Empathy [Josh Dun - Twenty One Pilots]

FØURTEEN

The alarm clock went off at 7am sharp. With a grunt, Joshua rolled in bed and reached out his hand to turn it off, cursing softly under his breath. That damn thing was too loud, and his head was pounding. If the teenager boy knew what it felt like to be hangover, he would probably have regretted drinking so much last night, swearing he would ban any alcoholic beverage for the rest of his life. But Josh had never drank alcohol - except for the few gulps of wine when his mom wasn't looking - and he wasn't about to start.

Instead, and despite already feeling sick the day before, he had spent all evening and a small part of the night trying to make his Gift work like it was supposed to. He had gathered every single picture of Mark he owned - and that wasn't many - and thought of every memory, good or bad, he had had with him. He had focused, focused, focused, so much that his vision had felt blurry at some point from closing his eyes too tight for too long. Oh, he had felt things, that was for sure. But Josh suspected the smiles and feelings of joy were just the remnants of a friendship he never realized he had missed.

With his head throbbing, Josh got ready for school. He could have asked his mom to stay home again, but he didn't want her to worry too much. Moreover, he sensed that maybe a day at school, where Mark used to be every day as well, might help his research. Who knew? Maybe someone else there had something to hide, or knew something about Mark that Josh didn't. Josh just hoped he would be able to focus enough despite the migraine that was threatening his well-being.

The headache didn't disappear, though, and when he reached the school full of troubled teenagers that were just thinking too much, it only accentuated. Josh felt like an old radio buzzing with white noise, unable to reach a frequency that would give him a proper sound of what was going on around here. Automatically, Josh raised his hands to his temple, a way to ease the pain, but as he was crossing the alley towards the main entrance, he felt something.

Stopping dead in his tracks, he looked around, scrutinizing every face he would come across, until he reached a group of friends, standing in a circle on the right corner of the door. His old group of friends, Ethan the tallest of them all. The boy, usually kind of a show off, was weirdly quiet this morning, hiding behind dark sunglasses despite the cold December air. Squinting his eyes, Josh noticed the bruises on his chin, the swollen bottom lip, and suspected the shades were yet another tool to hide wounds from a fight.

As if feeling Josh's eyes on him, Ethan turned his head towards him, and Josh knew he was looking right into his eyes, despite the blackness of his glasses. Josh knew, because he felt. A massive wave of fear and pain crashed into him, pushing him back a little. While he stumbled, flashes popped behind his eyelids, puzzle pieces mixed together in the wrong order.

Darkness. Dust on feet. Abandoned warehouses. Uncomfortableness. Fear. Adrenaline rush. Boys running around, as fast as their feet could carry them, most likely to avoid something. Run. Faster, faster! Fear. Fear fear fear and Josh was back in his own skin. 

Fear left his body as quickly as it entered, leaving room for a feeling just as strong and destroying: anger. Josh could feel the blood running up to his head, burning his skin under the weight of wrath coursing through his veins. Clenching his fists in an attempt to control his anger rush, Josh started walking, then jogging towards who used to be his best friends, pushing other people along the way and not even apologizing. He didn't have time for that. 

Ethan saw him coming, even if he didn't know what exactly enticed Josh to do so. They weren't friends anymore. He didn't see the angry vein pumping on the side of his forehead, or the fists clenching so hard on themselves, turning Josh's knuckles as white as snow. He did see stars, though, when Josh pushed him back against the wall with such strength it whooshed the air out of his lungs.