He was staring at the ceiling. Well that was his first mental lie of the day because staring implied sight and sight implied seeing and Shawn wasn't seeing anything but the same black movie screen that he'd been watching for almost a three weeks.
He hated being alone. Like, really hated it. Hated when he couldn't hear the sound of breathing nearby or the soft brush of feet against the floor. Even his dad and that disturbing hovering habit would be okay.
To hear nothing... see nothing...
It didn't work, anymore, to pretend he was sitting in a room with the lights off. Even with the lights off at night there was always something – nightlight or digital clocks or even the neighbors porch light. Just a glow. Any glow. Anything. He'd never really been afraid of the dark but now he couldn't stop those fears from nestling in his chest.
He craved the familiar sounds because it was the ones he didn't know that made his skin crawl. Leaves scraping down the roof tiles were monsters he'd never quite tucked away from his childhood. 3D made imagining these horrors so much easier now, as if his own mind wasn't up to the task of forming tried and true like blade laden fingers or the new and improved shadow specters spinning webs from the ceiling and groaning through the floorboards. How could he believe that ghosts weren't real when he could hear them all around him?
The doorknob squeaked and his feet whipped to the floor. Fight and flight clashed and left him frozen, the knowing no competition for the could be on the other side of the door.
Knowing didn't mean shit if the could be turned out to be Michael Meyers.
The jiggle became a short creak of hinges, ending with a hard, rattling smack of the door slamming against the wall – no time for screaming as the hard breaths of his father preceded his footsteps first entering, then pausing as the door was kicked shut again. Hands were full and from the rattle of heavy paper he had at least two bags of groceries.
“Wow, dad, you actually have a list or did you just sweep the shelves as you walked down the aisle?” Did his voice squeak? He hoped his voice hadn't squeaked...
“That's funny, Shawn. I seemed to remember that the reason I had to go to store in the first place was because you complained about every food item in the house.”
“Not every item...”
“You don't like two percent milk because you claim it tastes like sweaty gym socks. You refuse to eat the bread because the seeds get stuck in your teeth. You don't like any cheese that isn't imported and aged at least a year. You think baby dill pickles are offensive to your masculinity. Do I need to involve your comments about the canned tuna or can I put the groceries away now?”
“You know how I feel about albacore in fresh spring water.” Seriously, who even bought regular tuna outside of feline enthusiasts? Unless Henry had a secret herd of strays he was renting out the garage to there was no reason for slipping standards.
Actually, he hoped the place hadn't become a haven for the flea-ridden because the last thing he needed to have waking him up at three a.m. would be the romantic yowls of cat lovers boning on the roof.
Steps came his way and he pushed himself up a bit, wincing at the pressure of using one hand.
“Here.”
Plastic crinkle and a shoosh of air and a small weight dropped into his lap. Anticipated but it still caused a tiny jerk – his hand feeling across the smooth wrapper to identify a bag that either contained M&Ms or Skittles. Or possibly Reece's Pieces. He shook the bag before bringing it to his nose. Spree candy – not on his mental list but it would have been, his mouth watering at the fruity blast that seeped through the plastic.
YOU ARE READING
Paint it Black
Fanfiction"I want you to imagine a bullet coming from that gun, penetrating your skin, and lodging in your brain. You know how easy that would be for me?" But Shawn doesn't have to imagine it... because he's about to experience it.
