End Me Quickly

2: Waking

The monotony of waking every morning bears a new weight of importance once one begins to question its consistency.

There is so much we take for granted, from every breath we draw into our lungs to every word we expel from our lips.

And in the small eternity I spent drifting in the darkness, my mind wandered to all of the things I feared I may never experience again-- warm sunlight dancing across my skin, the cool chill of morning air spilling in through open windows. Even the quiet tears spilt in the aftermath of little misfortunes-- though every misfortune seemed so insignificant in the wake of what could've been the final misfortune to befall me.

For even as the darkness fell away, revealing the boy's guilty face and the telltale crimson stains glimmering on his teeth, I couldn't be certain any of it was real. I couldn't be certain life could go on as it had before, as monotonous and predictable as it had always been.

Even as the boy lifted me, my aching limbs stiff and cold, eyes stinging with the chill of early morning I'd so feared I'd never feel again, doubt and bewilderment clung to me like age-old spiderwebs. He smiled at me, the expression itself nothing more than a pained gesture of gratitude. He led me, half-carrying my limp frame as though bound by some unspoken obligation.

"Sun's rising," he muttered, the words careful and low; his voice was worlds away from the drunken drawl it had been the night before. I opened my mouth to question him, to beg or plead or scream-- but my chest remained empty and sullen.

With a cold and steady hand, the boy took hold of my shoulder, leading me stumbling beside him. In my haphazard observations of our dim surroundings, it appeared as though no time had passed. Behind us, the city's nightlife continued on without hesitation; the music thrumming within the walls of the nightclub had never ceased, not even for a moment. With bleary eyes, I searched for some evidence of time's passage, desperately and tirelessly-- to no avail. The boy sensed the hesitation in my unsteady footfalls and urged me forward.

"Hurry," he uttered, the word desperate and sharp. And as we stumbled forward, I could see the morning light severing through the shadows. Spindly fingers of sunlight tore through the darkness of nightfall, the sky stained with bruised hues and shifting clouds. It seemed almost vengeful, driven with a hasty purpose, and as the daylight flooded my peripheral vision, my eyes watered and burned as fiercely as though they'd been scratched. A scalding warmth gnawed at my arms and face; my chest tightened, compressing and straining as though it were searching for breath underwater.

Just ahead of me, the boy thrust open the doors of a modest apartment building. As he led me inside, the burning sensation subsided-- my eyes and flesh comforted by the returning darkness. I found the strength to move unassisted as the boy reassumed the lead, moving through labyrinthine corridors and stairwells I could've lost myself in easily. The apartment had evidently been around longer than the both of us and its interior architecture and upkeep reflected such. Lights were scarce, and signs of life even more so.

Stepping across dusty debris strewn over the floorboards, we reached the basement level, a network of rust-laden pipes snaking overhead. I kept my head low as I followed the boy into a small room to the left-- it was a quaint space, the walls draped with ornate fabrics and filled with the warm glow of candles. It seemed a place stolen from another time, yet grounded in the hardships of reality; broken glass lay scattered across the floor, spilt wine eternally stained into the carpet. He gestured to a weathered sofa, the leather upholstery slashed through and sagging. 

I sat down warily, keeping one clammy hand plastered to my neck. With shaking fingers, I could feel the incisions-- small and round, caked with dried blood. The longer I touched them, the more I could remember; I could feel it all again, the icy chill of blood loss, the burning sensation of teeth sinking into my skin. 

Across the room, the boy situated himself in a cozy bed. His eyes were on me, though his attention resided elsewhere. Across the faded bedsheets, his hands twitched, fingers pressing against one another feverishly. 

"I've forgotten to introduce myself," he said finally, "my name is Corbin."

I gazed in dumbfounded silence, unsure of the nature of his introduction. Unsure of whether it mattered at all, after everything that had occurred. However, despite my apprehension (and ultimately, my better judgement) I humored him.

"I'm Silas," I muttered, the words sounding more doubtful than they ever had before.

And then a thick and heavy silence overtook the cozy apartment, wringing it free of any previously welcoming air; we laid there, eyes interlocked, together yet alone simultaneously. Every thought and every fear I had experienced moments before came crawling back, swarming and throbbing, screaming incessantly. I didn't know why I was here, I didn't know why I willed myself to stay. And as the voices droned on, urging me to escape, my limbs grew heavy and leaden, seemingly melting into the sofa's upholstery. 

And within moments, I was gone again, enveloped in a strange yet comforting darkness.