Tell No One

Chapter 27

"Darren." Chris knocked a little louder. "Darren?" Chris debated walking in. Today Darren was supposed to come with him to visit Alana, and he was ready to leave. He had hoped Darren was getting better but...
"Darren?" Chris knocked once more before heaving a deep sigh, pushing the door open. Darren's room was a mess; clothes were heaped on the floor, most of his drawers were open, and there were empty alcohol containers literally everywhere. Under his bed, on the windowsill- hell, Chris could even see some on the bed Darren was currently sleeping on. Approaching Darren, who laid sprawled on his front, Chris nudged his bare back with his foot.

"Darren, come on. Alana was really hyped about you coming today." Darren groaned. Chris was grateful that he was wearing trousers at least. "Darren, get up." Chris was getting annoyed. It was hard playing babysitter for Darren. "Darren, I said get up! We're going to be late."
Darren groaned again, before bringing his arms underneath him to push up off the bed. His hair was mussed, and he stared bleary-eyed at Chris.

"What?" His voice was groggy, croaky from sleep. Chris stared at him pointedly.

"Come on. Visiting hours are narrow if we want to see her. I'll give you ten minutes." Chris walked out, closing the door a little harder than he should have. 
Darren blinked at the clock on his bedside table and sat upright on his bed, stretching his back out. 
He hated being sober. Being sober was a curse- he just wished he could live in a drunken haze, where his memories were fuzzed and his pain was muted. His head pounded as he got up with a groan. He itched for another drink, life already coming back to him with agonising clarity. Going to his wardrobe, he clutched the side and hung his head, thinking of Shelia. The pain was always there. It was a constant. It was a ripping, tearing, harrowing throb right where his heart was. Living hurt. Shelia was gone, and his world was now grey, grey grey grey except for that piercing throb of red that kept him reaching for the bottle. He hated Kiera. He hated Kiera with a burning, blazing passion, wanted her dead so badly that he sometimes shook with the injustice. It should be her ashes scattered to the wind, not Shelia. Poor Shelia.

Darren's legs wobbled and gave way under him, his knees hitting the floor with a resounding thump. He braced an arm on the edge of his wardrobe, sinking his head into the soft skin there. He struggled not to sob, knowing that if he started, he wouldn't be able to stop. Taking a deep breath, Darren was able to pull himself to his feet again. He was pathetic. Darren rifled through the various tops hung up, but he noted that most of them were on the floor. He was worthless. Pulling out a navy blue polo, he quickly tugged it on, venturing to their shared bathroom. Staring at his reflection, the face that stared back at him wasn't his. His cheeks were sunken in, his eyes hollow pits receiving into his skull. His previously glowing, bronzed skin was lacklustre, worn out. Brushing his teeth, he could not help but feel as though he were looking at a corpse. Surely, this sluggish man who was slightly drunk at 9 a.m. wasn't him. Spitting, he told himself that that corpse was him, but he didn't quite believe it. He hadn't let things get that bad.

He'd been signed on for a therapist at college. She asked him stupid questions like "How do you feel" and "How would you describe your mood". It was always the same answer. Always. He'd been told time and time again that talking to someone helps, and that it will get better, but so far, those have seemed like blatant lies. Talking doesn't help, and it is not getting better. The world still bleeds before him, the ground still cracks beneath his feet, and the only thing that numbs the pain is starting to kill him. If his own thoughts weren't already doing that.

"Okay, I'm ready." Darren walked up to Chris, who was playing on his phone on the sofa. Chris glanced up and gave Darren a smile.
"Great, let's go."

***

Kiera arrived above ground, in a supposedly abandoned building. Her mental clock must've been skewed during her time down there because she was surprised to find that it was daytime, bright sunshine streaming through the busted out window of the room she found herself in.

The room was skeletal. The walls were heavily graffitied, sprayed onto the bare brick. The floors and ceilings were still their unpolished concrete, and dust motes danced in the air currents, spotlighted by the sun. Her steps echoed slightly as she exited the room, door absent as she made her way outside. A quick glance around revealed that she was on private property, a chain link fence glimmering a few meters away. The ground around the building was dead and the dry cracked dirt crunched slightly beneath her feet. Looking up the chainlink fence, Kiera easily grabbed the top and hoisted herself over, landing gracefully the other side. Shoving her hands into her trouser pockets, it didn't take long to find the spiked skyscrapers on the horizon, and more importantly, the sleek black tower that was the city's pinnacle. Looking down, she realised an issue. Her top was still somewhat bloodied, and she had the most recognisable face in the nation. Grumbling, Kiera realised that her only real way around this right now was to run fast, and hope no one got a long enough look at her to put 2 and 2 together. Letting a deep breath, Kiera began running towards her black beacon.