We rushed down the stairs and threw ourselves on the couch, almost landing on top of each other.
Everything is silent until Harry says "We called you guys down here because we need to talk."
"What about," I ask.
"About this morning. Zayn and I need to know what's going on. I've told you this before; if anything happens, you need to let us know. Now, tell me about that dream you had last night."
I can't tell him. I'm not trying to hide it from him; I just can't bear it; I cant talk about it. It's just too painful.
"Tell me now. I can't help you if you don't tell me now." Harry says.
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Instead, tears just well up and trickle down my eyes like a waterfall. All that manages to come out of my mouth is "Pain; hurt; hate."
This is the worst thing a father can imagine. I hate seeing her like this, so I decide to ask her something else: "Why do you call yourselves Avalon and Marge?"
And she replies "Because I don't like being called a name that isn't mine."
"What are you talking about," I ask, extremely confused.
And what Darcy replies confuses me even more; "I mean, I'm not Darcy, and she's not Marie. I'm Avalon, and she's Marge. It would be better that you call us by our actual names now that you know us."
"I'm not going to call you Avalon." I reply.
"Okay, fine," She replies.
"Okay, fine," I reply.
"One more question," Harry replies.
"Yes," I ask.
Harry answers with "Who is Marcus and why has he influenced your nightmares?"
And with that, I run all around the house shutting every window, blind, and door; making sure everything is locked. Afterwards, sit on the couch, hold back every tear, and tell him.