Thinking Out Loud

12:00 am

I look over at him. Oh how in love with him I am. The way his brown hair is curled under his headband, as he looks up at the ceiling. His green eyes will always be the death of me, menacing and control. His perception of the world is hidden in those eyes. I would love to tell him.

The only problem is he can't hear me.

I'm unconscious, yet still conscious. I can't speak, open my eyes, nor move. But, I am at the same time. The reason; I'm not in my body. I'm out of it, sitting on the edge of my bed. It's like some out of body experience. I can hear everything everyone is saying, while walking up to them. They don't know I'm doing this. They just see my lying there. And if I try to respond or talk, they can't hear. It acts as a thought stuck in my head.

I can also see myself. This is something completely surreal and new to me, since I've never seen myself before. My hair is fallen down on my. Forehead, my eyes closed, face bruised. It looks like I'm just sleeping, but of course I'm not.

I'm sitting across from him, this lovely man. He's hugging his knees, his head looking up above him. He isn't sleeping, but he isn't moving either. He's just sitting there. He isn't crying, his eyes are red though. I want to hug him, I want to hold him in my arms so badly, so tightly.

He finally looks down, and looks at me; and by me, I mean unconcious me. He immediately looks away, only to slowly turn his head back around again. He puts his knees down, and stands up. At first I think he's leaving, but then I see that he's walking over to me. He sits on the edge of the bed, so I decide to sit right next to him.

He smiles, and places his hand on my forehead, pushing my hair aside. It's odd that I can feel that, but my body doesn't react. My chest continues to rise and fall, as the machine next to me beeps.

He's just staring down at me. Why is he just staring down at me.

Then he lets out a sigh and shuts his eyes. He's biting down on his lip, and trying hard to maintain his breathing. I hate this. I hate seeing him struggle to try not to cry, whilst looking at me like I'm going to die.

"Louis." He breathes out. His voice. His sweet, smooth voice is raspy now. It's from the screaming or crying, you can tell. I can tell.

I fucking hate it.

"Look at you, look at me." He sighs. He shuts his eyes again, inhaling a deep, sharp breath. When he opens them back up, I can see the red marks on his cheeks from crying. "This is all my fault."

"This isn't your fault, it would never be your fault." I say, but he doesn't respond. I'm thinking out loud, but he can't hear a word that comes out of my mouth. This whole situation is toxic. No matter how many times I could say it, he would never hear me.

"I should've been there with you. I should be the one in the hospital bed right now. I should be the one who got hurt. You don't deserve any of this." By now, he's practically out of tears, just the stains on his cheeks to prove of how much he did earlier. "I can sit here all I want, but it won't take away the fact that I'm not even talking to you, and I don't know when the next time will be that I get to."

"Right now. You're talking to me right now." I say to him. He only stands back up, walking towards the window.

I follow him, watching his feet drag on the floor behind him.

"This is because of me. I don't know what else to think. It was because of me." The sleeves of his sweatshirt are over his hands, and his black skinny jeans have a brown belt looped around them. That was always my favorite outfit on him. "You saw me with him, you saw me walking around with him. I mean, what the hell was I thinking. Yeah, we had broken up, but I thought I could get you jealous. So you'd want me back." He turns around, and faces my body. "Who the hell did I think I was? I broke up with you. I thought you didn't love me anymore. But the truth is that seeing you crushed when you approached me and him, it fucking tore me apart."