Prey Chapter 1

I'm dreaming the sounds and aromas of an unfamiliar surrounding.  I'm outdoors on top of wet ground; the water, I assume, from an early rain or morning dew.  Scattered beams of sunlight warm my face. 

Raising my arms with my palms forward, I take my first steps, dig my toes into the earth.  Fear of where I'm stepping is absent in my dreams.  After all, I could make this setting more familiar almostly instantly.  I can do that when I'm aware I'm dreaming.  I could make this space home even, but the novelty of it hasn't worn off yet. 

I make contact with several trees and determine my location is a forest, which explains the unconcentrated sunlight.  My skin catches a breeze that lifts my hair from my face. 

I don't know why, but I like it here.  But a sudden involuntary bodily jerk brings me to conscious, removing me from this newfound place of comfort. 

I sit up in bed and remove the hair from my eyes, which I'm told are grey.  I've often wondered if they're an attractive feature with my unmanageable curly, brown hair. 

I've been described as tall and thin.  I've picked up some muscle over the years, but I have no idea how proportionate I look.  I imagine I'm in decent shape.  I'm on the varsity swim team at my high school. 

I've often wondered if I'm attractive in general.  I've never dated, which is one way attractiveness is validated, I suppose, but, I've never really wanted to date.  In my mind, it just produces another person who feels they have to take care of me, and I've been fighting my mother on that front for years. 

I throw back the covers, climb out of bed, and tug at my boxers.  They always rise when I sleep.  I'd go nude if it weren't for my unpredictable mom.  I hit the alarm button just as she walks in.  She never fails to knock, and I have to turn my back to her because I've definitely got a classic case of morning wood. 

"Oh, you're up!"

She's, of course, suprised, which I don't quite understand since neither she or my alarm clock have been necessary in getting me out of bed the past three, if not four, years. 

I pick up a towel from a nearby waste basket and place it around my waist. 

"I know it's your house, but you should knock before coming in here.  I'm a teenage boy.  I need some semblance of privacy." 

"Kellan, I wash your clothes and sheets.  I'd know what happens in this room even if I did knock." 

She's carrying laundry, which everything's folded- a task I'm perfectly capable of performing, that she herself modified to indicate colors just so she could continue. 

She sits the basket down on my bed.  I can hear her pull out drawers to put things away.  It frustrates me she won't let me take care of the things I can handle. 

"I guess I'll go shower", I hint. 

"I'll be out of here when you get back," she continues. 

I prepare to walk out, exiled from my own room when she grabs me.  I'm held in place by her small yet surprisingly cold hands.   

"So...first day of your Senior year?"  I detect a smile on her face, and I nod.  Just because she's excited doesn't mean I have to be.  "It happens so fast.  Try to enjoy it." 

And I don't know why I ask this, but I do.  It's not like I'm deaf.  I know they've been arguing, that they've all but filed for divorce.  But for some reason, the words escape my mouth, and I immediately regret asking, "When's dad coming back?"

There's a slight hesitation before she says, "I don't know."  I've probably ruined her day with that question; her smile, now gone.  But she makes it her business to know what's going on in my life.  And it often results in my embarassment.  Still, I wish I hadn't of asked.  No matter how much I'd like to know what was really going on with them, I'd never want to cause her pain. 

I quickly kiss her on the cheek and thank her for the laundry then head to the bathroom to shower.