He dreamed. It started out fine, but it got worse. He dreamed, at first, of his house.
The house he grew up in was quite large, but he hardly noticed, as this was what he was used to. It practically dripped money. The house was situated on sprawling grounds, always a beautiful green shade. In order to even get onto the property, one had to pass through a gate that was made of steel. The exterior of the house boasted multiple stories (three, not counting the attic or the cellar). There were balconies with very light curtains that often swayed in the wind and partially covered sliding glass doors and large windows that overlooked the view. The interior was built out of polished wood and marble. Every so often, there would be some form of overpriced art, whether it be a statue, picture, or painting. The furniture looked pristine, mostly because it was rarely used. They were very comfortable, though. Lighting came from chandeliers that dotted the ceiling. They had a wine cellar, where he was only allowed to fetch wine for his parents. The kitchen had marble countertops along with a large island in the middle. They had a separate dining room in case they ever had guests. Their many bedrooms had their own bathrooms, which included walk-in showers. There were also walk-in closets with more storage space than would ever really be needed. Going out the back door, there was a courtyard, complete with fountains and cobbled walkways. The courtyard was surrounded by the same steel as the front gate. They also had a library, but he was rarely in there.
He remembered getting in trouble for something. For what, that could be anyone's guess. His mother gave him quite the tongue-lashing after she had caught him after he had tried to run away from her. As large as their house was, he could not escape her. "How could you be so irresponsible?" She demanded. "Do you have any idea what you have done? You have jeopardized everything that your father and I have worked so hard for. Are you really that incompetent, or was this on purpose?"
His throat started to burn, an indication of tears. He bit his tongue, the pain immediately taking away the burn in his throat. He opened his mouth to answer her, raising his head to meet her eyes, but she didn't let him answer.
"This is not the first time we've had this conversation, but so help me, it better be the last. There are so many lines that you could've crossed, and you somehow ended up crossing the wrong one. I am extremely disappointed in you." She looked down her nose at him. "You know what you need to do, Nikolai."
Upon hearing his name, it felt like his head was split open. He jerked awake, inhaling sharply, sitting up, and pressing both hands to his temple. He had to put a hand back on the floor to avoid falling backward. His head was throbbing, and his headache didn't feel like it was ever going to go away.
