Between the Lines

We Cry

The maroon tufts of the carpet below him sifted through his bare feet, tickling the space between his toes. The usual feelings of delight that the soft material normally brought to him didn’t come, though. He couldn’t feel it. He glanced around the small room, noting every detail that hit his eyes. Every crack in the walls seemed to jump out at him, every story they held bombarded his memory. He walked past the wooden chair that he remembered building with him as child. The legs were horribly uneven and tended to tilt to the left side. He had also painted the lacquer unevenly so the random dark and light spots seemed more prominent in the light. It was a shitty chair, to say the least. But he kept it. Even after all these years, it hadn’t moved an inch from when he first saw it being placed there. The prideful smile that he had given him as he did so started to fade into his eyes as he struggled to push it away. He carefully placed himself at the edge of the bed. The white comforter fit to him perfectly; he vaguely remembered it being incredibly soft to the touch. His mother had boasted about its 1000 thread count to him many, many times as a child. But as he ran his hand carefully over the material now, he couldn’t really feel how soft it was. It didn’t feel like anything to him. Was it really that great? He frowned to himself as he looked to the left of him.

There resting carefully on the nightstand beside their bed was a wooden photo frame. He didn’t move, though. He just stared at it. He stared at it for the longest time, not letting a single word escape his pink lips. The photo displayed a young man dressed in simple blue jeans and a black t-shirt. His hair was windblown, telling him that it was a breezy day. He had his arms wrapped adoringly around an even younger man, his right hand gripping his shoulder. The child was the carbon-copy of the older of the two, with the same dark hair and eyes. It wasn’t evident at the time, but they would also eventually have the same height as well. The only difference between the two was the shape of their smiles. The older had a crooked kind of grin with the right side turned upwards while the latter had a full-blown grin, his pearly whites shining past his pale pink lips. Despite the physical differences, the driving force between them was the same. Pure joy. They were happy.

His hand moved to reach out to it, shaking in the process. His fingers were about to touch it when it ended up just knocking against his fingernail, crashing to the ground in response. Great, just another thing that had gone wrong in his life. He clenched his fists together, his nails digging painfully into his skin, but he didn’t stop. He stared at the down-faced frame, glaring at it to just move back to its original spot.

He couldn’t see him anymore. Why couldn’t he just see him anymore?! His chest started to heave unnaturally, his breath laboring. He was beginning to hyperventilate, but there was nothing he could do about it. He squeezed his eyes shut, but he didn’t even know why he did it in the first place. He leaned down towards his knees, placing his head between them, pressing his palms to his eyes. He growled at himself, the tension running through the length of his body. What the fuck was happening to him right now? He couldn’t even begin to describe what was happening to him right now. Why couldn’t he feel anything he touched? Why did it feel like the world had lost a color? Why did it feel like something inside him had been crushed?

“FUUCK!” He cried, jumping up and knocking down the lamp that was standing on the nightstand next to him.

He ignored it as it crashed against the wall, causing yet another crack. Blood red was blinding his vision as he stood up and just glared. Glared at everything around him. What the hell was he feeling?

“FUCK THIS BULLSHIT,” he screamed, again as he stalked towards another innocent object in the room, ready to destroy it.

Why did he want to knock everything down to the ground? It wasn’t like he was mad or anything. He clawed helplessly at his chest, noticing something rumbling underneath his skin. It was so uncomfortable and all he wanted was to just rid himself of it. He would gladly take a knife to his chest just to make it go away. He was breathing heavily once again, his hair looking completely disheveled now.