the hungry ghosts

twelve

"I'm fucking sick of it."

Thunk.

"I've had enough."

Thunk.

"When--"

Thunk.

"does--"

Thunk.

"this--"

Thunk.

"shit--"

Thunk.

"end?"

THUNK.

The last dart sank into the wall and left a bullet-sized hole there. Daron flopped down on his bed, exhausted and angry. The last two weeks had been complete emotional turmoil, and he was staying over at his parents' house more nights than he could count. They were growing worried about him, but they didn't ask too many questions, because he never gave them answers. The memory of that night in his apartment two weeks ago lived in his head like a nightmare stuck on repeat. He could still hear the screaming echoing in his ears, feel his head spinning, see the dark shapes and tendrils crossing his vision, warning him to what extent they could unleash their wrath. He vowed to never dismiss anything Somnia told him ever again, because she'd been right; the shadows had begun to act up in exactly the way Somnia had told him they would. They'd been aggressive and merciless, clawing at him; he could still feel their unsettling, cold tendrils brushing against his arms, creeping around his neck, threatening to suffocate him if he said a single word.

Yet the past few weeks had been both a blessing and a curse; while he couldn't feel safe in his own home, he was back at his parents' house, where he felt safe, and no one else knew about what had happened at his apartment but himself (minus Somnia and Lauren, who'd had very different reactions to this, to say the least). Of course his bandmates had asked why he wasn't living at his own apartment, and he'd told them that his schizophrenic hallucinations were getting worse. They were all aware he had been diagnosed with schizophrenia when he'd first begun seeing Lauren, and they were slowly falling under the impression that Daron was just opening up a bit more about it instead of always trying to keep it hidden and snapping at everyone who tried to ask him questions. The person who was the most relieved to see that Daron was seemingly calm was Serj, who'd been worried sick about his youngest bandmate ever since that first day he'd run into the lamppost and fallen on his ass on the sidewalk. Despite never having expressed his opinion on the matter a whole lot, John also seemed happier that Daron was doing better (or so it seemed), and Daron noticed he was in lighter moods when they had conversations.

Shavo, however, was a bit harder to fool. Daron had cursed the older man's impeccable intuition since day one of this whole ordeal (and even before that), but so far Shavo hadn't asked him any questions pertaining to everything going on. He seemed to be very alarmed that Daron wasn't staying in his own apartment, but that was something he also refrained from commenting on, instead asking simple questions and letting Daron tell him whatever he wanted to say. Band practices were put on hold at the moment, which had been mandated by Shavo; in any other instance Daron might've fought it, but he was just too exhausted to get into that argument again, especially because of how stubborn he knew Shavo was, and how that fight would go absolutely nowhere. Serj, John, and Shavo all came by to visit him at his parents' house, sometimes staying, other times just stopping by to give him something (Serj always liked to bring baked goods, which was something Daron's mother liked as well).

That night it was warm out, so the windows were open and cross-breezes were blowing through the living room. Both of Daron's parents were at home that night, so they all settled at the dinner table, and just as he had been for the past two weeks, Daron was reminded of when he was still in high school and he'd come down from his room after playing guitar for hours since the moment he got home from school. It was strange to reflect back on, especially considering that that had only been five years ago and he was already living that dream just a short time later.