"Little Girl" - lrh

34

I have been spiraling for weeks. Every night, instead of sleeping soundly next to Alice in our shared bed, I'm staring up at the ceiling. I constantly watch the fan spin faster and faster while my mind reels, coming up with new but fake scenarios of all the things it believes she and Michael have done while I was apart from them.

I have watched them have their hushed, secret conversations, looking around as if to make sure I'm not around. I listen to them giggle over something stupid they're showing each other on their phones; it makes me yearn to be a teenager again. It makes me wonder if I shouldn't be around.

Arms wrap around me, and I look down at Alice as she sleeps so peacefully. I'm envious that she can do so, so easily, while I am struggling to at least close my eyes and pretend. I wanted to relish in what we have going for us; we finally won. But I can't seem to rejoice in my victory.

Things have been weird lately, all at the cost of my actions and attitude. I haven't been able to let go of the overwhelmingly intense sense of dread looming behind me every step I take. I'm on edge 24/7, paranoid of what's behind every corner, violently jealous of mere conspiracies that my own brain conjured up.

I sigh heavily, rubbing my face and carefully sit up, slowly removing my arm from her grasp. Quietly, I get out of bed and make my way out of the dumb hidden room to the stairs. I can hear the TV faintly as I walk down, meaning Michael's still awake. I keep forgetting he's on summer break since Alice is attending classes.

"Oh, sorry," he pauses his game, keeping his voice low and looks up at me." I didn't wake you, did I?" I shake my head, making my way to the kitchen. This is the most I've seen of him since he moved in; which isn't saying much when he's only been here a few days. I can't bring myself to say anything to his face; I can barely mention it in passing to Alice.

She constantly wants to talk about what's wrong with me, but I avoid the conversation due to the fact I don't know what the hell is wrong. I can't come up with the words I need to properly tell her how I am feeling. I don't even know what it is I'm feeling. This should be the greatest and easiest time of my life right now; I'm away from our old life to a new city, with new people, with new scenery, and I fucking hate it.

I've been holding myself back from her because I'm terrified to touch her. I haven't kissed her since I moved in officially. I want to; I want to hug her and hold her close. I want to kiss her like I always have. I want to kiss her on the mouth, on her skin, tangle my fingers in her hair, and run my fingers down her body. But I can't. My mind won't let me and my body stays frozen if I even try.

"Uhm, Luke?" I turn to see Michael had followed me into the kitchen. I stare at him blankly, my tired mind trying to comprehend who is in front of me. "You look rough, you doing alright?"

"I'm fine," I mutter. I push my hands into my pockets, repeatedly clenching and unclenching my fists. He nods, looking me over with a raised brow. "Didn't know you'd still be up."

"Yeah, just uh," he points to the living room, moving his body awkwardly. "Just playing a game. I couldn't sleep, thought it'd ease my mind."

"Maybe I should try that," I mumble, sighing quietly before leaning back against the counter. "Michael?"

"What's up?"

"I need to talk to you," I take a deep breath and close my eyes, preparing myself. He stays quiet, making me open my eyes to see him standing there, as still as he could be, his face pale white. "Are you going to throw up?"

"Depends on what you're about to say to me," his voice is just above a soft whisper, clearly scared.

"It isn't necessarily about you," I begin, watching his body visibly relax but the color still absent from his face. "It kind of is."