Why I Run {Prinxiety} - Book One of Why I Run Series

Chapter Twenty-Six

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Point of View: Virgil, First Person
Timeline: Present Day (how long have y'all be waitin' for this lol)

It's been a week.

It's been the longest week of my life, and I'd be willing to bet on it. 

I hadn't slept at all in the past 48 hours, and I'd only gotten maybe collectively three hours of broken sleep the 72 hours before that. And that was when Patton made me go to sleep - at the end of Roman's bed, giving me a pillow and blanket. And then I had to wake up every fifteen minutes and hover outside Roman's room to prevent corruption (this whole corruption thing was just flat out annoying now). Everyone - everyone being Logan - thought it best that Roman stayed in his own room, might it help him heal – if healing was even possible.

The heart is a funny thing; it is not easily healed after being broken.

Not that I could sleep anyway with all these worried thoughts bouncing around my head, but I appreciated Patton's attempts.

I was hardly upright at this point (I didn't need to fill in the eye shadow under my eyes, just for an idea). But I had to try one more thing before I resigned myself to waiting for the best or the inevitable.

This was my Hail Mary.

This was my closing trick, my final card, my last shot. After this, I had nothing left.

I hesitantly shifted my guitar, personalized so that the body and neck were black with purple frets. An acoustic, with the ability to be plugged up to an amp if I ever desired (I hadn't yet, I did not want to test to walls of the Mind Palace to see how thick they were). The black strap pressed tightly on my shoulder, as if to give me its own comforting hug.

The guitar was a beautiful instrument, one that I've always liked, even before I knew how to play it. Over the years, I had perfected the art of playing it, at least half-decently, but this was the first time I would ever play FOR anyone else.

The pressure and anxiety of it was enough to make my hands tremble with nerves.

And my audience can't even hear me.

I closed my eyes tightly and slowed my breathing, fighting to calm myself.

It was one of the reasons I started playing it to begin with. It helped prevent some anxiety attacks.  Music was always helped.  That's why I always carry my headphones... among other reasons.  And playing the guitar requires control - something I lack during the attacks. 

Now, it was almost natural for me to go to my guitar when I was feeling a bit overwhelmed, finding sanity in strings and a beautiful hunk of dark wood.

"You better not just be lying there, eyes shut on me," I spat out suddenly, shaking my head to let my bangs fall in front of my face.  "I swear if this is just some big ploy to hear me play I will literally kill you myself,"I paused for a moment, giving him a moment to respond if he was indeed going to.

Roman didn't move.

Big surprise.

I gently slid my hands up the neck of my guitar and braced myself for baring my soul out. A song I had written for Roman since our fight-

I let out a long, hard exhale of frustration, my bangs lifting a little from the the force of it. I just needed to stop stalling already. The beginning is the hardest part, I reminded myself silently. Once you start you'll be on your way.