Never Crossed My Mind (boyxboy)

Chapter Nine

Although there was nothing to see but darkness, no light for my eyes to absorb, I refused to close them. By closing them, I was succumbing to the terrors that sleep could bring me. I didn't want to face another episode, and until I was closer to hyperactive, I wasn't planning on going to sleep.

I mean, how long could it take?

I didn't mind just staring into the darkness, anyway. In truth, I liked the dark. When it was dark, it was almost like sleeping, but you were able to control your thoughts. Unless you let them wander. If you think about it, there could be a psychotic killer standing over me right now. He just escaped from the mental ward in the Denver Prison and came all the way to see me. His presence is like a shocking draft of cold air, snaking underneath the thin sheets of my bed and roaming over my clammy skin. My breathing labored, I look around frantically, but I can hardly see the outline of my hand in this thick darkness. My hands shot up, but even my frantic movements were unable to locate his looming body, riddled with mutilated flesh and caving scars. He whispered his promises for destruction into my ear; my destruction. I chuckled softly. Maybe he wasn't so bad after all. It will hurt, he swore, but there will be medication, lots of it. Okay, I said. Do it. He pulls a silver Swiss Army knife from his chunky combat boot, bringing it slowly and carefully to my skin. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, hoping for death and expecting nothing less.

There was a sudden, dull pain in the side of my head. I opened my eyes. What? I winced. There it was, again.

I turned my head to the side.

"What the hell?" I hissed as something hit my forehead.

"We need to talk," Mason said finally.

"What about?" I feigned cluelessness.

"You know," he lowered his voice as if we were discussing where to hide a body, "What you did."

I gritted my teeth.

"Yeah, um, I'm sorry, Sam, but I couldn't just let you kill yourself off like that. This is a hospital, a place for people to get better. Why don't you get better, Sam?"

"I'm not crazy," I said. "I don't need to get better."

"You don't have to be crazy to need help," he told me. "Sometimes, the most sane people in the world are the ones who need the most help!"

"Don't feed me that shit."

"I'm not--"

"But you are. You're just like them. Always wanting me to be happy and accept help and just be perfect. Everyone expects so much, it just isn't fair. They always want me to eat and sleep properly while being social and participative, but I just can't do it. I'm not a good person, Mason. I've hurt people, bad. I hurt them when they did nothing to me, just because other people have. My family turned their back on me, my friends forgot all about me, and yet I'm still here! I'm still okay!" I looked over to where he lied on his bed. "Aren't I?"

Mason was silent. I sighed.

"It's okay to let people in sometimes," his voice was soft.

"But when you let people in, they hurt you. It's like giving someone a gun, telling them to point it at your heart and trusting they won't pull the trigger." I shivered.

Mason's bed creaked as he moved around on it.

"What are you doing?" I asked quietly.

He didn't answer, and the creaking stopped. Suddenly, the bed space beside me sank and squealed as extra weight was added to the old springs.

"Mason--" I gasped, panicked.

"Relax," he coaxed softly. "I won't pull the trigger on you, I swear."

Hesitantly, I moved closer to his body, warm and toned. He wrapped his arms around my torso, his head atop my hair. I leaned my head against his bare chest.

I don't know what it was, but there was something about him that just whispered words of safety into my ears, brought a sense of security to my mind.

And so for the rest of the night, we just laid there. Eventually, Mason drifted off to sleep, the rise and fall of his chest slowing down and light snores escaping his mouth. I ran my pale fingers along his tan digits and just thought to myself, maybe this could work. Maybe.