Always Is Not Forever (Breaking Myself - Part II)

13. The One Where I Cut

"Hey," He whispered.

I didn't answer.

"Don't close me."

I said nothing.

"I'm here."

I felt crazy. I felt as if everyone was right. My mind felt confused.

"Talk to me."

How would I explain myself or the feelings rushing through me? What to say and what not?

"Where it hurts?"

"Everywhere," I clenched. "Too much, but it feels empty as well. What's happening?"

"Tired?"

I nodded a bit. "Too much."

"Want me to touch you?"

I shook my head. "I feel tired. Everything is so tiring." I gazed at the words of the book. "You shouldn't see this, Kabir."

"I need to," He whispered with a small smile.

"I hate this room paint," I said out of nowhere. "It's too depressing."

He frowned slightly. "Want to change?"

"Not now. I feel tired and crazy," I stared at my hand, laying beside me casually. "What should I do?"

"Rest." He caressed his knuckles against my cheek. "Sleep. Everything will be okay when you'll wake up."

I shook my hand, moving my hand to rub it against my bed sheet. "I'll break the dream."

He didn't speak for a second. "What dream?"

"Everything." I met his eyes. "I'm in a dream, isn't it? He would come later, shaking me off and telling me I'm his toy to enjoy and practice," I muttered without flinching.

A dream. I was in a dream of happy things because happiness didn't exist in my life. All of them were snatched away, and I was living on the tiny crumbs of what felt life.

"You're in reality, bookworm," He whispered gently. "And you need sleep. I'll be here when you'll wake up."

"Promise he won't come?" I clutched the bedsheet under my hands. "Because he always does."

"He won't come." He withdrew his hand. "You can clutch my hand if you want. I'll be here."

Hesitating, I placed my hand on top of his and curled against it. I felt the book being taken from beneath my cheek as I closed my eyes.

"Sleep. Rest."

And I drifted to another dream, to another crazy part of mine and everything hurt the same.

Feeling a weight against my eyes, I fluttered my eyes open and gazed around the room. When my inspection was done, I placed it on the pair of hazel eyes staring at me with a soft smile. Inching down, I found our hands were tied together in the same way when he had spent the night in my room, sleeping on the chair.

"What's happening?" I asked. "What are you doing here?" I sat up on the bed, stealing my hand from the top of his.

And as I stared at my hand, I was reminded of the morning. The tiredness, the hurt grasping my heart and the crazy thoughts going through my mind.

I placed my hand on my forehead, sighing and cursing. He shouldn't have seen that state of mine when everything felt too dull and my soul felt too tired to even leave the bed.

"I-I-"

"No need," He said, leaning against the headboard. "Still tired?"

"No." I peered at my hands, the sign of his printed over it. "Why you came back?"