Fragile

Faceless

Chapter 2: Faceless

The cracks on the ceiling no longer held his interest.

He had been staring at it far too long, long enough for him to memorize there are exactly fifty two big cracks and seventy four tiny cracks. He counted it twice.

The door to this room was closed for twenty eight hours and twenty six minutes.

There are one hundred and sixty six floor tiles and three hundred and seven dark spots on them. Wind blew the curtains for the seventeenth time today.

And he was drawing his forty fifth faceless man on the wall.

He always had a talent at drawing. The only thing that makes sense, the sound of the pen on the wall surface. The only thing that he could control in his life. For god sake, he can draw a man with five eyes and no hands if he wanted to. A limp soldier. A gigantic flea.

Anything.

Now it gave him satisfactiom to draw faceless men. With no mouth to pucker, to spit, to laugh. Must be nice to hear them shut up for once, he thought. But he know they won't, at least the voices in his head won't. It never did.

He gave up on shutting them a long time ago.

Mockery, pity, snide comments, shame, fear, anxiety, anger, more fear.. They won. They won every battle even before he start fighting. He failed, always, because that's who he is. A loser. A pathetic, lonely, crazy loser.

He could feel it building up now, his hands trembled. Yet he continued drawing.

There were better days. Days where he could be his old self easily, the closest he could be to a normal person, without having to want to put his fist through a wall everytime someone snickered at him.

But today wasn't one of them. He'd rather be here locked up in his sanctuary with himself. Where he is no danger to anyone near him. Maybe. He didn't trust his judgement. Hell, he didn't trust anything about himself.

The trembling got worse. He groaned, pushing himself to finished the faceless man, his left hand grasping his right, trying to stop the tremor.

Please, let me, let me.
Let me do something right for once.

He could feel sweat trickled down his neck, and he gripped his hand harder. He could feel every muscle, every sweat, every need to stop this happening. But he know it wasn't doing him any good.

The pen snapped.

And it only took a broken pen to unleash the sudden but unmistakable anger inside him. He lost, again. For who knows how many times. And it's the only thing he couldn't count in this world.

Useless, one said.
Fool, said the other.
You're a disgrace, they sang.

"STOP! GET OUT!"

He shouted to the empty room. He covered both his ears, but of course it was no use. His ears pounded, blood rushing to his face. The evil thoughts keep on chanting, taking over.

"I'M SICK OF THIS. STOP IT. STOP IT NOW."

He threw the first thing he saw across the room, and he backed away. He fell to his knees, out of breath, and went to the corner where he put his head between his knees. Shutting himself away from every thing. But not himself.

Someone opened the door and he heard a gasp. The next second, he was pulled into a hug. He could feel tears on his shoulder, and he sobbed into his mother's arm.

"Sssh, it's okay. It's okay dear. No one's gonna hurt you. Sssh," his mom whispered while running her hand down his back.

She pulled away for a moment and stare lovingly into his son green eyes.

"You'll be okay, Cody."