Be My Friend

Chapter 52: Anxiety

The rest of the night was hell. I did a convincing role of making Alex believe I slept. Slowing my breathing and forcing my heart rate down –the whole nine yards.

Sleep evaded me. My eyes were wide open staring into the pitch blackness of my room. I listened to the light snores of the sleeping figure next to me. Every time I closed my eyes my insides would squirm. It was a never ending cycle. I would close my eyes, become nauseous, my mind would drift, and then my eyes would open again on their own accord.

By the time I had to get up for work there was no doubt in my mind that my eyes were bloodshot. Too bad I didn't have any eye drops.

The next night was just as bad; if not worst. This time, instead of sporting those bloodshot eyes that seemed to be all the rage with me, I now had dark bags under my eyes. Joy! There was no hiding that sleep is not in the schedule for me.

"You're gonna draw blood." He warns in a murmur from beside me.

His eyes are closed. A few strands of black hair tickled my bare shoulder. I scrunch my nose in confusion before noticing how tense I am. I slowly declaw my finger nails from his newly abused forearm.

"Sorry." I mutter apologetically while cringing.

I should file my nails down –they were getting too long anyway. My mind spirals but my body is exhausted so it isn't like I could paint m or just do anything to pass the time.

By the time the sun made its appearance in the sky, I'm stiff as a brick. I'm stuck in a haze of sleep deprivation that seemed to suck the life out of everything around me. The shades of grey blend and meld together, equally reflecting my mood.

•

I cross my arms over my chest and wait for my water to boil for tea. I turn to look out the window and accidentally push the cup I planned to use off the counter. The mug shatters into multiple pieces with a loud crack. I clench my jaw.

I stare at the broken pieces of my favourite mug in shock before an irritation stirs. I bite the inside of my cheek hard and drop to my knees.

"Of course. Of course I had to knock the bloody fucking thing off the fucking counter." I snap out loud in frustration, my chest constricts and I run a hand through my hair.

Two sock clad feet enter my field of vision and I don't have to look up to see who it is. I begin picking up the larger chunks first –careful not to cut myself. The kettle whistles and he moves it to a different burner and turns the stove off. He squats down in front of me.

"Accidents happen." He simply states, moving to take hand into his own.

I roll my eyes meeting his gaze. He blinks at me. I can't help but scowl.

"The world is out to get me, Alex. I just know it." I huff like a child and pout.

I go back to cleaning up but confusion hits  me as the pieces vanish, including the ones in my hand.

"Or maybe you're just a little more clumsy than most people." He replies casually while opening his hand up to my completely intact mug.

I blow out a deep breath before slowly taking it, a blush spreads across my cheeks.

"Thanks." I murmur quietly, feeling my anger and hostility melt away. 

Thank god I didn't work today. I would probably kill some customer before noon.