You're In Awfully Early {Septiplier}

Just Too Restless

Felix tosses in bed, flipping from his back to his side to his stomach. He fluffs his pillow, shoving his face back into the soft mass. His eyelids droop, but still, he can't fall asleep.

He sprawls out across the empty bed, wondering when Marzia will join him, if she will at all. She's been pouring herself into her work, only leaving her office for the occasional nap and bathroom break. She'll ease her work load when this weekend is over, only to return back to her grind when another fashion show creeps onto the horizon.

Felix scoots towards the center of the bed, wrapping himself in the multitude of blankets. Marzia and he don't normally cuddle but having her warmth in bed helps him sleep. He never was able to sleep well alone, but the thought of PAX has his mind racing more than usual.

He checked the line up for PAX half a dozen times, but yet the right grip of anxiety squeezes his lungs. Sighing, he props himself up on his elbow and turns on his bedside lamp, grabbing the book resting there. He's nearly all the way through his latest self help book, a stack of ones he's already read stuffed below his nightstand.

He's reading through Dealing With Your Emotions: Internalized and In Control. His nimble fingers gently turn the pages, interested hum vibrating his throat every few sentences. Taking a highlighter in his hand, he pulls the cap off with his teeth before drawing a yellow streak across an impactful line. When he finishes reading, he'll flips through the pages, trying to memorize the important messages through the highlights.

Even in the face of adversity, keep yourself calm, cool, and collected. Have quiet time to understand your negative emotions, and when you feel like you can face these problems calmly, return to the issue.

He yawns wide, rubbing his eyes. Putting the book down again, he slips the highlighter between the pages to save his spot. With a flick of his fingers, the room returns to darkness. He stretches out on his back, sinking into the mountain of pillows at the head of the bed.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he tries to quiet his racing mind. He sighs, allowing his thoughts to drift to the coming days. His throat feels dry at the thought of returning to America, facing another PAX. He's nervous to see Mark again, afraid his own temper will flare.

PAX has too many memories, years of secrets swirling around his head. His thoughts grow loud, years of conversations flying through his brain. Guilt settles on his heart, wondering if it is time to confess his sins to Marzia. He never could admit it to her, look into her deep brown eyes and admit that he has spent so many night staring into softer ones.

His skin itches with anxiety, but he remembers his self help books, rolling to the edge of his bed to dig through the stack beneath his night stand. He pulls a worn one from the mass, the first one he read years ago, turning on the lamp again. Flipping quickly through the pages, his blue eyes flicker across highlighted paragraphs until he finds the one he's after.

The best way to deal with intrusive memories is to follow them through start to finish. Allow yourself to relive the time, and use this as an opportunity to learn. Ask yourself "why do I keep returning to this moment of weakness?". Ask yourself "what do I stand to learn from this lapse in judgement?".

Felix drops his book onto the nightstand, flipping the light off once again. Releasing a deep breath, he relaxes on his back, nearly consumed by the pillows and blankets. He allows himself to remember, his mind sorting through memories like pages of a magazine. He stops on the last PAX, a mess of memories flooding back. Flashes come back in chaos, mixing like poison in his mouth. His lungs tighten and he forces himself to stop on one of them before the anxiety overtakes his entire body.

Like a movie reel, his mind stops on his hotel room. Despite his resistance, his heart flutters. The fuzzy memory, after four years of suppressing, snaps into focus like it happened yesterday. He can nearly feel the stubble beneath his fingers, the beads of sweat on his chest. There are groans in his ears, too low to be his own, and the ghost of rough hands are on his chest and sides, gripping his hips.