He lay in the dark, every fibre of his being thrumming with pain. He couldn’t tell how long it had been since the last time. Days, minutes, months, years: time had no meaning in this dark hell. His body had long since stopped getting over the pain. As he tried to push himself up, pain ripped through him and he collapsed into a heap.

Exhaustion flooded him once more and he had to bite his lips to fight back tears or a scream, he didn’t know what would be worse. Then something happened that made everything worse. The Song came on, echoing off the cold walls from hidden speakers. He closed his eyes against the memory of parties when he had loved this song, when he and his friends had danced to “Crazy Bitch” by Buckcherry for hours. Back before this endless night.

Hey, you crazy bitch

But you fuck so good I’m on top of it

When I dream, I’m doing you all night

Scratches all down my back to keep me right on

“It’s time beautiful,” another voice crooned in the darkness. “You know what they all want.”

He turned his face to the wall, tears rolling down his face. The first thrust made his body seize up, at the next he clenched his teeth, with another, his hands got a death grip on the scraggly blanket beneath him. Then they got what they wanted.

He screamed.

---

Skylar jerked awake, her body trembling. Throwing off the blanket that covered her, the girl’s green eyes swept around the car (though she had no idea what she was looking for), finally swinging out the window to look at the stars above.

“You alright, babe?”

She turned to look at her foster mother. “Yeah,” she said, running a hand through her short hair. “Yeah, just had a weird dream.”

“Stress,” the older woman said wisely. “I remember how I felt before I had to show other people my work.”

Almost unconsciously, Skylar grasped a leather portfolio tighter. That had to be why she was having the nightmares. Ever since she had been invited to come to the Fredicci-Dillante Art Magnate School, she had been on edge. Even now, she wasn’t sure if any of her work was good enough.

Jenni, Skylar’s foster mother, rambling on again, but the girl couldn’t even hear her as she opened the folder and flipped through the artwork inside. Of the twenty pieces (five painted, five pencil sketched, five charcoals, and five coloured pencil) about fifteen were of the boy she had just dreamed about. Something in his face, no: his eyes, attracted her like nothing ever had.

What really made her want to draw him wasn’t his face or eyes at all, it was the fact that somehow she knew, beyond any shadow of doubt, that he was a real person, alive somewhere in the world.

As she ran a thin finger across his jaw line on one of the paintings, she wondered again how she knew that. Skylar couldn’t remember seeing him before (not that that really meant anything, twelve years in the foster care system started when she was only four would probably have some blank spaces). Somehow, he felt familiar, like an old friend. Someone she had trusted, maybe even loved. Skylark had even given him a name, the only name that fit him: Drayden. It was a strange name. Probably not one that people would randomly come up with, but it was the first name that came to mind when Skylar first dreamed of him.

Again, she studied his face. Long, filled with sharp angles, a scar like an X on his left cheek, barely visible because his skin was so pale. And those eyes, deep grey, but with a glint that made them look like brushed silver. His hair was like a manga style made human, all over the place in spiky clumps that fell into his eyes. Beautiful, in a heart-breaking sort of way.

That’s why you’re familiar, Dray, Skylar thought sadly, a fingertip tracing his tilting eyes. I know broken when I see it. One of those things that takes one to know one.

---

He sat up, fatigue forgotten because of his curiosity. His body screamed in protest and he could still hear the sounds of voices from above him. They were celebrating, he thought hollowly. They got what they wanted.

The girl’s face swam before him again. She was in a car, looking down at a bunch of drawings . . . drawings of him, he realized with a jolt.

Drayden. How does she know my name?

But suddenly, Dray knew her name too and that was the first word he whispered aloud in the darkness.

“Skylar.”

---

Okay, I know it’s a little weird. It’s basically one of those weird ideas that takes hold of you for some reason even though you keep putting it aside.

Anyway, if anyone’s interested, let me know and I’ll continue. But if I don’t get reviews, then I won’t waste time continuing it.

Peace, persons :)

Please review.