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Ο Ο Ο
6. Sleeping World
In a glorious moment You show me beautiful lights And I want to know all the colours Emotion in your eyes
- by Vancouver Sleep Clinic, 2017
There was no resistance this time.
It wasn't sure whether that was to be considered a triumph or concerning— then again, it was always good to be cautious.
It would dangle victory in his face this time. So closely that he could taste it. Taunting, jeering, laughing every time It held the end just out of reach.
His life force was ebbing away.
It was almost over.
Ο Ο Ο
When Richie woke up, he was fairly certain of what he wanted this time around. He pulled his hoodie over his head and put on a pair of pajama pants, trudging down the stairs and into the side room that had the bar. He grabbed a bottle of whisky, cast a rugged glance at the bellhop, who looked politely away, and trudged out the front door.
It was hot out, much like a normal summer should be. There wasn't a cloud in the sky. Richie opened the bottle and took a swig, head tilting backwards. A fiery stream of liquid seared his throat, and he stifled a cough, closing the bottle and beginning to make his way down the street. He lifted his hand to push his glasses up on his nose and found them absent from his face, but he couldn't find it in him to care. So he took another mouthful of alcohol and kept walking.
One turned into two, and two turned in to ten, and Richie could feel a slight buzz coming on nearing the end of his trek to the library. Nobody was out and about, but Richie had the lingering thought that he wouldn't really give much of a fuck if anyone saw him swaying down the street with whiskey in one hand and a cigarette in the other, which he had lit not long after leaving the townhouse.
Took took a final drag as he approached the library, steadying himself and stomping it out on the sidewalk before he walked in. It was mostly silent. Richie took another sip and glanced around. His eyes stung, and he had a headache. Mike was nowhere to be seen.
He made his way into the gift shop and looked around. The same clerk stood behind the counter, watching him with curious eyes that occasionally flitted down to the bottle in his hand but never clouded with judgement. Selfishly, Richie thought the man was a little bit cute. He had to be a little bit older— although he didn't seem as old as he had been last time. His hair was brown, but more of an auburn color where it caught the light. He had blue-grey eyes, sharp and yet simultaneously comforting.
