Why I Run {Prinxiety} - Book One of Why I Run Series

Chapter Twenty-Nine

WARNING: I will be mentioning depression and suicidal tendencies (very vague, but there) in this chapter.  I won't go to into great depth (not in my opinion, at least), but if this is a touchy subject for you,  or something that upsets you - I would advise skipping that section or even the chapter.  As I did in the beginning, I will mark when it starts, when it ends, and leave a summary at the beginning of the next chapter for you if you'd rather skip it.
Also: this is based around my own personal experience with these two things, so please be gentle.

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Point of View: Roman, First Person
Timeline: Present Day

I opened my eyes just a crack to find Virgil trying to be sneaky as he creeped back in my room, quietly closing the door behind him.  I peeked out from behind my mostly closed eyelids just enough so that he wouldn't notice I was awake as he settled down in the white rocking chair at my bedside.

He settled in the chair, pulling up a fluffy red blanket and tucking it at his waist.  He pulled his hood lower on his head, sparing a quick glance at me, before shutting his eyes and turning on the music in his headphones.

After two minutes, Virgil's lips parted as he slipped into sleep.

I gently made my way to my feet once I was absolutely certain he was asleep, spreading my wings out wide to help me keep my balance.  Being in my room had helped me heal a lot faster.

Not that Virgil staying with me hurt any.

I made my way across the floor of my bedroom, slowly testing each step, hesitant.  Thankfully there were no issues and I made it to my bathroom with no issues, besides some expected stiffness from not moving much.  I finally enjoyed taking a long awaited shower.  Still, I made it quick, assuming that if Virgil woke up and found me gone...

Once I had finished, I quickly peeked out into my room to check on Virgil.  He seemed to be sleeping peacefully.

My room was one of the few exceptions to the corruption rule.  It does affect the others, but it affects everyone much slower than the other rooms, and it doesn't really affect anyone at all when sleeping, beyond having abnormally rather vivid dreams.

Not that it was usually a bad thing.  Vivid dreams are good for creating.  But... that also means that nightmares can be twice as rough.

I quickly scanned Virgil, glancing to see if he appeared to be having any nightmares.  He at least appeared to be sleeping peacefully, not stirring.  I smiled at that.  I liked making sure he was happy.

I sighed at the turn my thoughts had taken, running a hand through my still drying hair.  It was... was a bit of an obsession of mine.  Being happy, that is.  

Ever since I lost my wings, I never wanted to be unhappy.  And I wanted everyone to be happy around me.  So I started throwing parties.  I got addicted to the energy of happiness and I've never let go.

Or at least, not by choice.

(Trigger Warning: depression and suicidal tendencies)

I've relapsed into my depression more than once, it's natural for me by now.  Especially after I've been forced to be creative so much it can cause just a period where I'm mentally just - just drained.  And it's no ones fault, but there's not really much anyone can do about it either.  

It's just one of those things... it just takes time.

Still, it certainly fuels my fire for creativity.  As I start reaching the end of my depressed episodes, I get very creative and I spin into this - this cloud nine of energy, which twists into happiness.  When I'm creating, I'm happy.  I guess that's because it's my purpose.  I feel like I'm doing some good.