Four Hundred and Twenty | Yogscast Lewis (xReader)

T w e n t y N i n e

T w e n t y N i n e

W i s e F r i e n d s

The day I felt pain, was when I learned how to bite my tongue.

There weren't any needles, knives, blades, guns; there wasn't any contact that could cut through into the pit of my chest. And yet - when the words start pouring out like, dripping out of their mouths like saliva, there is more to those words when it's touched.

Being someone who already looked out of place was already worse, let alone being out of place.

You're pushed to your limits, adjusted without your will that you might as well be the one out of the chess board. The piece that was in the wrong place and time.

Again and again and again. The cycle continued. Playground mockery, constant whispers behind my back. I remembered the taste of chalk hovering the air whilst I wrote the answer on the board. Quickly and neatly, I answered the teacher's request before rushing back to my seat.

However, at some point: the pain numbed. The voices were just mutters turned into mumbles. I comment faded and some point: peoples names were deleted in my head. Before I was rushing to get an answer written down; speed walking gradually faced to slow glides.

My head held higher and shoulders bolder.

That was why pain felt greater when I took an eraser and wiped it off clean. And when I pulled out the needle out of my arm, the feeling of cleanliness reverted me back to my moments.

Little sparkles of light blinked within my vision, as I rushed my lids wide. I looked about. Sitting on a rugged bed, compiled with many layers of fabric sheets, rotting curtains and stitched bin bags. There was a small wooden plank, enough to create a simple beside table - if you could consider it one.

Suddenly, I flicked up my head to hear a rattling cough. It echoed the dark gloomy room, and it would have probably woken up all the others if they were functioning properly.

'Shit,' I bemoaned in my head as I tried to hold my head. Though, my vision wasn't entirely the best: I almost slammed face first onto the concrete floor if I hadn't grabbed the wooden surface. At a sudden creak, I looked around.

Nothing moved.

It took another twenty minutes before I composed myself, enough to stand up and shove my jacket on and my bag on my shoulders. As I got to my feet, I stared a the floor - now knowing that there were two empty injections on the floor.

____

A few days passed, and I was sitting in the living room. George was in and out of the room, bickering about work. He had his packing time held at the last minute, which I wasn't surprised. Neither of us were mundane lovers and if the struggle for food was enough, if we couldn't pack a bag then I don't know how we actually live together.

I busied myself by checking over my emails whilst I had my pen in my writing hand and a notepad on my knee. It was another month until the office move, so Turps had given me on duty to sort of the systems in the newly dubbed 'Yog Studios'.

"I think Lewis had enough being in the fucking basement," The dark haired man snorted, watching a shoe fly over my head and into the floor of the living room.