Bed Sheets II

74. We'll Be Alright

It had been a week since the incident, and Kyle had been imprisoned until his hearing. Draven had not been allowed to return to work since the Chancellor refused to let him in the building.

"You need some time off after that—count it as paid vacation. Go wherever you want, do whatever you want, but you need a break from this place," he had shouted within the phone before hanging up.

Therefore, he was stuck at his home; all the editors had work and needed to head into the office, each working on different chapters, designs and refining of several novels from the twenty Draven had completed. As for Draven, he spent hours typing with on his computer several ideas that ran through his mind and attempting to make an online visual of what he would have been able to draw if it hadn't been for the injury to his arm. He had also been trying to improve his left hand, but his writing looked like scribbles from a child.

And although he always smiled whenever the others came by to visit, and told everyone he was absolutely fine, the truth was that he had laid in under his covers for hours, quietly sobbing onto his pillow for no one to hear.

It was one of these hard days where reality was beginning to settle and he again laid in his master bedroom, the doors shut and the lights turned off. For hours, he cried and cried, wishing that he could go back in time and never attend the stupid press conference, or that he had been told about the writings Kyle had posted online. It wasn't fair that he had been ripped away from his talents, and it was beginning to hurt him when he had new ideas forming in his head and he was unable to draw them.

But that one day, he heard knocks on his bedroom door, and it slowly pushed open. "Draven? Are you home?"

He hadn't heard anyone enter the house, and he gripped the edge of his blanket and pulled it over his head, "Please leave—"

"Draven," Eric approached him with urgence, "What are you doing?"

"Leave me alone," his voice coiled, and Eric could see his shoulders shaking from underneath the blanket.

Instantly, he exhaled a long sigh and bit his bottom lip. It was beginning to settling in, and Eric really needed to be there for him to help him get through the tough realization that he most likely would never be able to draw again, and never release any original work anymore.

Eric tilted his head and cooed, "Make space for me?"

Although Draven had asked to be alone, he still shuffled over to make enough room for Eric to lay down. Then, he pulled the blanket upwards for Eric to crawl underneath, and then he turned away, scooting towards the wall and leaving a space between Eric and himself.

That was when Eric noticed the pillow, "It's all soaked—how long have you been crying for?"

"I don't know," Draven muffled, and Eric heard sniffling.

"Baby," he reached for him, "it'll be okay—"

"No it's not going to be," he instantly exclaimed, his muscles stiffening, "this isn't something we can just fix, Eric. It won't help to go to the gym or stop drinking, this is me waiting for my body to return to normal and I can't do nothing about it." He shook his head, "I have to fucking describe the images in my head for someone else to draw—that doesn't make them mine anymore."

"Yes, they still are—"

"And what if whoever I hire, can't draw exactly like I want it?"

Eric sighed, "We'll hire someone that'll replicate exactly what you want."

"But that's not...my work anymore Eric? Do you understand that?" He turned to face him, "I usually have the best ideas through sleepless nights; am I supposed to believe whoever I hire will stay awake with me until dawn?"

"Yes," Eric reassured, "Yes, that'll be in the job description. They can live here and they are on-call; they'll need to wake up as soon as you have an idea—"

"No, that's not what I wanted to hear."

Eric shuffled forward, placing an arm around Draven and cuddling tightly against him. Shortly after, he felt Draven hands slowly crawl around his lower waist and tightly squeeze him into his body. Draven's eyes were swollen, the navy appearing black and he continuously wiped his nose. Eric wished he could have taken the injury for him, since seeing Draven going through these emotions was heartbreaking.

"Draven, we'll work it out, alright?"

"What if...I start getting hate for not publishing my own original work anymore—"

"You're not going to. Even if you do, you've gotten hate so many times before and you're still one of the top leading authors in the country." Eric grinned at him, "We'll be fine, alright?"

Draven sighed, but slowly nodded his head, "Okay."