Warning: Reader's discretion is advised. Described graphics and suicidal tendencies.
Thanks to all my readers, and sorry for a late update, enjoy. :)
All goes well for the day. Our afternoon is boring and the tension dies after we eat breakfast. Danial and I share the couch for most of the afternoon, but I make sure to keep my distance. I don't do touching and I most definitely avoid any sort of bonding. My body is wedged up against the arm. Tingles is sprawled out contentedly in the space between us, his back paws and tail resting on my lap. Danial pretends to read a newspaper for a little while, using it as a shield for his peering eyes. I pretend to read a Shakespeare novel as I attempt to read his mind.
But I'm unsuccessful, he keeps it under lock and key. Most people keep there minds open, for all onlookers to see, and some put up weak walls that collapse with some nudging, but none are this difficult. He has a wall of iron and strength has never been my best suite.
He stands up, shaking me out of my mind palace, and leans back, cracking his spine.
"Sooo," he says," I have to go to work, I start in fifteen."
"Yeah, I clean the city streets. It's a poor paying job when there are no messes," he laughs a forced laugh, gripping his neck," But uh, it pays the bills."
Maybe I won't tell him where my income stems from. "You got to do what ya got to do."
He walks over and scruffs up my hair, receiving too much joy from it. I scowl which somehow adds to his obnoxious grin. " That you do. What do you do?"
"I...," I look to the room for inspiration, spotting nothing but the window, " ...sew curtains."
He looks as dumbfounded as I feel. I start blushing and a look of apology crosses his face. He thinks he's upset me! All I'm thinking about is what idiot makes a lucrative career in the art of curtain creation. I'm glad I'm not trying to earn this man's respect.
"That's cool! You should make us some, I'm sure it would add a real comforting feel to the place." His face is lit up with pride and he rest his hands firmly on his hips.
"We'll see. There's a big demand for curtians these days. I may not have time." God, I hate myself.
"Well; I better get going."
Yes, I agree, please go. I watch the man grab his tattered shoes and make for the door.
He left at ten in the morning, it hit me at eleven. I can't explain the pain, because I don't understand it. One moment I feel wonderful and within thirty seconds I ache to see red.
The bathroom is small and I don't know where in the house it's located, because I don't remember finding it. I can only concentrate now on the boy in the mirror. Not a man, a man wouldn't be depressed and weak, he would understand his emotions. I, on the other hand don't get them, nor do I try to.
I want to see one colour. And I will.
I didn't bring any razors, which would be a luxury, instead I have a steak knife. It'll hurt more.
My face is blushed and I'm breathing hard, my vision being swarmed with globs of grey from dizziness. My shirt transfers from my body to the floor. I'm hot and need release. Once the crying begins, I lift the knife to my abdomen.
I get just over an hour of street sweeping in, and that's really stretching it. I pretend there's more dirt and misplaced rubbage than there is. The truth is the people of the city are polite and clean, making my career fruitless. Unless there's a super.
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Not So SuperRomance
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