7 Days to Another Life

Day 2

It Screams Poetic Like a Loaded Gun. 

~~~And I gotta say, you're just fucking deadweight.~~~ 

It's hours before Chris gets up, claiming that it's no longer quiet time. He didn't appear to sleep much last night and honestly, Nick was right there with him. He's exhausted yet full of nerves at the same time, yearning to get up and move around a bit despite his tiredness. 

He follows Chris's actions, finding it safe get up now since Chris had said quiet time was over, but the world around him wobbles and spins as a splay of vibrant colors dances painfully before his eyes. He groans, the action one of instant regret as he rubs his forehead, cringing away as the colors and splotches whirl under his eyelids. He blinks rapidly and stumbles back onto his cot, deciding to stay there. Slowly the colors start their fade and the little black dots make their way out of his life. 

God, he's so stiff. 

He didn't sleep a wink last night, not after the run in with Chris. The haunting his words had left had seeped into his mind, far deeper than he should've let them go. He stayed on edge all night, waiting for a shuffling or rustling that would indicate Chris picking up the knife. Waiting for a fate that never came. 

Maybe, Nick thought, Chris was just waiting for the right moment to pounce. After all, he'd only just gotten there. Maybe Chris was playing this out like a game, like a game inside a game. Player playing player. 

Nick shakes his head, hoping that it could clear his muddled thoughts. 

What are you, a dog? his mother would say, her voice pinched in criticism. 

Nick cringed and covered his face with his hands. Couldn't he just forget them? 

"You alright?" Chris's voice spoke up from across the room. He seemed legitimately slightly concerned-- like, actually. Weird. Weird enough to get Nick to raise his head and look at him, his hands still holding his jaw like a basket. 

"Yeah," he answered simply. Chris nodded, and for a moment there Nick actually thought he would drop it. 

But no. 

Of course not. 

Chris walked over to where Nick was and sank down onto the cot, right next to him. He looked at Nick, casually bringing a leg up and making himself comfortable against the brick wall and worn cot. Nick averted his eyes. He didn't want to talk to this guy, not under these circumstances. Never under these circumstances. 

So I'm not good enough for you? You won't even take the time to look at me?! 

Nick could only hope that someday the comments replaying in his head would piss him off or simply mean nothing to him, it was probably too much to ask that they'd disappear altogether. 

"You don't talk much, do you?" Chris guessed, glancing skeptically at Nick. 

Nick didn't bother turning around. "I guess," he said plainly. 

"You'll warm up," Chris assured him. 

Nick twitched. 

"There's really no point, one of us will be cold by the end of the week." 

Chris only laughs, a short chuckle thing where his lungs are spazzing for a brief moment, his voice relaxed and.. happy? Entertained? What? 

"How very poetic of you," he comments with a smile, and Nick's eyes are drawn up and to his face. Nick said nothing, but his quiet eyes met Chris's.