Together (Book 1)

Chapter 1

WARNING: This book contains strong language, violence, suicidal thoughts/actions, descriptions of panic attacks as well as depression, and sexual scenes.

Virgil's POV

I took a long, shaky breath and stared at my hands, hating how they shook. In an attempt to make the tremor go away—the tremor that was always there and would really never go away—I clenched my hands into fists until my knuckles turned pale. I already knew it wouldn't help, as they just began to shake more.

Alright, Virge, calm down, I told myself. You have to meet with the other to help Thomas with his boy troubles.

Knocking on my door, Patton called from the hallway, "Hey, Virgil, are you coming?"

I was startled by the sudden sound but quickly steeled my voice, hollering back, "Yeah, give me just a minute." I pushed myself off the bed and checked my appearance in the mirror, wiping away a few stray tears I hadn't noticed were there. I ran a hand through my dark hair in a failed attempt to make it look better. Finally, I stepped out of my room, quickly shutting the door behind me.

I hesitantly sunk out of Thomas's mind and into the real world—well, his real world. In Thomas's living room, the other three already sitting on the couch, talking amongst themselves. Patton glanced up at me and smiled, ushering me to sit next to him. I dropped my head with a sinking feeling in my heart and wedged myself in the corner of the couch instead.

I looked around, noticing that the person we were supposed to be talking to wasn't there. "Where's Thomas?" questioned

"Behind you," Logan replied nonchalantly.

I looked over my shoulder to see Thomas sitting on the counter, playing on his phone. Am I doing that? I wondered. I'm probably doing that...

He finished texting or doing whatever else it was he was doing, and he hopped off the counter. Thomas walked into the living room, his head hanging. "So, yeah. What's up?"

I sighed, knowing I should probably take some initiative since I was most likely the one making him like this. "What's up with you, Thomas? You're acting all mopey."

He shrugged. "When you're feeling sad, you're feeling sad."

"Well, that's a redundant statement," Logan commented.

Thomas slumped onto the floor. "I guess I've just been thinking... about Guys—"

Roman chuckled. "We're all used to that."

"—and Dolls," he finished.

I cursed.

———

We had finished helping Thomas a while ago, and I'd spent the next hour in my room. Finally, I stood up from my desk, putting on some music to make myself happy. I opened my closet and began shuffling through the drawers in there. Inside laid paints, brushes, markers, pencils, pens, and so many other things. I grabbed watercolors, brushes, a pencil and an eraser, and a piece of paper. Setting it all down on the desk, I snuck into the kitchen, where I grabbed a glass of water.

The others didn't know what I did in my free time; we never really talked about it with each other—no one ever asked. I don't know what I would do if they did find out. I wasn't any good, but it was a way of getting what was going through my head out.

Two hours passed quickly, and I hummed along to my music as I painted. After finishing, I rolled my desk chair back, coming to stare tiredly at my work. It wasn't the best I'd ever done, but it had calmed me down enough from talking to Thomas about Leo. I began cleaning off my brushes as the final product dried.

Startlingly, a knock sounded at my door.

I turned quickly, the 'oh shit' moment dawning on me. In that moment, I think, I realized I really didn't want anyone to know what I did in my free time. I fumbled to shut off my music and walked over to the door. I barely opened it a crack before saying, "What do you want?"

Before me stood Prince. Shirtless and wearing only a pair of sweatpants, his hair was a mess and he had the slightest hint of bags under his eyes. "It's two in the morning!" he whisper-yelled. "Are you so against sleeping that you need to play your music so loudly?  You're going to wake up Thomas, which means you're going to wake everyone up."

I instantly wanted to curl in on myself, and I tightened my hand on the doorknob. "Is that all...?" I questioned, my breath seeming to flee even when I couldn't.

He seemed to notice. "What are you up to, anyway?"

The question caught me off guard. I furrowed my brows and looked up at him. "Come again?"

"I mean," he began to reason, "you're obviously not working since Patton put Thomas to bed at a decent time tonight. So... whatcha doin'?"

Please leave, I silently begged. "Nothing.  I—I was just listening to music and reading."

"What are you—"

"You wouldn't like it." The sooner he left, the sooner I would be able to hide the painting with the others.

He rolled his eyes and shoved past me.

"What the hell?" I yelled before quickly shutting myself up.

"Come on. You're always hiding in here. It can't be that great being alone." He sat down on my bed, and I rolled my eyes at him. He scanned my room, and his eyes landed on the gray-ish brown water in the glass on my desk.

Shit. Shit. Quick, think of a way out of this! Distract him! Do something, you dumbass!