Reaching for the Stars

Chapter 11: Final Term Party, Part 1

(Revised 22/09/21)

Yet another morning he woke up before sunrise.

Tom took a sip from the cup of tea, staring at the dawn behind the window with a pale face and an empty look. His room was a mess as he just had one of his breakdowns. He knew he should clean it, but right now, he wasn't feeling like it.

His shaky hands put the cup back on the nightstand as he let out a sigh and closed his eyes. Recently, the nightmares were becoming tamer, and Tom was grateful for that. At least he could wake up without the paranoia that something was going to happen.

He looked back at the sunrise as it was slowly creeping up the horizon. Sometimes, he felt like enough. He wanted to run, he wanted to cry. He wanted to tell someone and be told that everything was going to be okay, that it was just the nightmares. That nothing was ever going to hurt him anymore. That he was free.

He was not free.

No matter how far had he gotten, the nightmares kept chasing him. They were a part of him. He could never forget them. They were burdens that he had to carry throughout his life.

And then there was him.

Tom took another sip from the cup as he pondered the existence of another mind inside his body. He read the theories; as his body's response to the mental and psychological abuse he endured, it created a second personality within his mind. He was, to put it simply, the personification of his anger and fears. He sometimes hurt people as a defence mechanism. There was a possibility that he didn't even care for anyone except his own self.

Tom had talked to him, but he never knew he existed until he found out that he had been doing something. Since then, their minds often intersected, and Tom could see behind a glass window when he was doing something while in control of his body. Sometimes, he felt a presence behind his mind, often unharmful, sometimes annoying.

After several fights at taking over, they agreed to work together as two voices in one body. He gave him the name Lain, and he was fine with it. They talked several times, and Lain was the only one who understood him, in his own way. And surprisingly, Lain made his days a lot more bearable.

He—they—was a freak. He was not supposed to exist.

And yet...

Who put him here? Who decided to give him life? What was it for? To whom would he return? If there existed god, why did he put him in this situation, in this story?

What was the point of all of this?

Such were unanswered questions. No matter how hard he tried, how far he looked, he would never find the answers.

His life was a hopeless, confusing mess. Despite his attempts to try to get it right ever since, the past kept haunting him. If his life were a story, there would probably be two chapters: the really bad one and the less bad one.

Tom let out a sigh as the sunrays brightened his room, bathing everything in its celestial warmth. The sheets were scattered, books were everywhere. One of his chairs was broken. Yet all of them seemed nothing compared to the warmth the sun gave. It embraced the world, basking everything in life.

The wolf sipped the tea again, this time in indifference. He stared back at the window, expressionless. His hands were no longer shaking due to the utter nothingness he was feeling.

Perhaps some questions had better be left unanswered.

-

"We're here."