three am.

him [3]

The minute he entered his bedroom his cramped legs gave out, leaving him on the floor. His body felt a hundred punches every second, and his mind a pounding mallet with every thought.

His thoughts were nothing but questions, to which the answers he knew not. Although sometimes he did hold the answers, his fatigue disabled him from processing facts. He just spewed out questions, for the night left him with many. And all his queries were meant for her.

Was she upset that he declined her offer?

How did she know Bill?

Why was she so calm?

Why did she seem to have had fun?

Did it happen often to her?

Was she okay?

Was she lying on her bed thinking about him, too?

These questions built up a hurricane in his mind. So many whispers ending in question marks, but only silence dared to answer. He longed to climb onto her window and talk. The way they did in most of their three am's. That was all he wanted really; though pathetic it may seem to be. Three am for him was an hour that should be devoted to the caged thoughts that they could not unleash during the day. He thought he could actually look forward to this lonely hour.

He thought he finally found someone who understood that.

He thought he already found demons that play well with his.

He though, he thought, he thought...

And before exhaustion grabbed hold of him completely, he thought once more.

Three am did not feel like three am anymore.