My Art Book

His Friend's Emails

Virgil tossed and turned in his bed, restless and feeling anxiety gripping his heart with its icy claws, nausea tearing at his gut. 

He squeezed his eyes closed, hoping that if he didn't see the monsters they wouldn't exist, but they were behind his eyelids and invading his mind. Letting out a small whimper, he curled further into himself under the covers of his bed.

Where he was safe.

Where he thought he was safe, the demon whispers came. 

He pressed a pillow over his mouth so that nobody heard the small, panicked whines he kept echoing, bouncing back in his head, then coming out of his mouth. 

I just want it to stop, he thought desperately, trying not to cry. He would not cry. 

His roommate ducked her head into the room, one eyebrow raised-- Jani. "Hey, you doing alright?" she asked, tucking a strand of white-blonde hair behind her ear. "I heard something crying like a wounded dog and I knew it had to be you." She laughed, each high-pitched giggle cutting deep into Virgil's lungs. 

"G-go away," he whispered, grabbing fistfuls of the blankets and squeezing his fists, his entire body tensing and rippling with every dark, dangerous feeling he felt. 

She whistled. "Alright, but feel free to join the party, girl," she hissed, a twisted smile on his face. 

Feeling a jolt of fury, burning white-hot and venomous, Virgil sat straight up and reached for whatever he could find-- a sharp piece of glass, a picture frame, a sketchbook-- and hurled it at Jani. 

Jani let out a scream and ducked behind the door, slamming it closed, the sound making Virgil's legs feel numb. "You're crazy!" she yelled. "Just a crazy bitch who thinks she wants a dick!"

He made a muffled, pained whimper and clawed at his arm, his long nails scratching at his soft skin and echoing the agonizing thump-thump-thud of his heart. 

Then, with a flicker of memory, he glanced over at his laptop. The screen was open, blue light shining into the room. Books were stacked around the computer, thick volumes with worn covers and open sketchbooks flipped to pages filled with watercolor drawings, messy sketches, and absent doodles. 

Getting slowly out of his bed, Virgil walked over to his chair, his breath seizing in his chest and his cheeks flushed from the effort from not crying. He brushed strands of his dark hair back from his face and slipped into his seat, smiling quietly, sadly at the open Emails on the bright screen. 

Hey, Virgil!

I miss you. You haven't come by in a while. My parents visited recently, though, so that's really cool! They bought me a snow globe, I think it's from the gift shop, but I'm not sure. Where are you?

-P

Virgil!

You visited again! I'm sorry I was asleep, that must've been weird for you. You finally come by, and boom the reason you're there is asleep! Awkward. Anyways, I hope I can see you again. You're fun to talk to, and I hope I'm pretty cool too, even if I'm asleep.  

Thank you for the lilies, by the way, they're super pretty. How'd you know they were my favorite flower? I can't water them, of course, but it's nice to have something to look at instead of the weird faces Cory keeps making at me. 

-P

Virgil, 

I just wanted to say I had a super-fun time when you visited yesterday and watered the lilies! It's awesome to have someone to talk to, and I'm sorry I can't do much with you. I miss being able to hug you and talk to you during lunch at school and chat in the hallways. I miss life, really. 

But I miss you more. 

Wow, that was kind of cheesy, wasn't it? Anyway, you've kind of become the best part of my day right now. I look forward to your visits, and I like thinking about what we'll talk about. Well, what you'll talk about. I don't have much in my life right now, do I?

-P

Hi again, Virgil!

How are you doing? I've actually been feeling better! The pain has, somewhat, been getting a lot less awful. I might be able to visit you pretty soon! Imagine that, haha!

But I'd really like you to visit. The lilies haven't been getting watered, no matter how often I ask Cory to do it for me. I want to see you again. Please?

-P

Virgil,

When was the last time you visited? You haven't answered any of my Emails lately. Did I do something wrong? I'm sorry if I made you feel bad or if I hurt your feelings, I really didn't mean to. 

Recently, Cory's been giving me these looks like she feels sorry for me. I'm getting nervous, Virgil. What does that mean? I've been feeling worse and worse, but I didn't want to worry you. I'm sorry I didn't tell you. Please talk to me, you're literally my only friend-- or at least, the only friend that will come and visit me. 

P.S.

The lilies wilted. I'm sorry. I wish I could have taken care of them. 

Virgil,

Please come. I'm feeling awful these days. I really miss you. I can't move at all, Cory has to write these Emails for you. 

I just want to see you again. 

Please, I'm begging you. You haven't come in so long-- did I do something wrong? I'm sorry if I did, I just want to talk. Please at least answer my Emails. 

I really miss you, Virgil. 

-P

Virgil didn't realize he was crying until a drop landed on the keyboard, leaking off of the 'P' key and getting between the letters. His shoulders shaking, he smeared the tears off, feeling guilt spearing him in his stomach. 

The tears kept coming, then, dripping out of his eyes and down his chin. Ugly crying. The kind he hated the most, the kind that made him feel weak, because he was weak, and nothing was working. 

He wasn't even there for his friend. 

Collapsing, crumbling into himself, he let his head drop into his hands and the agonizing tears spill. Sobs wracked his body, filling him like a dark, black, coal-stained fog that dripped and oozed over him and covered him from head to foot. 

Virgil whimpered. Nobody would hear him, anyway. Nobody wanted to. 

He reached with trembling hands into the stack of papers, trying to find something to tear apart, something to make him feel better, some canvas of pain and tears and salt-soaked memories. 

Pulling one out, he tore it in two without bothering to check what it was-- what difference would it make anyway? He couldn't feel any worse. 

But when he looked down at the ripped piece of paper, another knife soaked in dread and agonized guilt tore right through his heart. He felt like he was falling into a hole, a deep, dark pit filled with nothing but the monsters that ripped him apart every night. 

A beautiful, sweet watercolor painting of his friend, golden curls falling prettily around happily flushed cheeks, pale tan skin, and honey-brown freckles. Round, light blue glasses surrounding warm eyes like melted chocolate, and a smile that could light up anybody's day. 

His friend. 

His only friend. 

His friend he had fallen in love with, the friend he had kissed. 

His friend who had died, slowly, in the hospital while Virgil was crying at home because he was too scared to watch. 

His friend who's final Email had begged him to come. 

His friend named Patton.