The floorboards creaked in slow succession. As light pierced through the sill of the bathroom door, it traveled and shaped according to the sound. The nozzle rumbled and scraped as Clive turned the faucet. He yanked a towel from the rack, placing his foot on the mat. The light from the bathroom acted as a beacon for the rest of the corridor's dark interior. Clive stood in the doorway and fought with the towel over his hair. From where he stood, he could see the mess he left behind. His shirt hung from the dresser drawer, thrown in heated panic. His bed sheets splayed out on the floor, and his bed lay bare, stained with sweat.

A thought courses through his mind as he ponders the scuttlehole above him.

His dad had a box of belongings in a large, warped cardboard box. The hatch stairs were out. He had been moving most of her belongings into the attic. Clive remembered waking up to the attic stairs creaking as his father shuffled back and forth. Clive pressed his hand against his eyelids. He struggled to keep them open, wincing from the light. There was brusqueness to his voice as he stomped past Clive toward the stairs.

"Stay out of the attic, Clive. You heard?" He said as he traversed through several hurdles to get up those stairs. Vanishing into the empty boundaries of the mirage.

There was a loud thud that came from somewhere in the house. Clive grabbed some clothes from his dresser and clumsily put it on in a half-step. The house mocked his hesitation as he paced himself through the dark depths of the house. The floorboards crackled, then jeered at each of his footsteps. The main staircase had never felt as flimsy as it did in the dark.

A light peered out from behind the garage door and bled into the kitchen. Clive could hear someone mumbling to themselves. Incoherent garbling that had fused with the sharp tools, whirling in the background. As Clive opened the garage door, he saw his father toying with something in his hands. A small circular piece of metal that had been hollowed out in the center. His father looked up and scratched his head before acknowledging his presence.

"I wake you?" His father asked as he pulled his welding goggles away from his face.

"I had a bad dream, couldn't sleep. I heard something loud bang up against the floor. Thought a raccoon found itself in the garage again," Clive responded.

His father chuckled and placed the goggles on his workbench. He pulled the thick metal ring from the clamp and held it between his fingers. Its rough surface, scratched up from previous work, "You're wondering what I'm doing?"

"A little bit," Clive says.

"We were never married, your mother and I. We talked about it a bunch before you were born. Life just got in the way. I had always planned to make it official. I started this project when we knew your mom was pregnant with you. It's hard to do this kind of work when a pregnant woman is in the house, even harder with a newborn. I always thought I would get back to it eventually. I wonder if I was making excuses. It's silly. There are boxes of her things in the attic. Yet, the rings are what bothers me."

"Do you remember that morning you woke me up 'cause you were moving a bunch of mom's things in the attic?" Clive asked.

"I do."

"I was thinking about it not long ago, like right before I came down here, actually," His father slowed his movements. He knew the question that was sure to come.

"Why did you never let me up there?" Clive asked.

"I'm still mourning Clive," his father responds.

Clive nods and turns to leave before asking, "What are you gonna do when I finally leave?" Clive stood facing away from his father but could hear the hesitation in his voice.

"I don't know. That's a long way from now."

"Right," Clive says as he opens the garage door. Clive turns to his dad one last time before saying, "Goodnight, Dad."

"G'night, son."

~

As Clive returns to the mess on his bed. He can hear a commotion outside his window. A large white moving truck is parked right outside Alice's old house. A family had gathered on the lawn as they started packing boxes on the ground from the truck. The father struggles to open the front door for what looks like the first time. The mom is holding a small child in her arms, and Clive sees her for the first time. Her dark brown hair as she says something Clive can barely make out with the sound of the truck still going. She looks up and catches Clive's gaze in what feels like an hour.

They exchange a smile.

Her head turns swiftly, meeting some unknown voice from out of view. His voice raised in unintelligible speech. They were arguing. The mom enters the house while the daughter reaches for one of the boxes. As she begins to head inside, she announces,

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"Go home, Harper. My family doesn't have time for our drama right now. Please go home."

Several of the lights in the neighborhood begin to turn on as the person she was talking to comes out from behind the truck and enters from the driver's side. Clive manages to catch only a few details. He seems taller than most. His hair is slightly long and shaggy; he wasn't muscular, he wasn't a twig either. The truck door slams. It pulls out from the driveway. The daughter once again turns her head back towards Clive's window. He ducks out of the way to avoid her gaze.

His mind races, fuck, fuck, fuck; he thinks to himself as he waits underneath his window.

Clive awkwardly crawls toward the light switch, pulling the window curtains as he shuffles clumsily on the floor.

Clive lets out a huge sigh as he lies silently on his bed, his face hot from everything that had transpired. He closes his eyes, hoping to keep his mind from his failings. His breathing is heavy, and he tries to settle into a rhythm. Clive pulled the covers up to his chest, and his body and mind began to drift. He thinks back on only the little details he got of her face. Even from how far away he was from her, he knew.

She was attractive.

His face felt hotter, steam pulling from his face and neck, his chest and armpits sweaty. He pondered and reflected on the girl's voice. Thinking only about the fact that she had someone, maybe.

Clive lay there overanalyzing all the little things he could from that five-minute interaction.

He felt something.

The room felt heavier.

There was a presence in the room, one he didn't recognize. Clive forced his eyelids closed, tighter than they had been before. He uttered a silent prayer, hoping that whatever had been there in that room with him would leave him undisturbed. The prayer gave him some solace as his consciousness slipped comfortably into sleep.

~

The Kernels shifted from side to side as Quinn placed a bowl filled with popcorn on Clive's lap.

"You didn't have to make this," Clive responds. Quinn smirks as she settles into her seat on the couch, "A movie night without popcorn almost feels like a sin."

Quinn looks around the room and notices a jacket missing from the rack, " Your dad went to work?"

"Yeah, I think so. Kinda strange that I can't remember saying bye," Clive looks down at the bowl before putting a kernel in his mouth.

"So tell me," Quinn asks enthusiastically. "What is our itinerary for the night? I've got a list. We're talking all the classic action staples, alright. You wanna see a guy trapped in a hotel fighting for his life, got it. Man on a mission. Only if he so chooses; I got it. I'm even down to watch some weird car fetish movie about family."

Clive laughs, "I'm loving the sell, what about..." Quinn interrupts him mid-sentence.

"Clive, I love you, but please, for the love of all that is good, do not recommend an animated movie." Clive pulled himself from his slouched position on the couch and rearranged the bowl of popcorn on his lap.

"Okay, explain this to me. What is all this hate of animated movies," Clive asks.

"There's no hate. I love animated movies. I watch a lot of them on my own. I don't even mind watching them with you. But you're obsessed. I mean this with all the love and kindness I can muster. You're obsessed, Clive, and it's very specifically the fairytale ones."

Clive turns his head in awe, "Seriously?"

"Yes, Clive, I swear, sometimes I think you're a bigger girl than I am."

"Wow," Clive silently remarks. "Okay, fine, I don't give you shit for always wanting to watch explosion-heavy action films or gorefest horror movies."

"No one does,'' Quinn retorted. "They understand it just fine. What's hard to get about dismemberment and explosions? I can speak for the rest of the world when I say it's universally satisfying to see a head explode."

Clive leans back into his seat and puts another kernel in his mouth. He grabs the remote, smiling," Shut up and play your movie."

"Thank you!" Quinn exclaims.

~

Clive jumped from his seat. A loud noise had woken him up. He looked around, and the living room was completely dark except for the light that emanated from the TV. They must have accidentally left it on.

Quinn must have gone home, Clive thought as he looked around the room for her.

I must have fallen asleep during the movie, Clive pondered as he cleaned the popcorn off his lap.

A loud knock startled Clive as he tried to wake from his sleep. He turned his head back to the front door and slowly pulled the blanket and bowl from his lap.

"Hold on, gimme a sec," Clive said as he mustered the energy to stand up.

"Quinn, is that you? Did you leave something?"

Clive stumbles to the door and wipes his face with his arm as he opens it, only to see his new neighbor standing in the doorway.

"I'm sorry to bother you. I could really use your help".

Clive tries to gather himself. She was shaking. There was a palpable fear in her expression.

How it turned so quickly, the corners of her mouth began to curve.

"Is everything okay?" Clive asks.

And there it was, her smile. It completely took Clive off guard.

He felt a soft, wet texture on his forehead. It snapped, whipping up against his skin, popping and covering him in water.

Clive flinches from the mess and cold water he's now covered in. He hears a deeper voice come out from the doorway. It was the guy she was with earlier. He laughs as he says, "Yeah, she's fine. You're just a creep."

They both laugh in his face now.

Clive is frozen.

All he can hear is, "Get a life, man."

A faint voice whispers to Clive as he stands in the doorway.

Frozen.

Assaulted by their laughter. The voice gets louder, gradually. Clive can hear his pulse. The loud booming sound of his heartbeat overtakes his senses.

The voice becomes clear, "Clive is everything okay?"

Everything comes back into focus. Clive finds himself in front of Dr.Lim once again. His mind scrambled in panic, and his breathing was heavy.

"Clive, are you okay?" She asked as he tried to manage his hyperventilation.

"Deep breaths, Clive, take your time." She said as she dropped her notepad and moved from her seat next to him.

The room gets smaller and shrinks in his peripheral vision. Dr.Lim softy rubs her hand on his back as Clive tries to fight the terror. In a small moment of respite, the only words Clive can muster are, "I'm so tired."

"What are you tired of, Clive," she asks as she continues to try to comfort him.

"Of everything, of this. I can't tell anymore... Whether this is real... Or, if it's just part of some dream... Am I awake, or am I still sleeping?"

Clive fights tears amid his panic. His voice and tone defeated, he finally asks, "Are you a dream doc? I honestly can't tell anymore."