SLEEPSONG (BoyxBoy)✔️

Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty-Three

After Tiffany escorted me back to my room, I numbly connected the cords to my gaming consoles and set them on the dresser in a row since there was no television for me to hook them up to. She stood by the wall, watching me with discomfort apparent on her face.

Not that I could see it.

Even though I was focused on what I was doing, it was completely robotic and numb. My eyes were still blurred over and streaming tears, my nose clogged with snot, but I didn't make a sound or utter another sob. I simply arranged my consoles perfectly, as if on a display.

Next, I put my games on the nearest empty shelf I could find, and then I simply stared dumbly at my clothes, looking at the tatters of old, well-worn fabric that had once been mine. If they hadn't been so destroyed, I would have been putting them away.

I couldn't, though.

There was no place for them in the world now that they were broken.

Kind of like my heart.

"Hey," Tiffany murmured from behind me. "Are you... like, okay?"

The question almost made me burst into a fit of hysterical crying laughter. 

Who wouldn't crazy laugh, though? My heart had been ripped out right in front of me not even ten minutes ago, and nobody cared because I apparently deserved it for being what I was, a vampire, which was something I had never even wanted or asked to be in the first place.

"Yeah," I said, not turning around. "I'm fine. I'd like to be alone, though."

"Are you sure?" she asked, sounding thoroughly uncertain. "Look, what Richard did was--"

"Go away," I whispered, hanging my head as the urge to sob came back. "Please. Just go away."

I heard nothing behind me aside from a sigh and the rustling of cloth, followed by a click. 

A glance revealed that I was alone, and that my door was shut.

One second, I was just standing there... the next, I was having a mental breakdown. I wasn't proud of it, but I don't think my reaction was inappropriate considering the circumstances. I cried, I screamed, I lay down on the bed and sobbed and gibbered and otherwise made a fool of myself—and then when my eyes physically couldn't produce any more tears, I got up, brushed myself off, and went back to work sorting through my destroyed clothes. 

Crying wouldn't solve anything, but my sister, Kim, had always been fond of adding a certain caveat: "it sure as hell makes a person feel better."

As I tossed my ruined clothes into a growing pile on the floor, I busied my mind with asking questions to fill the void. What day was it and what time was it? My phone hadn't turned on once and the charger was refusing to work properly, so I had no idea, and I didn't own a watch, and this room didn't have any windows to reveal the time of night. 

I should've asked Kyle before—

Before—

I promptly had another breakdown. So much for getting back to work.

When my eyes went dry and grimy, skin tight like I'd dehydrated myself by crying, I forced myself to calm down and focused on what needed to happen next. I was stuck here, alone, with nothing but my shortest shorts and the oversized sweater on my back. 

I needed a stiff drink. Or to sleep for a week. 

Whichever came first, I wouldn't be picky. 

Once I was finished throwing my clothes into the garbage pile, I had nothing else to do, so I turned to pacing instead. I couldn't sit idly, I couldn't, not after what had happened, because if I sat still I'd be crushed under the weight of my own emotions.