Colby stumbled into his room, knocking into his door making it slam against the wall. The loud noise startled him and Colby flinched. He left it open, too tired and drained to shut the door. He also didn't want to hear the noise again. He kicked his shoes off and crumpled into bed.
There was something wrong with him. His thoughts hadn't left him alone all day. His mind circulating thoughts that he didn't like, thoughts that scared him. It had been a long day, full of meetings and interviews. There was very little time to rest and Colby was drained by the end of it. Usually Sam was with him, on these meetings, but today Sam had made other plans.
He curled up under the covers, facing the wall. It was blank unlike the other two walls in his room, covered in colorful sticky notes. He sighed and tried to calm his thoughts. He was tired, too tired to even change out of his clothes. He hadn't had a good nights sleep in awhile. He had a reason, his dreams haunted him.
It was like his thoughts came to life when he was dreaming: dark, heavy, and unsettling. He tried hard to think about roses and candy and everything good in life. But all his mind kept thinking of were the memories of his childhood. Some days were better than others. Sometimes he would go a few days not remembering what his father did to him. Other days it was like he was reliving the moments all over again.
Sam knew, of course. Sam is the only one who knows how hard Colby's childhood was. Sometimes late at night he would hear the brunette crying and Sam would cross the hall and comfort his best friend. And every morning when they woke up, Sam would smile and kiss Colby's head and tell him everything is going to be okay.
Today those memories were extra prominent. Images of his dad, drunk, stumbling into his room to yell at him. Images of his dad gripping his wrists, digging his fingernails into Colby's skin until he bled. Flashes of glass and red, anger and hate, bruises and gashes, scars and broken bones. Colby lived with the abuse for years. Until Sam dragged him to California, where he's been trying to help Colby recover.
And Sam wasn't here to comfort him tonight. Colby cried, running his fingers over his once soft arm that was now littered with fingernail markings. His bruises had long healed now but Colby could still see the dark blue and purples that coated his stomach. And the large scar on his elbow from where his father had pushed him into a pile of broken beer bottles. Colby was too scared to go to the hospital that night, so he snuck out to Sams house after his father had fall asleep. That was the night Colby told Sam everything. They were all memories of his father and what he did.
Colby tried to fall asleep, he really did. He put on some relaxing music, hoping that would help. He covered himself with blankets hoping to calm himself. He even started counting backwards from a hundred. But nothing worked. His eyes were glued to the ceiling, at the fan that spun around his room. In fact, he was staring so long and so hard he could have sworn he saw his fathers face. Colby thought he was going crazy.
He rubbed his eyes but still the image remained. He closed his eyes, counted to ten, then opened them. Yet his fathers angry face was still plastered to the ceiling. Then he heard a loud slam downstairs and he jumped up. He reached for his phone and dialed the only number he knew by heart, Sam. It ringed three times before Sam picked up. And at this point, Colby was a sobbing mess.
"Hello? Colby?" He heard Sams voice but he didn't at the same time. All he could hear was the blood rushing to his ears.
"Hey, what's wrong?" Sams voice was soothing and concerning. "Why are you crying?"
"M-my dad," Colby sobbed out, still staring at the ceiling. His eyes darted around the room and he could have sworn he saw a figure looking into his room. He choked on a sob and scrambled off the bed.
