Could've Fooled Me.

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Syncear

Left awake against what my body felt all over. Not that I had much of a willing choice anyway. My mind flooded with so much at once that a single feeling of any mental tiredness was shoved aside harshly thus keeping up the rest of me.

Snuggled in a pint-sized room and silence left me with just enough space to space out. Plain and grey to match my mood and empty to match my feelings. Okay. . .maybe not so much.

I wish I felt as normal as I once did before all this. Overthinking what can come to pass at any given moment now was so tiring and mentally straining.

Strange enough, something deep within me still worried about him immensely. About the blood he'd lost, the bullet that psycho put in him, and the recovery. Worrying whether or not he would come out feeling and looking the same despite what Gavin already told us. While also dreading if any of that was good.

Boston was definitely something else. Someone unmanageable unless you knew exactly how. Taming the beast he'd adapted sounded awfully dangerous without completely realizing it. And trust me, I never said I was willing to try.

Following what felt like centuries since Ryder's company, I found myself tossing and turning under thin sheets once I did try to catch some shut-eye for a while. But tying only whacked me with an identical restless situation and considerable frustration.

I wished to see him. Actually witness with my own two eyes what I was hoping for. Seeing him wide awake—or asleep—but breathing. His chest rising and falling to its own rhythm, but alive. I smiled at that thought alone.

His shallow breathing and fading conciseness and everything else in between.

I felt my bones rattling inside me at the opportunity I was waiting for all along. Him dying and my chances to run back home where it was safe and I was optimistic again. Inexplicably optimistic.

I could've spent numerous hours reminiscing about the could've and should've of the situation, but that wouldn't do much but keep me up all night. If I wanted solace, I would have to erase my thoughts until the morning. But I didn't want that.

Developing a wave with the sheets that blanketed me, I lifted myself from the edge of the bed to reapply everything that allowed me to be socially appropriate.

With a hand on the knob of my bedroom door, the little hairs on my arms raised as if to warn me for something. I exhaled a sharp breath as I ignored its warning and stepped out of the room.

A hallway spread its legs wide for me. Long, dark yet lit enough for me to get through without my fumbling idiot breaking out. Now that I thought about it, I didn't exactly have any clear objective for this random—probably noneffective—attempt to put me to sleep. Or at least rush me into a state of fatigue.

I just continued to walk the long route with a slight limp and without a single word needed to explain to someone why I was out of bed. I remembered Ryder's instructions to stay in bed for as long as I possibly could so not to put any unnecessary pressure on my ankle.

While I tried to explain to him countless times that my ankle was just fine and I didn't need the doctor's orders to relax for a bit, he still insisted. And by insisted, I mean demanded until I gave in. I couldn't tell whether his demands to keep me in bed were for my own good, or to keep me as far away from Boston as possible. His reaction to me asking about him shifted rather drastically, I noticed.

There was no reason to pick fun at him for trying to conceal who he truly was. He was hurt before and so was everyone on the face of the earth. Every soul faced difficulties and heartache. Most of which did exactly what he had. Plastered on a sticker to hide what was underneath. I'd never really found myself doing anything like that, but I was beginning to feel that I should.

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