After Midnight (a.i.)

62

Cara's POV

School work has never felt less important. I was on autopilot clicking away on my laptop. The longer I stared at the outline of my essay, words muddling together into a jumbled mess that would certainly compel anyone to an apathetic sleep, it felt so meaningless.

Everything felt so meaningless.

Days passed by like a broken record; dreariness adding to every second that became a perfect routine. Wake up, go to class, go to work, sleep, wash, rinse and repeat. In two weeks time it became habitual. Every day I was stuck in that revolving door of hollowness without an escape. By the third week, I was starting to lose the energy to find a way out.

How drastically everything had changed in one weekend.

Jess was worried, rightfully so. All of her efforts to get me out of my bed were useless and I think she's getting tired of incessantly begging. Don't blame her, I'm not much fun to be around anymore. But I've lost my ability to care. Trudging through daily tasks was hard enough, adding a fake smile just adds to the exhaustion.

Alex hasn't pushed as much. Luckily, when she's not at work her time is spent at the lab working herself to death. With another project coming up, I rarely see her at home. When I do, I'm laying awake in bed while she sneaks into our dorm thinking I'm already asleep. She tries her luck some mornings, cracking her usual one liners in attempts to get me to show some sort of emotion that wasn't nothing.

Her jokes aren't as funny anymore. Or maybe I'm just tired of the overwhelming concern everyone else seemed to have for me that I didn't have for anything. I don't have the option to feel concern. If I let my self feel anything, I'll feel every emotion I've been bottling up for the past three weeks since that night at the house, all the anger and sadness I don't want to deal with. I'm avoiding the pain and the heartache. If I'm numb long enough, maybe I won't feel anything at all and I can just go on and pretend this never happened.

Maybe.

I bury my face in my laptop and rattle off the dismal words until my eyes burn. My eyes sting behind my glasses and the cut on my palm is growing irritated from my typing. This was supposed to be a distraction, but it's feeling like a personal hell.

I don't even look up when the door opens. I keep myself tucked under my covers and continue my assignment.

"You look like shit." Michael comments, hands in his pockets while he leans against the door. My brows lower.

"You're such a charmer." I mutter to him, fingers stoic and eyes locked on my laptop screen. I'm not in the mood for conversation right now. I'm fighting off enough thoughts in my head, I don't need someone else giving me theirs.

"That's what they tell me." I can hear the smile in his voice and his steps against the floor. In typical Michael fashion, he plops down on the end of my bed and doesn't hesitate to make himself comfortable.

"Stopped by the bar to see you." He continues his one sided conversation, laid on his side at my feet and holding himself up on his elbow. His boots dangle off the edge of my bed.

"Alex gave me her key, said I could find you here." He says. I see his head dip out of my peripheral, searching for my eyes. I keep them glued to my screen.

"Wanted to see if there's anything I could do for you. Make sure you're okay." The gentleness in his voice is endearing, but also annoying.

"If you're here to try and get me out of bed, you'll be the fourth person to fail. Don't waste your time." I tell him and when I lift my eyes to his, he sighs. He looks like he hasn't slept in days.