Anathema | KLANCE

SEVEN: My Body Is A Cage

"Personally, I believe you might be bipolar, Lance."

Jolts flew down Lance's spine, waking him up instantly. Sweat was dampening his baggy shirt, and felt gross against his shivering skin.

"Shit, again..." His tremulous voice croaked out as his fists rubbed against the forming crust over his eyelids. The clock read ten-thirty on the dot, the ticking being overshadowed by the sounds of vacuums and the weather channel blasting from the living room.

Lance decided to glare up at the roof for as long as he possibly could, before the ever-growing headache finally hit him from not having caffeine in the past twenty-four hours. Adriana left behind a calendar for the new year that had different photos of cats each day, and the cover page for it was distracting him from his nonstop brooding.

It was New Year's Eve, and he was all alone with family members he couldn't stand. A part of him wishes Adriana never left to go back to Washington after Thanksgiving, but the other half of his conscience understood that it's a necessary evil in order for her to become successful.

Mumbling, he rolled over to face the window, propping up his numb-right arm underneath the caseless pillow. The new curtains he received for Christmas were shielding the broken patches of glass from his vision, along with the dreadful house that happened to be only a few feet away from his own. With each gust of wind, his pulse managed to go back down to a normal beat.

Both of his legs draped over the bare mattress, pushing the blanket down to the carpet as Lance stood up and cracked his lower-back. Before heading out to the kitchen, he made sure to grab his phone for a distraction from his grandparents, of who he avoided for the past six days. All the notifications from the previous night's rampage on Snapchat disappeared after he swiped right to check up on Shay's message, simultaneously reading the text and pouring a mug full of creamer and coffee.

"Lance, can you go get the newspaper? Your grandfather's running a fever." Martha's voice startled him from his own thoughts, to which he just replied with a curt nod, trudging outside with his phone in one hand and his mug in the other. A couple with country accents were fighting across the street, distracting Lance from taking the paper out of the lopsided mailbox.

After sandwiching his phone between his chin and neck, he clumsily dug out the newspaper and envelopes from the mailbox, shoving the box shut with his elbow. Half of his attention was invested in the explicit argument happening only a few feet away, the other half progressively getting puzzled by the envelope with his name on it.

"This cursive sucks," The mumble was clouded by the heavy wind, along with the satisfying sound of ripping paper. An address was written on the sheet of cardstock inside, with a small, sloppy balloon in the corner of the page. He recalled the sequence of numbers from the message he received from Shay, and connected the dots after staring at the sheet for a full minute.

Lance Ramirez was formally invited to a party for the first time in his life.

--

"Lance! You're here!"

Shay high-fived the boy she considered to be her best friend, a wide beam digging into her puffy cheeks.

"I made it, hope this doesn't look too tacky?"

"You look like an internet model, which is a compliment. Come on in, Rolo's getting lit already without us."

"Of course he is..." Rolling his eyes, Lance trailed a couple of steps behind his friend, taking in the scenery of the frat party. It was overwhelmingly different compared to Rolo's riot-like one a few months prior, having proper kegs and students packed in like sardines. There seemed to be an influx of college students piling in after they entered, hugging the seniors and juniors that were closest to the door.