, to see your boyfriend of 2 days, then fall asleep next to him at 3 am.

"I like this." He mumbles, and my face lights up with a smile.

Notes

sksk so yeah i know its been 2 weeks but i have an excuse!!! i wrote the first half and then put away my laptop for the night. i got on a couple days later to finish and the chapter deleted! so i procrastinated rewriting it and then it showed up in my folder tonight. so :) have some fluff !

Comments

HELLO EMOS
its me, xoxocass. mcrfanfic isnt letting me log in using tumblr at the moment, so i will be using this acc which i made with a fake email. until mcrfanfic fixes this issue, i will continue updating on this account. please check it out! i didnt die!
-cass

xoxocass2 xoxocass2
7/4/19

Awwwww

cKayE cKayE
6/11/19

@xoxocass
That sounds interesting. xD

Frankie Boy. Frankie Boy.
5/15/19

@Frankie Boy.
yikes. i never get reoccuring dreams, i just get the same types. like one night i'll build an airplane in a field, the next i'll discover a broken airplane and try to fix it, the next i'll be flying on an airplane over the ocean, its kinda weird

xoxocass xoxocass
5/15/19

I have had a reoccurring dream since I was about seven where I'm somewhere and both of my brother's are locked in some ice boxes, still alive, I'm in a room in handcuffs and there's a man who says he's going to kill me then it flips to me being in the kitchen of my parents old house, I'm there with my mom asking for her help but she never answers me. I usually wake up at that point every time.

Frankie Boy. Frankie Boy.
5/14/19