Recovery (GOT7 fanfic)

Tomorrow Is Another Day

Tomorrow is another day... I guess.

That's all I could think of when I woke up this morning. How...intriguing. 

I opened my eyes, looking at my plain, boring, roughly painted over ceiling. I used to write on it, but when I tried to rub off the writing, it wouldn't budge. So I had to paint over it, and the only paint that was available at the time was grey. Great choice, I know, but I really needed to cover up what I had written. It was important. 

My eyes flickered to my clock, which read 4.30am. I woke up early, again. I checked the tiny little tub on my bedside table and read the paper that was stuffed inside. I squinted to see the minuscule typed text. 

Desyrel: May cause dizziness, drowsiness, or changes in vision. Use with caution. 

Blah, blah, blah, I thought, and rolled my eyes. I skipped a few lines.

Works for 6-10 hours approximately, varies per person.

What had I expected? A drug that lasted through my entire sleep cycle. Ha, funny joke. I'll have to ask my doctor to change it to something that actually works. You know, if I can afford it. I put the cylindrical container into my sock drawer, to keep it safe. It wasn't like they weren't prescribed, I just didn't want my brother seeing them. 

Speak of the devil, I sighed to myself, slamming the drawer shut.

There was a tentative knock on the door, like I was some fragile piece of glass that would break if he knocked too hard. "Can I come in?" 

I said nothing. I had nothing to say. I didn't want to say anything either.

He entered anyway, shuffling in awkwardly. "Did you sleep well?" He mumbled, with a small smile. A hopeful smile.

I shot him a slight glare, but I didn't want to make him nervous, or scared. No.. I didn't scare him, just worried him. I exhaled. "Well, I'm awake, aren't I?" 

"Yes," He nodded.

"You should get back to sleep, before Yugyeom wakes up," I muttered, vaguely remembering our roommate. He had been so nice to us both, letting us stay here after what happened. And letting us stay forever. 

"I don't know whether I'll be able to," He stared into my eyes. He knew that made me uncomfortable, but I think he was more trying to find a trace of emotions.

I said nothing. 

He left. 

I took a deep breath and sat on the edge of my bed. I ran my fingers through my horrible hair. I was tired, but I wasn't at the same time. Different contexts. I curled up, my knees grazing my chin, and stared no where in particular. Time passed, though it went unnoticed by me. I reached gently for my notebook, scraps of paper sticking out of it at odd angles. I turned to a fresh page and wrote. It was better than the ceiling. It was too difficult to write up there, it always hurt my neck. I shook my head at my old self.