13 | in which he drowns in his past

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It is a pleasure to be hidden,
But a tragedy not to be found. 

.\.|./.

Ryan Falls

|in which he drowns in his past|

Loneliness is a void, a void that is around you and seeps in through the skin, filling you completely.

Stare long enough into the abyss, and the abyss stares back into you.

For me, being alone is different from being lonely, and I would pick the former over the latter any day. I did pick the former over the latter.

Back in LA, I was almost always surrounded by people. I had friends, a girlfriend, mom, and yet I was lonely.

No one knew the real me.

No one wanted to know the real me.

And even I was beginning to forget the real me.

Alaska helps me remember who I am. It allows me to be the way I want to be, without having to worry about a standard to uphold or a reputation to watch out for. Here, I don't have to act like the guy who led dozens of boys into riots every time the teachers were unfair in their marking. I'm not the guy who walked late into seminars just to get attention. I'm not the guy who treated everyone like shit because he felt like shit.

I felt like shit because I was shit. Or maybe my life was shit.

And things would just have gotten worse when Lily's word got out. Anyone who heard what she had to say would know. All the whispers, all the rumors. Ryan Falls was going to be a laughing stock. And his life hell.

Now, life is finally good.

Humming to myself, I continue to type with my left hand. It sucks, honestly, since my right hand is bandaged and I don't have much practice with my left one. Nonetheless, the great thing about my kind of work is that I can do it from right here in bed.

The article I'm editing today is based on recent political trends, something I haven't the slightest idea about. I used to be in touch with current events and everyday news, but that was before I decided to delete all my social media accounts and vanish off the face of the planet. Sometimes, the idea of faking one's own death and disappearing is pretty attractive. It was this idea that led me to Alaska.

My doorbell rings, and I look up from my screen, staring at the door and wondering who would be coming to visit me. No one knows me here, mostly because I stay as invisible as possible. The only people I meet are Olivia and her boyfriend, and both of them call before coming over, giving me a heads-up.

Maybe if I ignore it, the unwelcome guest will go away on their own.

The bell rings again and I sigh.

Clearly, they're not going anywhere.

Placing the laptop in the empty space next to me, I lift my cast off the bed and place my foot squarely on the ground. The movement sends a piercing pain coursing through my entire body, intensifying the ache always present in my right arm and leg.

Closing my eyes to desensitize myself to the pain, I reach my good hand for the crutch standing next to the bed against the wall. I hate feeling incapacitated, but at least I'm not helpless. I can limp my way to the bathroom when I need to, and to the door on aggravating situations such as these.

It takes me a while to get to the door and pull it open, my frustration vanishing when I see the somewhat familiar face of the girl I have learned to expect unexpectedly dropping by whenever she wants. That's the weird thing; she looks like she doesn't want to be here, yet she's here without anyone asking her to be here.

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