Burnt Out - Patrick Hockstetter.

Chapter 29; Guilt.

I nearly forgot about the various shades of pink and red that lined my skin. I barely remembered the fading lines and rectangles that had been so prominent for the past few weeks. I had nearly blanked them from my mind until everyone calmed down.

Victor Criss had exchanged his seat on the Lay-Z-Boy and claimed his position on my hip, just like the morning of Saturday that was only a day or two behind us.

While the punk movie continued to play, and mostly everyone's attention was lay on the box, I was distracted by the blond boy next to me, who was absentmindedly playing with my index and middle finger, occasionally locking his pinky with mine.

I wasn't expecting his hand to move to my arm, or his face to twist to an expression that I couldn't read. Was he angry? Was he disappointed? What was he feeling?

Vic lifted the sleeve of my jumper, his touch as light as a feather. He eyed the various shades of pink and red that lined my skin. With a sigh of sadness, he fell into my shoulder and locked his pinky finger with mine, making sure my sleeve had fallen back down around my wrist.

"We'll talk about this later." Was all he said before giving all his focus back to the movie on the tv box.

I felt an emotion I hadn't ever felt; I hadn't felt this emotion in a long time. My stomach felt heavy, almost like excitement but not as joyful. It felt like a locked joint.

Without thinking, I pushed Vic away, and headed towards the restroom. Slamming the door shut, I was shocked at how pale my skin was. I trembled, grabbing onto each side of the sink before me. I felt like I was going to vomit.

My whole body began to shake furiously.

Whipping my whole body around, I threw myself down to the toilet bowl and released my lunch. My throat and nose burned, uncontrollable tears falling down my cheeks and onto the tiled floor. What the fuck was I feeling?

Then it hit me like a bag of bricks; guilt.

I felt the exact same as I did when I killed Avery. I felt the exact same as I did when I broke Vic's nose in 4th grade. I felt the exact same as I seen Henry get punched by his dad.

Guilt.

I could feel the guilt of Victor blaming himself, and it was eating me from the inside.

Two knocks sounded before the door. "You okay?" Vic asked.

"I'm dying." I sobbed, not thinking.

The blond boy suddenly slammed the door open, slightly shocking himself. He then closed the door behind himself and kneeled besides me.

I felt his cold hands hold my hair back as I continued to throw up. I wasn't one to care about other people's feelings, but I wonder how Vic felt in this situation.

"I'm sorry." I coughed, wiping my mouth with a tissue.

"Don't be," he spoke softly, rubbing my back.

"It's not your fault." I weakly reassured.

"You can always talk to me," he ignored.

"Yeah..." I sighed, wiping my nose with the sleeve of my jumper. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" Vic pushed.

I shook my head and stood up, feeling as if I would pass out. My vision went fuzzy and I grabbed the counter.

"Shit-" Vic mumbled, quickly grabbing me.

"Headrush." I mumbled, exiting the bathroom.

Entering the front room, I grabbed my backpack and told everyone I was leaving, that I wasn't feeling too well and I'd see them when I'm back in school.

I wanted the ground to eat me up.