Rain taps quietly on my windows. Rain thumps thoughtfully on my roof. I can see it now, but does it matter? I could hear almost every day and I enjoyed the sound. But I hate the beauty it presents. I hate how beautiful its existence is when such ugliness exists too. Pain thumps in my chest just like the rain thumps on the roof. Clint sits near me, he gets up occasionally I know he gets anxious sitting around for too long. I think I'm unnerving him, after all I have been sitting here for the last day. The ache won't let me cry, it won't let me smile, it won't let my eyes waiver from watching the rain trickle down the windows. I long to open my mouth and let loose the sob that's been long coming. But I can't. I can't even move. I can finally see and I can't even let myself see anything but a wet window. My chest heaves a big sigh. I get my hopes up, thinking that I'll finally get to express the growing lump in my throat.
My chair starts to move, my eyes finally drift away from the window. Clint has moved my chair to face away from the window. He always looks like he's up to no good. He wears a constant mischievous expression. His ears stick out a bit, just beyond his curly dark brown hair. He has dark eyes that could be easily mistaken as angry. But he smiles frequently enough that that particular assumption is rarely made.
He smiles at me now. But this is a pained smile, like he's trying to keep up his usual charade of being friendly and not menacing. But after watching my face for a few seconds the smile fades.
"You need to get up." He says, eyes not wavering. "You need to move!" He scoots more into my line of vision. "Your future is at risk if you don't get back to your studies." He tries again.
"He's gone Angel..." He puts a skittish hand on my shoulder.
