Richard Allen
In a cold sweat, Richard woke up. His head still stung from the vision he'd received hours ago. It was dark outside and a light moon glittered through his window. He rubbed the back of his head. It took him a second, but he realized why he was so uncomfortable.
Richard was sprawled on his floor. He cursed softly. "Must've fallen asleep." He muttered to himself. He couldn't tell what time it was by looking outside so, reluctantly, he clicked on his phone. The bold, white numbers flashed back at him.
1:32 A.M
Richard groaned. Picking himself up from the floor, he crept quietly down the hallway, the voice of his mother talking interrupted the silence, and clicked on the light in the bathroom. Staring back at him was a skeleton of a person with gaunt eyes and chapped lips. His reflection held up its arms and smiled at the cuts on its wrist. Richard blinked until his reflection was normal again: still thin, but normal enough.
He ignored the stinging pain coming from his wrists that seemed to intensify with the passing minutes. He flicked off the light switch and slid down onto the cold tile floor of his bathroom. He propped his elbows on his knees as a slight headache pulsed to a migraine. With his thoughts scraping at his skull, Richard took in shaky breaths that were not near enough oxygen for his body.
Spots decorated his sight. He rubbed his eyes, sitting on the bathroom floor. A small shiver crept its way up Richard's spine. Lazily, he got up and silently paced back to his room. As he closed the door, he let the darkness consume him once more.
********
Grant couldn't sleep. He kept hearing things he didn't like. A voice, something like his mother's but raspier, kept muttering from the other side of his door.
"Should we wait until he wakes up?" He heard.
There was no response, but Grant didn't care. It was the words his mother was saying.
"I just saw the news," she continued, "and called you since I know they we're good friends."
At this, Grant felt his curiosity soar. He could hear the creaking floor that sounded in his head. His mother was pacing just outside his room. Staring at the ceiling, it was silent for a while, but he never let his eyes close. Grant sat up, fighting the urge to sleep.
He slipped out of his bed, fully dressed, and put his ear to the door. A small groan came from his floor. Pressing his teeth together, Grant hoped his mother didn't hear him. Now that he was closer, he could hear crying, but it wasn't his mother, it was someone else.
"Lauren, sweetie. Calm down, it's gonna be okay. It's gonna be okay."
Grant sucked in his breath and knew something was wrong. Was Lauren hurt? Was his dad okay? Questions that came up empty raced through his mind. He was clueless until he heard his mother start talking through the phone again.
"Lauren's distraught. No, Grant doesn't know yet. Lauren said he had rough day and I shouldn't wake him up." A pause. "No. Jack's in the kitchen. He's a wreck. I'm outside of Grant's room with Lauren." The creaks of the floorboards stopped.
"Hold on, Ella. I think Grant's up."
Immediately, Grant backed away from the door and fell back onto his bed. Light spilled into his room from a crack; his mother opened his door.
