Entangled Strings (Under-revision)

Ⅲ

Chapter 3
Cloaked Comfort

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THE SOUNDS OF crickets is all that could be heard...

I woke up in the middle of the dark black night, thirsty for water. Why is it hot even in a room with an air conditioner? Maybe, I'll change into thin pajamas later. I can hear random noises that kinda' creeps me out. I felt the coldness of the cemented floor as my feet landed on the ground. Initially planning to get a few sips and yet I forgot to do so. Completely chained to the walls of the room like a prisoner of a police station, I caught on soft but firm murmurs.

It overcame my senses that instead of taking a good o' drink, I sashayed towards the gray linens of his mattress. Sounds from the squeaky bed can be heard every now and then. Not that noticeable but there were low whimpers from a resting Reagan. He went on and on with his tiny little whisps coming from his full luscious lips. He is saying something as if talking to someone that I don't see nor hear. The foreign language that he spoke in his nightmare is all that I can focus on.

I went near his dull-hued sheets with gentle steps, quiet and steady, not wanting to make any unnecessary sounds as much as possible. He looks so peaceful in a way yet disturbed in another. Does that even make sense? Appeared like an angel from thy heaven but is compelled to be a devil of the slums of hell.

'What kind of facade is that you truly have, Mr. Pirouette?'

Through the not-so-transparent, more or less foggy Clerestory windows, the dim glint passed from the moon alongside the stars, rendering a faint light source for his face. Adoring his visuals thoroughly, from his furrowed thick eyebrows to his pointed nose, next to his slightly flushed cheeks, his pointing lips then down to his finely chiseled jaw, slowly being bewitched by it, not until a bead of tear escaped from his double-lid eyes of ebony tint within its deep, deep abyss of darkness.

I was not able to realize my deed in enough time when my fingers flew by themselves slowly towards the inzy winzy teardrop and motioned to wipe it away. The thought of removing something from him with a rub from my hand is quite enticing and thrilling.

But before anything else, I felt a hand, held my wrist and a whisper was heard, "What are you trying to do?" His voice boomed across the space within our room.

As if on cue I jounced off of his bed then replied, "N-nothing."

I felt galloping horses occupying my chest, running real fast. Thudding and thumping, almost bursting. I felt it pounding as if ready to come out. It came across like cars are racing wildly as if trying to reach the farthest finish line.

"Don't ever touch my face again," he hissed out of nowhere. Another huddle of words were endevoured to set loose from his mouth, but I was not able to catch up with the latter part of his statement.

"Uh-" I stuttered even before answering him. "Again, sorry. I was just worried. You were crying and I just wanted to flick that tear away. I did not plan any harm. Promise-" My words stammer continuously as my lips tremble in tremor.

A hiss was released by him, then he paused making his phrases hang, "Just remember to keep space between the both of us." I don't know if I heard it right? He stammered mid-sentence. Why would he, anyway? That was just my wide imagination, perhaps. He doubtlessly and most conceivably won't.

"N-noted," I mumbled, almost under my breath. My voice hitched as I observe the reflected glow from the night sky with its visible celestial bodies.

Then he confided, "And please do not act as if we're close, 'cause we aren't, even a bit." The said reflection of gleam refracted as it bounces towards a prism-like material built within the windows.