Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
✘✘✘
"You look like hell, Saint. What's up, man? What happened to you?"
Those were the first things Saint heard as he entered the convenience store of which he worked. Finnick, the one who said the remark, was lazily sprawled out on the checkout counter, worried eyes trained on his friend. Saint couldn't help but agree with what Finnick had to say. He had another nightmare last night, and sleep was like a wanderer's home - so far away. He must've looked like shit.
"Hey Saint, why don't you go wash up first? Your shift hasn't started yet, and I'm afraid you might scare our customers away," Finnick chuckled, obviously trying to lighten the mood. He hands Saint a small white towel with a smile.
Saint returns the smile with a blank stare before coldly taking the towel and silently trudging to the bathroom at the back of the store. He locks the door behind him then stares at the man in the mirror. The man stares back.
His eyes were bloodshot, and his hair a tousled mess. His face was sunken in and the bags underneath his eyes looked enormously dark and heavy. His lips were dry with blood and other cuts; evidence of barely healing bruises were all over his face. At least he had shaved before he came.
The oversized hoodie Saint had quickly thrown on was beyond wrinkled and probably hadn't been washed in awhile.
He sighed, rubbing his eyes with his fists. Deep down for some reason, he knew he wanted to be angry. It would stir the demon awake and the mirror would be no more. Just a bloody fist and glass everywhere.
The man in the mirror was violent, bitter, and ugly inside and out. And no matter how hard Saint would try, no matter how many mirrors he broke or how many times he called for help, he could not kill this man. Saint couldn't get rid of him. This man would stay with him forever.
Saint hated how his vision grew blurry with hot, fat tears. He harshly inhaled, wiping his eyes with his sleeve before splashing the water on his face. Using the towel Finnick gave him, he wiped his face dry before quickly exiting the bathroom.
Truthfully, honestly, with all his guts, he hated the man in the mirror.
✘✘✘
Finnick had left before Saint had a chance to thank him for the towel. He had left him a note near the cash register, messily sprawled out on a napkin with black ink.
Feel better, buddy.
-finny
Saint stared at the note for a little longer than he needed to. He knew Finnick was just trying to help him. Ever since they met, Finnick would always tell him jokes, showed him videos on his phone, invited him to hang out, or always made sure he had someone to talk to. Anything to get him to smile. He was the embodiment of pure, 100%, gluten-free sunshine, and he was positive that he could outshine the demon, the dark thoughts, the shadow on Saint's face. He tried, anyways. These days though, it almost seems as if he's given up. Just as Saint had years ago.
Saint takes his place behind the counter. As usual, he has the graveyard shift. The pro was, he normally didn't have to interact with many customers. Obviously, since there were hardly any people still awake at ass o'clock in the morning. Con, however, was that the store was always so eerily silent. Sure, Saint would normally prefer it this way, but it always felt too quiet, and he was at risk of falling asleep. No way. That could never happen.
Bored, Saint turned his attention to the TV in the corner of the store, turning the volume up.
"-wenty-one year old man was rushed to the hospital at 11:46PM after profusely and uncontrollably vomiting up blood and entire flowers. Medics on the scene were quick to confirm that the man is suffering from the Hanahaki Disease, by which at this point, the disease had entered its final stages. Officials state that his condition at the moment is very unsta-"
Saint looked away. He couldn't help but let out a bitter laugh.
Love.
How could he possibly have time to love? More importantly, who could ever love him? The boy cursed with a demon. A demon that screams inside his head every passing minute. He didn't deserve love. He didn't deserve to be happy. Not when he can't even love himself.
