Jason is dreaming of you again.

It’s an occurrence that’s been happening more and more regularly as of late, images of your face offering a brief respite from the clown that tends to haunt him when his brain attempts to shut off each night.

Tonight, he has no such respite.

Somehow, his dreams have morphed into nightmares. The thoughts of his hands around your neck, squeezing until you grow cold. Images of you broken under his own hands. It isn’t the first time he’s had those thoughts. His mind has wandered before, pictures of how easily you’d break under his hands forcing their way into his mind.

He wakes up in a cold sweat, chest heaving as he bolts up in the bed, scrambling to put as much distance between the two of you as possible. He feels sick. This one had been so much more vivid than the last.

You’re used to his nightmares, and you wake up easily, reaching out —

“Don’t.” He chokes out, stumbling as he stands to his feet. God, he knows he’s no good for you. He’s know that since he met you. He’ll ruin you. He hates the way that you look at him, like you see something worth saving.

Jason isn’t worth anything.

He lets out a shaky breath as he runs his hand through his hair. He’s trembling. Jesus, he needs to get away from you. He doesn’t know why he ever allowed himself to get so close.

Good things never last for Jason. He’ll hurt you. He should make you leave while you still can.