horndog 2 !?

chapter two

innocence stained red with the blood of abuse

memories of safety long forgotten

paper marked with words unspoken

slowly falls the winter sun

white .

zane :

Old books covered the desk where Zane had fallen asleep. At some point during the night, his candle had melted itself to darkness, leaving him in the inky blackness of earlier morning.

The night before had been a long one, filled with long passages and the fervent scribbling of notes on themes that seemed important. Zane had always enjoyed recording how he felt while reading old literature. He was also on FaceTime with his two best friends who were busying themselves with homework. Nya always sent her answers into the calculus groupchat, leaving Zane with a free evening of reading. Nya and Jay never understood how someone could do so little work and still be top of the class. His peers theorized that he was some sort of robot, but honestly, it was just his working style. The call ran late into the night, and after Zane's phone died, he just decided to bunk down in the study to finish reading Dune.

Only now when he was waking up, did he realize what a mistake that had been. The pains in his back hurt more than his massive headache. According to the clock on the wall, it was five past four. The revelation that it was Saturday hit a few moments later.

Sitting back to stretch, he reached for his phone, only to remember that it had died the night before. Rubbing the tiredness from his eyes, he stood on shaky legs, planning to head back to his room. Instead, the thought of iced coffee and writing trumped actual sleep.

The kitchen was one of the many rooms Zane's adoptive father let him have decorative privileges over. Zane's eye for color and design lead to bringing in the Georgian colonial style of the exterior and combining it with the neutrals of his aesthetic. The open kitchen had an eclectic vibe. The bookcase on the far wall was crammed with cookbooks and pothos with vines dipping down to the ground. The fridge had a few postcards stuck to it by travel magnets, and the inside was overflowing with whole foods.

Pulling the refrigerator door open as quietly as possible so as not to disturb his dad, Zane grabbed the glass bottle of iced coffee and poured himself a glass. No creamer, as always, and loads of ice.

His room was a mess. Even he could tell that. The stacks of antique books reached up to eye height in some areas of the spacious room. The unmade bed was covered with thick blankets and throw pillows, everything in varying shades of white, beige, and brown. The only pops of color were the green of his pothos plants draped across every surface.

Ignoring the clutter, Zane plopped down at his old wooden desk. His major project at hand was a book of sonnets, the main focus being color and emotions. Feeling inspired, he pulled out his poetry journal and antique ballpoint pen.

BLUE
softly fall the tears of those left behind
bathed in jealously, cowering in fear
with a glimmer of hope too small to find
the whispers of peace too quiet to hear

melancholy are the minds of those lost
drowning in their minds they drain themselves dry
to live is to work; a never-ending cost
bottled up, we are taught never to cry

too afraid to be myself i am scared
as fragile as snow, i lay down to rest
chained in my head; left weak and unprepared
pulse found hard and fast deep within my chest

but with you have been found; brought to light
in your company, no tears shed tonight

Setting the pen down, Zane leaned back in his chair, critiquing his work. Unsatisfied, he closed the journal in a huff and tossed it onto the nearest stack of books. Standing up, he took a look at the clock on the bedside table. 4:44. Back in his numerology days, Zane probably would have seen it as a sign to do something big, but now it just proved that he was insane. It was a Saturday morning. He should be fast asleep with the excitement of no school. He should be awake and partying with his friends until the sun came up. Instead, he felt tired and sluggish, the iced coffee only making his heart beat faster and his mouth taste bitter. Maybe a shower would help him feel better.