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There was too much.
Too much.
Too much.
Too many voices and fake scenarios. Too many worst cases and happy places to the point where Ian didn’t know which was which. Too much noise, but not enough to drown it all out. Too much of a mess and too many solutions hidden away from him. There was too much of him and he wasn’t even sure he existed.
Time didn’t move. Between the first day and the twentieth, he had lost count, so he didn’t know if it was the second day or the hundredth. But time didn’t move until it had already disappeared. He had no idea where it went or whether he was clawing at it to stay with bloody nails.
There was too much.
Too much of him and too few people around. Perhaps that was why he was alone, lost in the daze of waiting for the light at the end of the tunnel. In a way, he preferred loneliness. He doubted he was good company on a good day, let alone on his worst. Putting the length of his apologies between him and anyone who tried to start conversation to spare the other from suffering the realization of the dull company they keep was a habit. It was nature. Why choose him above anyone else?
Even just having these thoughts was too much. Too much to handle. Too much to bear.
Ian didn’t know who he was or who he would be when he came out on the other side. Would he be the same as before? Would he have changed? Will the change have been for the worse or for the better? Who did he want to be? Who even was he? He didn’t know.
He didn’t know.
He didn’t know.
He didn’t know.
The thoughts in his head weren’t sharp and stinging. They weren’t scraping along his brain, drawing blood with each new spin and twist that occurred inside of him. His thoughts were thick. Heavy. Drowning himself with things he didn’t want to think about but couldn’t stop. He could see them with his eyes open and with his eyes closed. Always there. The possibly worst he could conjure up only to attempt to chase them away with the something else – something brighter. It worked. For a while.
Until it didn’t.
That’s when the tears began.
Silent. Muffled. Screams without sound. Trying not to bother anyone.
That was when the light at the end of the tunnel was the furthest away. It didn’t exist then. Ian was better off in the darkness. Dragged along and alone with only himself as company to keep. The worst company he could think of.
There was too much.
Too much!
Too m—
“Ay, can you stop with the fuckin’ karate kicks? You ain’t Jackie Chan,” Mickey complained, kicking Ian lightly in the shin under the covers. “And get the fuck closer. S’no fuckin’ heater in this shithole you call home.”
“Can you keep it down?” Carl tiredly spoke from the top bunk in the boys room. “Some of us have shit to do in the morning.”
Mickey scoffed. “Like what? Skinning stray cats?”
“What are you even doing here?” Ian could almost see Carl’s squinting eyes filled with confusion in the darkness.
“Mind your own fuckin’ business, s’what I’m doin’.” With a huff, Mickey tugged on Ian’s arm and Ian silently complied.
The room fell quiet again. Ian pressed himself as close to Mickey as he possibly could, closing his eyes as he deeply inhaled to fill his lungs with the scent of the boy next to him. Ian swore it was like drugs. Like Mickey – his entire being – chased away the bad. Did everything magically go away? Fuck no. But it helped. It reminded Ian that there is a light that never goes out.