Goodnight

Sighing, he dropped his car keys on his wooden coffee table. Running his hands through his blond hair, he looked around the room, the dim blue eyes scanning the small flat. A few boxes from months ago were still scattered in the living room.

A sad melody played in his mind as he remembered why he was stuck in the lower parts of London. Judgemental family members, friends turning their backs on him, all the people who thought they could look down at him. He clenched his fist in anger, his nails digging into his skin. He closed his eyes, reminding himself how stupid it is. It isn't something he should get caught up in, but it is.

People will never look at him the same way they did before. Why would they? Nothing special to look at anyways. Pale skin, tall and skinny. A pile of bones with a heart. Even then they would call his heart stone cold.

A knock at the door pulled Lachlan back into reality. "Lachlan... It's Vikk, do you wanna talk? Or..."

Vikk knew the answer, so Lachlan wouldn't waste his breath telling him so. Vikk stopped trying to open the door after the third week, it was always locked. They didn't speak anymore, Vikk tried, but it was one sided. Never a response from Lachlan.

Vikk never gave up, which bothered Lachlan more than if he had. The only feeling left in his body is guilt, and he would feel guilty if he left Vikk, but can you feel emotions when you're dead? If so, godspeed, because Lachlan was slowly wasting away, and feelings would be the reason he dies.

"Lachlan, it's hard to know if your still alive, all you do is go to work, and then home." The landlord got so used to seeing Vikk here, he remembers Vikk's name. "Do you even speak anymore?"

Lachlan leaned against the wall, listening to Vikk speak, the babbling of the shorter Brit brought some sort of soothing effect.

Vikk kicked the bottom of the door in frustration, usually Vikk would of apologised, but instead, there was just a silent plea. A plea for Lachlan to return to normal. If only...

He heard the light foot steps of Vikk walking away. Lachlan didn't move from his spot, staring at nothing, he let his mind roam with thoughts. Thoughts he should not have.

He slowly pushed himself from off the wall, and walked towards his small kitchen. Opening up a specific cabinet, he grabbed a shot glass, and grabbed a bottle of Guinness. A few shots never hurt him, and the more he drank the more he could tolerate them.

He remembers when he took his first shot with the guys in the pack, he felt light headed and really dizzy, but now one shot of anything doesn't have any effect.

The only thing it does is stop the thoughts.

Five or six shots later, maybe more, he couldn't remember, Lachlan heard his phone buzz. The text arrived on time as it usually did. Every night, Vikk would text him a simple, goodnight.

Lachlan never did reply. He did the first few nights, but Vikk would try to start a conversation, and Lachlan didn't want that.

The room looked fuzzy, and he listened as cars passed by outside, there wasn't much to do but wait for the night to pass.

This happened every night, like it had time and time before. Get home from work, wait for Vikk, drink, and sleep. Sometimes Lachlan would forget to eat. Even then the only thing he looked forward to was the goodnight text from Vikk.

On the third night or so, the goodnights stopped.

No more texts were sent to Lachlan, the other guys had given up awhile back, but Vikk still held on to hope. Maybe he finally lost it. Maybe he gave up like the rest...

Lachlan didn't drink on that third night. He waited at the door for Vikk. But Vikk never showed.

He probably forgot.

The three words didn't bring much reassurance to Lachlan, but it helped him through the fourth night too. Because not a word was heard from Vikk then.

On the fifth night, he added another word to the sentence.

He probably forgot me.

Vikk didn't go to the door, Vikk didn't text Lachlan goodnight, and Lachlan was going through achohol withdrawal. He missed two days of work, his mood swings weren't just sadness anymore.

Three holes in the wall of his flat were because he couldn't hold his anger in. If he were to punch something, it was better a wall than a person.

His anger would turn to sadness, his sadness bringing tears to his face.

On the sixth night without Vikk, Lachlan finally gave in. He searched all over the place for them. Just one bottle would do, but he couldn't find any pills. Sighing, he grabbed his coat, and wallet, setting off to the nearest drug store.

Looking through the isles, he found a bottle of sleeping pills. They were pretty expensive, but what worth does money have when your dead?

The cashier wrung him up, and Lachlan made his way home. The walk home was fairly quiet. He watched his feet as he walked down the sidewalk towards his house. His leather shoes tapping on the concrete, and background noise of cars passing by were all he could hear.

He silently walked up to his front door, unlocking it, and going through his house. He dropped his coat on the floor, and put the bottle on the table. Besides the bottle on the table was his phone, and Lachlan saw the screen light up.

3 missed calls, 8 texts.

Hesitantly, he picked up his phone, and stared at it. He unlocked it, and checked the calls first.

One from Mitch.

Two from Jerome.

None from Vikk.

Then the texts,

Three from Jerome, three from Rob, and two from Vikk.

He didn't bother to call any of them back, or look at why they had suddenly texted him, but he did check Vikk's text.

The first text was a link, and the second text was a simple, goodnight with the smiley emoticon.

Lachlan clicked the link, and dropped his phone. He ran out the door, forgetting about his coat, and the pills.

He ran all the way to the sideman house, tears stinging his eyes. When he made it, he didn't even have to knock on the door, Vikk was waiting on the front lawn for him. Vikk hugged Lachlan, comforting the crying boy.

The first words Lachlan had said in weeks was, "They found him, Vikky." Tears fell onto the back of Vikk's shirt, but none of them bothered with it.

The link led to an article that was posted at eleven thirty six p.m. The article read,

Lost American male, Preston Arsement, found alive after a six month search.