Hate for Grayson

12

Grayson King

It's well past my bedtime, but sleep isn't happening.

I can't stop thinking of Dylan.

Not in a creepy way. It's just... I know he's awake.

When I stayed with him for a while, I learned his routines. He never went to bed without drinking a glass of water. Tonight, I never heard him go downstairs for one.

It's gnawing at me.

With a sigh, I get out of bed and stretch.

I stayed over since Dylan wasn't there to kick me out. Nicholas and Jason crashed here, too. Drunk driving isn't an option, and none of us are about to risk it.

Slipping on my slippers, I head downstairs.

The kitchen and dining room are disasters, littered with bottles, half eaten food, and discarded wrappers.

"Bunch of pigs," I mutter under my breath, grabbing a glass and filling it with water.

It's a flimsy excuse, but maybe I can check on him. If he's asleep, no harm done. If he's awake, maybe he'll talk to me.

I head back upstairs, but instead of turning toward my room, I stop in front of Dylan's door.

I knock softly. No response.

After a beat, I push the door open slightly.

Chaos.

His room is a mess, clothes tossed everywhere, paper scattered across the floor.

Then I hear it.

The sound of rummaging.

I flinch as a stick of papers tumbles out of the closet. He's in there.

I step inside, shutting the door quietly behind me.

"Dylan?"

The rustling stops.

I inch closer to the closet, careful not to step on the mess around me.

"Dylan, what's wrong?"

He doesn't answer.

Instead, he stays hunched over his back to me, silent but trembling.

I place the glass of water on a nearby table and kneel down next to him. Slowly, I turn him toward me.

My stomach sinks.

His hair is a tangled mess, his eyes are bloodshot and swollen, and his face is streaked with tears. But what stops me cold are his hands, bloody, trembling, and raw.

"Dylan..." I whisper, my voice breaking.

He looks at me with so much pain. It nearly knocks the air out of my lungs.

"Grayson," He chokes out between sobs. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

I fall to the floor beside him, pulling him into my arms without hesitation.

"Dylan, please... let me help you," I plead, holding him together as his sobs shake his entire body.

For a long moment, he doesn't repond.

But, then, through the tears, he nods, just barely.

It's enough.
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Uploaded 11/06/24
Edited 01/20/25