Misanthrope

15

I have been laying in bed next to Chase for the past hour waiting for him to wake up.

It's currently 2:30 pm. After a long night of restless sleep while replaying realistic and unrealistic scenarios in my head I managed to squeeze in a total of two hours of sleep.

I cried a lot.

Surprise.

I cried so much my head started to hurt and I felt so physically and emotionally drained that my body would give out and I would have the amazing sleep I usually do after a long crying session.

But it seems like last night wasn't my night and the depression gods didn't want anything going my way.

I spent the night overthinking, one of the most common symptoms of anxiety.

Fun.

Maybe if I got completely shit faced drunk and so high that I can't form a proper sentence, my body will get so heavy that I can't stand and my mind so clouded that I can't think.

I decide that I'm not going to fall asleep anytime soon and judging by how shallow Chase's breathing is, he won't be waking anytime soon, so I carefully unwrap myself from his warm embrace.

I stretch out my body when I stand up from the bed and find myself feeling satisfied at the feeling and sound of my joints cracking.

I walk into the bathroom and cringe at the sight of myself in the mirror.

My hair is tangly, my eye bags have their own bags and are puffy and red, and my skin is sickly pale.

Stripping down to nothing but my skin I run a quick shower utilising the nice smelling shower products Chase buys.

The man always smells like a million fucking dollars. Maybe that's one of the reasons I can stand being around him all the time.

I love him really.

After my shower I peer out of the bathroom door to make sure Chase is okay. He's had it rough for a long time and last night definitely wouldn't have helped.

When I look out at his bed I see him sitting up with his head in his hands rather then his sleeping form.

My heart shatters a little bit more than it already is at the sight of him. I hate seeing him like this.

I'm so used to him bottling up his emotions around me. Like I do around him. We have some sort of unspoken mutual agreement not to pressure each other into talking.

The only bad thing about it is, is that neither of us ever want to talk about it. It leads me to creating art work on my arms and Chase to go on week long benders.

If you think I have a drug problem, think again. Chase has it bad.

I secure the black towel I have wrapped around me a bit tighter and make my way over to the bed. I sit down next to Chase and lean into him.

I guess it's my way of letting him know that he isn't alone and that I'm here for him without saying it. He already knows.

We sit like that for a long time. So long that I can tell my hair was nearly fully air dried.

"Can we go out tonight?" Chase speaks up for the first time since he woke up. His voice is raspy and hoarse. He's been crying silently.

"Where to?" I ask. I'm not about to say no, he needs me right now.

"There's a party tonight at another seniors house" he replies with his head still down.

"Are you sure you're up for it?" I ensure.