reality | eight

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"But now I'm here to give you words,
As tools that can destroy my heart."

. . . . .



My mouth felt like a desert, my throat scratchy and dry, as I turned over onto my side and tried to swallow back my latest dream. The blankets were pulled up over my bare shoulders, shielding me from the cool air that circulated my room. I felt lightheaded and as I made a move to reach for my phone to check the time, a wave of nausea bubbled up from the pit of my stomach. 

I ran for the bathroom and just barely made it to the toilet as my body hunched over and I coughed up absolutely nothing. My stomach was empty, and yet I still felt like there was something in there I needed to get out. My shoulders shook as I gagged once again, letting myself crumple to the floor. Everything hurt.

The pressure on my head only worsened as I leaned myself against the toilet seat. My eyes stayed closed until I heard the sound of shuffling feet and then nothing.

"Josh," Tyler's voice sounded far off, but I knew he was only a few feet away.

I opened my eyes to find him standing in the open doorway of the bathroom. His arms were folded over his chest, his eyebrows pushed together in deep thought. It was an odd feeling to know that I was no longer only hurting myself. Tyler looked tired - like a dead man walking.

"Are you okay?" He spoke just above a whisper.

Tyler ran a hand through his dark hair, glancing away for a second. "You were yelling in your sleep last night."

A deep frown appeared on my face as my gazed turned to the tiled floor underneath me. It was getting worse and I didn't know how to make it stop.

"Maybe you should go see a doc-"

"No!" I rushed out as my heart started to pound in my chest at just the thought.

"You can't keep living like this," Tyler sounded defeated. He obviously had no idea how to help me either.

"I don't want to go." I shook my head and stared up at him from my spot on the floor. I really was a coward.

"They'll just give me drugs and I'll be nothing but a zombie," I spoke quietly. "I don't want that."

"Then get up, Josh." Tyler's voice was surprisingly stern. "Start your day."

My jaw was clenched tightly, my hands balled into fits at my sides. But I did as Tyler said and picked myself up off the floor, refusing to be the invalid my mind made me out to be. Tyler smiled once I was finally up on my feet, and then he turned and disappeared down the hallway.  

A few minutes later I sat at the kitchen counter, pushing around the eggs on my plate as I stared off into space. Tyler stood across from me, watching intently as I completely ignored my surroundings.

"We should practice today," His voice disrupted the silence around us and I turned to look at him with wide eyes.

I shrugged, which caused Tyler to roll his eyes as he leaned his elbows against the counter. "Come on. When was the last time we just jammed?"

He was right. It had been weeks since we both had a day to just play our music. I nodded my head, agreeing with him after debating it for a moment longer. As much as I felt like my body could shut down at any second, I wanted to prove to Tyler, and to myself, that I could push through it.

I had never gotten to work on the last tape Tyler had left behind for me and I watched him carefully from my spot behind my drums as he prepared himself to play through what he had. He sat on the wooden bench that was placed in front of his piano and cleared his throat before he quickly glanced in my direction.

Mr. Misty-Eyed | Josh DunWhere stories live. Discover now