Some sad stories

If only he knew

(The song for this was "this is home" by cavetown if you haven't listened to it please do it is absolutely amazing)

It's 2:00 a.m.

Toby stares up at his ceiling for what feels like the thousandth time that night.

He lets out a deep sigh and rolls onto his side again. He can't seem to think straight.

His thoughts are clouded and blurry, his memory of what just happened fading into nothingness the longer he lays there.

He can't remember much. But what he does remember, he wishes he could forget. Every action he made is replaying in his brain like an amazing shot in a basketball game on ESPN at midnight.

It's a blur of how everything started.

He remembers seeing Chris dancing with some chick at the bar. He remembers pulling them apart. He remembers storming outside. He can't remember what happened from then until they got home.

He remembers slamming the door and screaming. Lots of screaming. Violent and nasty words that all seem like the set up to a very kinky sex scene in the movies.

Except that isn't what happened, at least, Toby thinks that isn't what happened.

He can't remember.

He remembers seeing headlights through the window. He remembers cleaning up a broken picture frame. He remembers breaking down sobbing looking at the picture. He remembers stumbling into the bathroom.

This is starting to sound like a song from some cheesy off-broadway musical.

Except it isn't, at least that's what Toby thinks.

He doesn't know, he can't remember.

The next thing that he remembers is really fuzzy. He sees blood... lots of blood. He can't tell where it's from though. He doesn't feel anything. Maybe that's why he likes the cuts, because he can't feel them.

He remembers seeing Chris walk back in, finding him on the floor, and not shedding a single tear. He remembers feeling like his heart had been slowly ripped out piece by piece by ants.

This sounds like some cliché romance novel or something. It's not, at least Toby thinks it's not.

He has no clue, he can't remember.

He sees an empty closet. He sees a million missing pictures off his dresser. He sees sheets soaked with sweat and tears and blood. He remembers seeing stars.

He remembers seeing Chris. He remembers a small kiss on the forehead and an "I'm sorry" before seeing black.

He remembers a bright light in his eye followed by about a million voices saying, "Sir, what is your name?"

He remembers answering in loose words and not being able to form a complete sentence.

This sounds like the ending to some tragic Shakespeare play.

Except it isn't.

This is real.

Chris is really gone and Toby can't remember why.

If only he knew.

If only he knew why Chris danced with that girl. If only he knew why he had to pick up a smashed picture frame off the floor. If only he knew why he couldn't tell where the blood was coming from. If only he knew what the bright light in his eye was.

If only he knew.

It's 2:01 a.m.

Toby stares up at his ceiling for what feels like the thousand and first time that night.

He lets out a deep sigh and rolls onto his side again. He hopes and prays he can forget everything.

But knows that he can't.

And he knows that he has to live with missing details forever.