Chapter Text
"And when I'm at war with myself
I ride
I just ride
Who are you?
Are you in touch with all of your darkest fantasies?
Have you created a life for yourself where you can experience them?"
Run. He wanted,no, he needed to run. To run away. From home, from the city, from that bloody school of his and most importantly from his everyday life. He felt like he was stuck in a golden cage, constantly being told that he should be grateful for such a blessing, deep down knowing it’s stil a fucking cage. This ability of deep understanding that was blessed to him out of nothing, which he hadn’t known whether it is a curse or a gift, kept getting more and more visible, causing nothing but to make him want to pack his bag and leave even more.
It was seven in the morning. Again. A casual morning of early spring. No one could ever make me sing at seven in the morning as a bird, he thought; slowly opening his curtains and forcing himself to walk all the way to the bathroom.
He looked like a trainwreck. His whole body was a scream of help, undeniably visible to everyone who were to take a glance at him. His ginger curls were getting out of control again, the oily look of them making it visible that he haven’t showered for days. His eyebags were back again, or maybe they had always been there, did it even matter anyway?
Maybe running away wasn’t enough. To be invisible. Completely. Not being heard or seen, just wandering around for nothing. Maybe that was also not enough. Being unalive. Anything other than living. He would rather anything that doesn’t require thinking, actually. To be a fucking cat. Either wild or pet. Not knowing a single word, completely living by instinct.
He might have been so harsh with the toothbrush that blood have started running down his front teeth. He put the toothbrush to the side and gently washed his mouth for a couple of times. Making sure that the blood was gone, he cleaned his toothbrush and walked the long corridoor that led to the dimly liy kitchen. His mind was blank as he quickly prepared himself a toast, chewing it like a baby that has just started eating actual food.
He haven’t chosen this, really. If he were given the right, he was damn sure that he wouldn’t choose this life of his. He even doubted he would choose to be alive in any way, too. He wouldn’t call himself “suicidal”, not in that way. He wasn’t sure if he actually wanted to live or not. The feeling of desire, of anyone or anything, was like it had been taken from him, so slowly that he couldn’t even notice. He lacked every possible feeling that was even similar to desire. He wasn’t afraid of anything either. He wasn’t afraid of death. He wasn’t afraid of his father, not anymore. He had nothing to lose, nothing to gain.Not a single thing he thought he would be grateful to have or feel.
He was already standing in front of the ugly building. One more day of acting as if everything is fine and he is just as sane as everyone in the classroom. The worst thing was that he had choir practice after school, meaning that he won’t be home before seven. No miracle had occured and the teacher entered the class just in time. The second she did, his head was fallen on the desk, surrounded by his arms covered in freckles.
It was one of them dreams again. Some kids he don’t even remember the names of. Everything so blurry, like a low quality indie movie. Some voices that are barely heard, being some words thrown in the air without order. Disturbing glances, symptoms of mania, feeling unreal, that wrecked feeling of dizziness…
Yet something is off.
In the middle of everything, there is a different sense. A heap of perfection. The glory of the ocean. The soothing smell of vanilla,and some fresh scent that lies underneath.
Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Pale skin. Like a perfectly picturized painting of the coast. Even though it’s not real, it makes you feel like it is. Makes you feel like it is worth to live again. Like you have never felt.