16 year old Troye Sivan couldn't protect his best friend, James, from what happened when they were younger. Losing the one thing that brought him any happiness, Troye escapes into his art, the only thing capable of breaking his endless cycle of apa...
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"Desiring another person is perhaps the most risky endeavor of all. As soon as you want somebody—really want him—it is as though you have taken a surgical needle and sutured your happiness to the skin of that person, so that any separation will now cause a lacerating injury." ― Elizabeth Gilbert
Troye's POV
****Possible Trigger warning****
Troye sat on his bed, hugging his knees and staring into the darkness. His attempt at sleep had only led to chaotic dreams, filled with memories of the past and fears of the present. He had jerked awake to the image of a smiling man reaching out with clawed hands. He hadn't made another attempt at sleep.
He shifted his head to stare at his phone, watching the time change and trying to convince himself it was safe to touch it. After bracing himself another minute, he reached out slowly and dialed a familiar number. He probably wouldn't answer. But it would make Troye feel better to leave a message.
The phone rang six, seven times, and was halfway through the eight when a voice said, "Hello?"
Tyler sounded disoriented, but Troye just sat there, hoping he would keep talking.
"Troye, is that you?"
Tyler seemed to disappear from the phone for a few seconds, maybe checking the Caller ID.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Troye whispered. But the trembling had already begun or, perhaps, had never really stopped. It was always like this after confrontations with his dad, even before...even before. Had his childhood really been that bad? He couldn't remember all of it, but the patches he had were awful.
"Troye?"
It was the middle of the night. And Tyler couldn't help him.
"I'm sorry. I don't know why I called...I just-"
"Can't sleep?"
Troye nodded, knowing that Tyler would understand even though he couldn't see him.
"Do you want to come over?"
Heat ate a path up his face and his throat tightened. Troye shut his eyes and pressed the palms of his hands into the sockets until he saw spots.
"Yes." The word came out on a shaky breath. He paused and swallowed before continuing. "But I- I should let you sleep-"
"Troye? Just come over, I'll put some tea on."
Troye nodded again, keeping his eyes shut. "Okay," he whispered.
They hung up the phone and Troye dropped it back on the side table quickly, not wanting to touch it any longer than necessary. He changed as quietly as he could and slipped out, locking the door behind him and trying very hard not the think about the last few hours.
