I pull a sharpie out of my pocket and cross a third day off the calendar. It's been three days since they've visited Bruno's room last; he hasn't said much. Obviously he can't speak but he's been especially quiet. I push my arms through my backpack straps before I head out the door.
Entering Bruno's room is similar to the nights before this one. He sits by the window, quiet and still. In the corner to his right, is a gorgeous black grand piano accompanied by its padded seat. Nearby is a classic Gibson acoustic, the moon reflecting on the fresh lacquer making it gleam. It sits on a stand, a black strap hanging from it's neck. On the opposite side of the room is a full drum-set with a pair of sticks on the stool and on the table is a set of bongos.
I walk over to Bruno and lean against the wall beside the window. He sits still his palms clasped together staring out the window, his eyes barely closing to blink. Their edges are bright red; he hasn't been sleeping. He's wearing pretty much the same a grey tee being the only exception and difference in his clothing.
"Bruno," I say softly. He ignores me completely, continuing his stare of into the blackness outside. I watch him, the veins in his hands and arms bulge as he flexes. His knuckles start to turn a shade lighter than his skin tone. "Bruno," I repeat. He keeps up his charade. After watching him for a few moments I walk over to his desk. The notebook I gave him sits there, open. Pages are missing, crumpled all over the table with a few on the floor. I turn a few intact pages until I find the most recent entry.
What's going on with me?
It says in erratic handwriting. I walk back over to him putting my hand on his shoulder. His hands release, revealing deep red indentations on his palm, he looks at me eyes empty. His jaw is tight, set in an angry expression. I slip my iPod out of my pocket and put the headphones over his head playing the song I was just listening to. 'Shake it Out' by Florence and the Machine. I set aside a few snacks, cough drops and a few other supplies before I leave him alone.
It will pass.
I had my night like this too. They call it 'Realization': coming to terms with what you've lost. This is the stage the most struggle with, coming to terms and then there are those who refuse to accept it. Time always varies from person to person but,
it will pass.
YOU ARE READING
Larceny
Fanfiction(n.) the wrongful taking and carrying away of the personal goods of another from his or her possession with intent to covert them to the taker's own use.
