Bed Sheets II

21. Never laid a hand

Draven had not spoken to anyone. The moment the reportage was seen, he barricaded himself into his office and did not exit.

Miranda stood in front of his door, folding his arms and staring at the sign beside the door with his name on it. He had been terribly strong these past five years, having paused his romantic side and waited for Eric to return. Not only had he returned with a fiancé, but he had played with his feelings again and made the relationship they once had a complete joke.

And his mind kept repeating the words Eric had said to him the night they had been together.

Just love me endlessly like you always have.

He gritted his teeth.

Just love me endlessly like you always have.

Another shot of whiskey stung his throat.

Just love me endlessly like you always have.

He threw his glass of whiskey against the wall and it shattered.

Draven remained alone for the entire day, and nobody knew if he had ever left his office. The next morning, his door was locked, and when they knocked, there was no response. Even when they headed to his home, the door was locked—it was never locked prior to that day—and as much as they rang the doorbell, it did not seem to annoy him enough to open the door.

Draven's day were spent twirling in his bed, shuffling from end to end and occasionally storming to his feet to rip apart his next furniture victim. He threw his dresser onto the ground, broken his lamp, trashed his computer, broken his desk in half—his entire room was a nightmare. Nonetheless, he remained locked the entire day, and no reporter had gotten the chance to interview him since he kept himself shadowed within the darkness of his bedroom.

He did replenish his bottle of whiskey whenever it ran out, and whenever he was hungry he grabbed a quick bowl of cereal. Other than that, Draven did not exit his bedroom. Not even to write, and he was past multiple deadlines that his editors bombarded his cell phone about. He even failed to respond to the Chancellor who left numerous voicemails promising that they were going to take care of the news, and that they needed him to return.

At least something to let them know he was alright.

There was one person though that had been terribly worried that she could not avoid this any longer. She was the only one with a spare key to his home, and entering the back door quietly, she stealthily reached his bedroom door. She knew he would hide if he had heard her footsteps earlier, but the moment she knocked on his bedroom door, it was much too late for him to find a hiding place.

"I'm coming in," she said from the other side, and Draven grumbled curses under his breath, remembering that he had given her a spare key years ago.

She was horrified by the sight she witnessed; all was destroyed except his bed. It seemed as if a hurricane had passed by the room, empty whiskey bottles covering the floor and he groaned, as if the light from the hallway had been too bright, "Close the door."

She stepped over the bottles and the damaged furniture, making her way to his bed and exhaling a long sigh. She sat at the edge of his bed, and was moments from placing his cup of coffee on the bedside table until she realized that had been destroyed as well.

"I thought I fired you," Draven mumbled, his face under the covers.

Sophie tilted her head, seeing his form under the sheets and she reached for the top, pulling it without feeling any resistance. The minute she saw his face, she thought he heart had shattered in pieces—he was broken. His eyes had dark circles hanging from them, swollen and red as if he hadn't stopped crying for days. His hair was greasy and disheveled, and wrinkles had formed on his skin, as if he had aged five years in literally four days.

She felt sorry for him, even though she said she would never return to him even if he asked for her back, but that was a man she had been around for over ten years, and there was no way she wouldn't be by his side in his moment in need.

"From my job—you can't fire me from being your friend." She extended her hand, "I brought you coffee, D."

"I'm alright," Draven sniffed, sitting upwards in his bed. She noticed his fingers were shaking, and he was struggling to even breath, as if he was seconds from bursting into sobs.

Sophie tilted her head, "I'm here for you, you know that."

Draven shook his head, lowering his eyes. He had not spoken about it out loud yet, and frankly he didn't think he was ready to. The emotional heartbreak, the gut-wrenching pain he felt in the pits of his chest from hearing that news reportage, was an anguish he wished none to have to experience. It felt as if there was something eating his skin raw and he was unable to pull it off. As if there was an itch inside his chest that he was unable to stop.

He had never been hurt like this, not even when Eric left, and Sophie had tears in her eyes while merely observing him.

"Draven," Sophie placed his coffee on the floor and moved closer to him, "you can talk to me about it. I can't read your mind, and holding it inside of you isn't going to help you. You need to get back on your feet, and talking about it will help you."

Draven sniffed, staring at his quivering fingers playing with the edge of his blanket and he pulled it closer to him. It was clearly difficult to begin to express how he was feeling, but he felt comfortable around Sophie.

"It's just," he paused for a moment, shaking his head and turning away, exhaling a long strenuous sigh. "It's just...I never laid a single hand on him, Sophie."

"I know you didn't."

"Yes, maybe I have said some rude stuff about him..." Draven's bottom lip began quivering and he inhaled a sharp breath before continuing, "b-but it was...b-back and forth."

Sophie leaned towards him, "I know buddy."

"I could never lay a hand on him, ever." Draven's eyes had overfilled with tears in barely a second, and Sophie reached over to him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. "All I did was love him, Soph. I'm not saying I'm perfect but...I don't deserve this heartbreak. How could he say those things about me?"

"Come here," she breathed quietly, feeling his forehead lower onto her shoulder and he burst into sobs. She massaged his back smoothly, sniffing herself before whispering a few times, "It'll be okay."