Forgotten

When the night grows cold, my thoughts feel like stone

Garroth tapped his foot impatiently against the hardwood floor of his bedroom, the rhythmic thumping filling his ears like white noise. His stomach sloshed like cargo in a moving ship inside his body until he felt sick. 

Turning his head towards his dresser, his pale blue eyes landed on a worn wooden picture frame. He grasped it in his shaking hands and brought it to his face to get a closer look at the photo inside it. It was taken on the very last day of high school, and the warm smile plastered on young Laurence's face did little to calm the storm that rolled deep in his gut. Tears gathered on his lash line and threatened to spill over. 

With his wild brown hair and beautiful clear water eyes, Laurence’s freckled face easily took the spotlight of this photo, and Garroth’s eyes always ended up on his face. His heart stuttered in his chest at the mere thought of losing his best friend. Laurence was always there for him, even when Garroth was wrapped up in some crazy plot with Aphmau and the others. 

He didn’t want to believe Dante when he told them that Laurence tried to end it; because if that was true then it meant that Garroth never noticed how badly his friend was hurting. It meant that for months, maybe years at a time, his best friend was silently hating himself. It meant that Garroth was a shitty friend and never once thought that Laurence was not happy as he seemed, and he should have noticed because Laurence was his closest friend in the world. 

Point being, Garroth was reluctant to believe everything was happening the way it was. Perhaps if he had been a better friend, Laurence would have been here to greet him home with open arms and a snide joke instead of being trapped in a hospital bed. Fuck, the thought of Laurences smiling face and warm embrace alone got him through many of the rougher days on the resort. 

He cared so deeply for his friend, it physically pained him to know his dear friend didn't know just how much he meant. How much worth he held. Now, standing in the center of his room while his friend struggled to live, he felt helpless. He was stuck on a raft in an endless ocean, and the looming storm overhead continued to build into something that would ruin him.

He swallowed the lump building in his throat, blinking away tears. Now was not the time to wallow in his own self-deprecation, his friend was in pain and now was the time to stand up and do the right thing. All Laurence needed was a little reassurance that he had people there for him! Then he’d be as good as new!

Right?

Looking in the mirror, Garroth practiced his award-winning smile, dismissing how it was a little too wide and didn’t quite reach his eyes. Pulling on a light blue button-up and a pair of dark jeans, Garroth repeated to himself over and over that Laurence would be just fine. Maybe somewhere inside of him, he knew that everything wouldn’t end up all nicely with a bow on top. That didn’t mean he had to acknowledge it.

________________

Laurence sat on the crisp white sheets of his sterile bed, a faint ringing in his ears filling the unbearable silence of the hospital bed in which he found himself. Cadenza was passed out in the chair not far from him, finally allowing herself a little bit of rest after his parents stopped by to pick up their baby brother. 

A thick vine of guilt wrapped around his heart and lungs, squeezing a little bit tighter every time he was forced to acknowledge the negative effects his attempt made. He never wanted her to be stressed. He never wanted his family to fly all the way back to America just to make sure he was alive. He never wanted to give Dante even more to worry over when he was already so stressed about their friends. He never wanted to survive. 

His empty blue eyes traced the lines of the perfectly wrapped bandages that hugged his arms. Laurence hated himself even more after this attempt. He was so weak he couldn’t even kill himself correctly. How pathetic was that? He hated Dante for saving him even more, a dangerous feeling of contempt swirling in his chest like the clouds that circled the ocean before a hurricane. That's exactly what Laurence was. A brewing storm capable of mass destruction, one caused by the neglect and ill intention done to the ecosystem he called his home.

How dare Dante "rescue" him from a fate he so desperately craved. His thirst for the icy arms of death to embrace him couldn't be staved off with the measly hours of sleep he managed to snatch. Nightmare and intrusive thoughts made that hard enough to complete. This one thing, one thing he wanted, and the blue-haired male took it away. Laurence wanted to cry. He wanted to scream and claw out every cord that kept him here, to trash this disgusting hospital room that allowed him to survive. Couldn't everyone see that's not what he wanted? Yet, no tears filled his eyes.

He was all out of sorrow to show, his body too exhausted for the draining activity of sobbing like he wished to. Instead, he allowed himself to silently brew in his anger, his hatred towards life building as the clouds began to darken.

It was only so long until the rain came, and when a hurricane hit everyone in its path would know.