Experiment of Madness

26-Confused Hearts: The Unseen Gestures-Aerra

I quietly observe him, his intense focus on the work in front of him, his eyes barely leaving the files, his thoughts clearly absorbed in his tasks. I can't help but ponder if he found any information about the voice in my head, the mysterious voice that has haunted me.

It's well past midnight, and he's still absorbed in his work, his determination evident as he pores over the files. His dedication to the task isn't diminishing despite the late hour, and he shows no signs of stopping or slowing down.

I glance at him, I know I should get some sleep, but I can't seem to settle without him next to me. The worry and unease, paired with the feeling of uncertainty between us, make it difficult to find peace and drift off to sleep.

I lie in bed, the harsh words he said still echoing in my mind, unable to shake them off. Despite the fatigue, the memories of his words linger, the hurt and pain they caused still sharp in my thoughts.

I feel pathetic. The heaviness of the evening's events weighs heavily on me, the urge to cry building up. I try to hold it back, the pain and vulnerability in my chest threatening to boil over.
Maybe I'm not pathetic. I try to remind myself that I'm just fourteen, young, and still trying to understand the world. I shouldn't judge myself so harshly; after all, I'm just a teenager growing up.

I feel exhausted, beyond my years, burdened with emotions I shouldn't carry at fourteen. The weight of my experiences and my life's challenges has aged me beyond my years, making me feel like an exhausted adult.

He pauses in his work, his words firm yet strangely concerned, "You should sleep," He says without lifting his gaze, his eyes still fixed on the file in front of him. It's a rare moment of his concern, even though his gaze remains averted.

I don't want to engage in conversation with him, and I won't talk to him. I remain silent, my resolve holding strong, the wounds from the night's argument fresh in my mind.

He was his usual cruel and bad self, but tonight, his words were even crueler than before. The sharpness of his words still reverberate in my mind, the sting of them impossible to ignore.

He asks me, his voice tinged with annoyance and disbelief, "Are you still sulking?" His question hints that he thinks I'm overreacting, that my hurt feelings are just me being childish.

I don't respond, my silence my only answer to his question.

He breaks the silence, his tone growing more insistent, "You're not going to say anything?" He wants a response, waiting for me to engage in conversation, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction.

He exhales, a hint of frustration in his breath. "Fine, don't say anything. But you can't ignore me forever." His tone is assertive, a challenge in his words, but I remain resolute in my silence.

He challenges, his stubbornness matching mine. "We'll see," he says with a resigned shrug. He clearly doubts my resolve to maintain this silent treatment, but I'm determined not to waver.

I continue my silent treatment, my resolve unwavering. The sound of the clock ticking fills the silence, the room feeling heavy with tension and unspoken words. I stay still, my silence a silent challenge to his patience.

His patience wears thin. He growls, putting down the file he was reading with a bit more aggression than necessary. He then turns his chair to face me in an obvious attempt to break my silent treatment.

He turns his chair to face me, his eyes meeting mine. He's obviously frustrated, his patience wearing thin, his expression a mix of annoyance and insistence. His gaze holds mine like a challenge, daring me to break the silence.

I turn my back to him, facing the wall, refusing to meet his gaze. I refuse to give in, my gesture making it clear I won't engage in any conversation with him right now.

I smile to myself, a small victory in my silent defiance, though it's hidden from his view with my back turned to him.

He lets out an exasperated sigh, his frustration evident in the sound. He doesn't seem used to my stubbornness, our arguments usually ending with me breaking first. He's the one who usually has the last word, so my silent treatment likely unsettles him.

I fiddle with stray hair. It's grown longer since I chopped it. It's still a bit choppy, but maybe it can grow even longer, a small sign of change, yet I'm sure he'd still find it irritating, something else to mock me for.

I hope it grows quickly, a small, defiant wish I make for myself.

My cuts are kind of healing up a bit. It's a small step towards healing, just like my growing hair, proof that time is passing and the wounds  are fading.

Time creeps by, the seconds ticking away, a silent acknowledgment that things are passing, even if they feel like they're standing still.

I find myself wondering about my family, my mind drifting to thoughts about their whereabouts. What are they doing, what are they talking about, are they thinking about me? The thoughts linger in my mind, a hint of longing in them.

A single tear rolls down my cheek, the weight of loneliness and sadness, loneliness, and sadness washing over me. The silence echoes in my ears, leaving me with my thoughts and the heaviness in my chest.

I bite the inside of my cheeks, a way to suppress my emotions, to prevent them from completely taking over. It helps me hold back tears, but the ache it creates is a different kind of pain to focus on.

I miss Cannibal.

The ache of loneliness intensifies as I remember the comfort Cannibal brought me, the comfort that's missing right now, leaving me with a void.

I can't sleep, restlessness keeping me awake in the dead of night. My mind races with thoughts, the silence oppressive, and the darkness surrounding me feels heavy.

Out of nowhere, the TV flicks on, the sudden sound and light startling me with its unexpectedness. I didn't flip it on, so what triggered it, I wonder?

I turn my attention to Dag, assuming he likely triggered the TV. Instead, he is still turned away, typing on his computer, seemingly absorbed in his work, no signs that he switched it on.

I glance at the TV, realizing it's playing Grey's Anatomy.

I wonder if he did turn it on because he senses I can't sleep, a subtle attempt to provide some background noise to distract me from my thoughts.

I quickly remind remind myself he doesn't care about me. Why would he bother trying to help me sleep? He probably turned it on for his own benefit, not caring about my feelings or my insomnia.

I quickly remind myself, even though I know he claims to struggle to work with any noises in the background. The fact he has the TV on despite that, makes me wonder if it's for my sake, an act of kindness he wouldn't usually show, but it's hard to comprehend his rare act of consideration.

I look at him, watching him continue to work, completely immersed in his own world, oblivious to my glances.

He's so weird.I conclude that his unpredictable behavior and apparent disregard for me are still confusing. The conflicting feelings he provokes within me are maddening, his stubbornness, and occasional moments of softness leaving me bewildered.

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