The Bone Cutter

Chapter Thirty-Five

I can write in Inanis's POV everyday for the rest of my life it's so amusing

Chapter Thirty-Five

Inanis's POV

Today is awful, I think if I were to die today, it'd make everything significantly better, at least for the moment. 

I pace in front of the closed door of the guest bedroom. I want to wake Mirea, as she was so terribly adamant on sleeping by herself last night. I want to wake her and tell her to pay attention to me because my attention seems to be all over the place today, more-so than usual, and I can't breathe because I keep thinking about my lungs, and also about how, if I were to stab myself, how long would I be able to run before I inevitably die.

And then I think, wanting attention is childish, and I'm twenty-three years old.

But then, I'm the Bone Cutter and I thrive off attention.

But I'm not really thriving, not really.

I frown, perhaps I should go for a walk. Walking is so boring, I should run, but running is tiring, and I already can't breathe.

I lean against the door and I look at the light on the ceiling and I contemplate how many millimeters precisely is it from the floor to the light, and then I wonder if I can measure those millimeters with my fingers, but I don't know why I'd do that, why the hell would I do that?

The truth is, my mind has been more active than usual. The few days that Mirea had cruelly left me were the worst days I've had in years. For three days I was stuck in my head, thinking about anything and everything and it was all happening so fast that time seemed to slow and I can't remember anything I thought about except that I wished Mirea were there to ground me because I couldn't find the ground.

Those three days I was brought back to my middle-school days where I'd beg my fellow students to punch me, and they'd enjoy it, because how many times does one get the chance to hurt a rich kid?

Thinking about it, it was though I could feel each individual bruise, as I remembered how I'd limp around the school halls, and nobody knew that I was suffering because I was too stuck up in my own head to ask for help.

I pull myself off the door and begin to walk down the hall. I decided I won't wake Mirea, because I don't need her, and I'm fine, and I need to get over myself because I'm absolutely not going to take medication.

I get halfway down the hall, and find myself turning on my heel, and returning to the guest bedroom where I gather the dignity -or lack thereof- to open the door, and slip in.

I see her asleep so lovely, and so ugly, and I adore her, because she's lovely, and her lovely makes her ugly, because most lovely people are always ugly inside.

I climb into the bed with her and press my body against her. She barely stirs, as she says, "Get out."

I ignore her, because I don't want to be alone anymore, it's terribly boring, and not good for me.

Leech is laying under the blankets, and he curls up beside me, and I hate it, but Mirea seems to love the creature, so I bare it.

I dig my face in the crevice of her neck, and she groans, and I'm not sure if she likes it, or if she's irritated with me, but I would assume the latter.

"Wake up for me." I tell her, though I'm comfortable in this position.

"No."

"I'm bored."

"I don't care."

"Cruel."

"Shut up." She tries to inch away from me, but I now have my arm around her waist keeping her against me, and eventually she stops trying to move, and I'm relieved.