𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚘𝚖 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚎𝚌𝚑 [𝙳𝙸𝚂𝙲𝙾𝙽𝚃𝙸𝙽𝚄𝙴𝙳]

Double Sided Misunderstanding

When Alexander woke up in the morning, so energized he could have been sleeping for a few days, he was less groggy than he would have liked to admit. More than he would have liked to be true. Grogginess always meant loss of sleep, in a way. If Alexander got bad sleep the night before, then he was groggy, and needed a cup of coffee. If he was awake and cutely sharp without his cup, then he slept too much. He didn’t deserve to sleep too much, nor should he even if he did. Sleep meant loss time, time that could have been spend doing so much more. Writing, arguing, speaking, enlightening others. Anything, everything. Everything physically possible, that Hamilton might have possibly been able to see himself doing, could be done while he was asleep. Besides, why erase a good five, six hours from your life when you could gather the same amount of energy from a decent meal and a large cup of coffee. – Valid, he barely provides himself the former of the two, but even still, his point stands. He wished he was in an awful mood. He wished the soft, golden light seeping through from the shut blinds from the window were more irritating to his sore, blinked open eyes. He wished the silent sound of a soft breeze from outside the window, the faint chirping of a familiar bird that must have been a Robin, was more frustrating to his ears that pleaded nothing more than silence.

And even yet, though, it didn’t matter. What he /wanted/ to feel wasn’t the same of what he /did/ feel, as much as he would love to confuse the two. Technically, he should have difficulty mixing them at the current time and situation, seeing as though he’s been doing it the rest of his life – the rest of his life with Laurens – but, yet, the heaviness of his eyelids and the stretch of his mouth when a yawn broke through seemed to distract him from doing so at the time. And, though, with these thoughts that lacked any importance continued to seep in and out his mind, volume and intensity of them scooping up and down like an unsteady rollercoaster, the main idea was his sudden biting hunger that he hadn’t seemed to place before, the harsh growl of his stomach ringing in his ears as if it was the loudest thing in the world. So, despite wanting to stay wrapped in the comfortable confinement of the bed, swallowed in blankets and sheets alike and allowing himself to once again drift away to a state of unconscious, he willed himself up and out of the bed, lazily making it before shifting to stand in front of the closet. It didn’t really matter what he wore, this Alexander knew – all of it was too big on him, anyway. It was like forcing a toddler into a grown man’s suit. Besides, the back of his mind screamed that the cloth would be ripped from his body early on in the night anyway, so he didn’t have to do too in depth with why he chose what he did. Still, though, he willed that away, instead choosing a deep purple sweatshirt and black sweatpants.

He had to debate whether he should perform basic human necessities, like clean himself up or not, in all honesty. His mind was a bit like a switch that he couldn’t seem to control, and it had the same filter that his mouth did. None. So, for one second it would scream without hesitance about how nothing was going to change and he /deserved/ to be hurt and he didn’t need to bother doing anything for himself before, god, everything was going to happen again. He wasn’t worth the water bills, he wasn’t worth the expense of shampoo or bodywash, he wasn’t worth the softness of expensive towels imported from France. Though, the other side of his mind spoke in soft tones, hesitant voices, completely unlike the one of opposite nature. It told him how it was going to be alright, and how he should get washed up, how he could possibly get ill if he didn’t. How the warm water down his back would sooth him, the shampoo digging in his roots wouldn’t force him to violently pull out tangles from his dark strands of hair, the bodywash would soften his skin and relax him. And, though that portion of his mind was much quieter, much softer with it’s words and thoughts, it won. Alexander only figured that out when he felt the warm water running down his front, beading in his eyelashes, washing soap suds out from his hair and off from his shoulders.