I woke up screeching. My throat was already raw, proving that I had been screaming earlier, and yet, I couldn't stop. I had just seen Brian die right before my eyes, and I was powerless to stop it. Already the details of the dream were slipping away from my conscious mind, but I grasped and held on to as much as I could.
He had been sitting in a lonesome, creaky wooden chair, tied up around his torso and lower legs. His wrists were bound, but I could see deep, ruby red scrapes etched across his skin underneath. He had tried to get free, only causing him more pain, and me more despair. I couldn't remember much after that, other than his long, continuous death that I couldn't help him avoid. They had pumped something into his veins so his eyes bulged out, bloodshot and dazed, while the deoxygenated blood turned a ghastly version of green. And yet, he had still looked charming. His arm muscles were flexed,  showing the distinct outline of his bicep, and the small vein running along it. His short blonde hair was matted down with sweat that had continued to bead down his forehead. There were small whiskers of facial hair running down his jaw line to his perfect chin that caught the minimal light from the small chamber we were in. His feet were showing, and although I knew that little detail was linked to another dream, I was incapable to call it to the surface of my mind. From my angled view of his body, I could faintly see the outline of his spine along the middle of his dirt and sweat coated shirt, and  his shoulder muscles moving the scarlet fabric the slightest bit.
My vision faded, drifting off to another recess of my mind for another dream, but I wouldn't let it. My thoughts sped to awake myself, where my dog would find me crying and screeching hysterically. Although I knew it was a dream, I was incapable of stopping. My vision was clouded from the countless tears that rolled down my face, dripping onto the mattress that I laid shaking on. Eventually, my throat could bear no more, and it gave out, leaving me rasping as I cried out for Brian. My tears were reduced to mere wisps of salt progressing down my cheeks, and I was left with a drenched mattress, and lost voice, and a pain beyond any other.
I gathered my thoughts in the following minutes, reminding myself every few seconds that what I saw wasn't real, and that Brian was ok. Slowly, I was able to stand, and move to my desk, where my phone was resting, charging, without the worry of losing their loved one.
"Lucky" I thought, glaring at my reflection in it's smooth, metallic screen. With a small movement, I pressed the power button, and the screen lit up, displaying a vivid image of a panda as my lock-screen. Quickly, I navigated through the photos in the camera roll, sliding through rows upon rows of useless photos, until my still red eyes fell upon a picture of Brian. His hair was gelled up in a stylish fashion, with his eyes returned to their glorious shade of grey. His crossed arms showed no sign of the green venom passing through them. Although this was a good thing, I longed to view his flexed biceps again. The shirt he wore was a lavender color, nothing like the red cloth from my dream. And yet, despite all of these reassurances, I couldn't shake the dream for my mind.
In a few swift motions, I had opened Facebook where I went to his profile. "Last Active 13 hours ago." I quickly switched to Instagram and repeated the process. There was a new photo up on his page, showing him, his brother, and their friend dressed up for homecoming. It had been posted merely 46 minutes before. I slumped onto the desk chair, over stricken with relief. My stomach was filled with the largest sensation of love I had ever felt, and my eyes began to water, preparing for another round of sobbing. This time though, it would be tears of joy, rather than sorrow. Before they could fall though, a knock resonated through my room.
"John? Are you ok?" my mother's voice was muffled through the door, but it was clear enough to understand. I threw a notebook from my desk onto the bed where it was wet from my tears, and turned toward the desk, opening my laptop. It booted to life just as my mother slowly cracked open the door. Light swept into the room, followed by the shadow of my mother's body.
"John?" she asked again. I looked her, and managed a smile and a nod, then turned back to my desk. I opened my webbrowser to Facebook and started scrolling down through it, not paying any attention to what was actually on the screen.
My mother was still in the doorway, so I faced her, pulled together a breath and managed as good of an "I'm ok" as I could. It came out very raspy, but I hoped she would disregard it as a "Just-woke-up" sort of thing. She left, leaving the door slightly ajar. A feeling of grief went through my body.
"If my parent's or brother knew about these dreams, they would hate me." I knew I was exaggerating a decent amount, but I couldn't help but assume the worst. I knew they would react badly if they knew I was gay, and although I could likely handle my parents' responses, I couldn't fathom the idea of my brother being disgusted, and not wanting to even know me.
My family wasn't even the worst part, really. The really horrible problem was the fact that Brian was straight, and I was gay. I knew he would never admire me the way I admired him, and yet, I couldn't get over him, not even after 3 years. So I'm stuck with dreams, nightmares, pictures, and despair.