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Nothing was normal anymore.
Not like Carl's definition for normal was much to go off of, but whatever he had was almost certainly shattered.
He couldn’t get the image out of his head. Nick on the steps, the hammer in his hand matted with hair and blood, his white shirt speckled with red. Even worse was the sight inside, the body, the guy no older than Carl, maybe younger.
Carl turned to look out the window, this was the third night in a row he hadn’t slept. He wasn’t expecting to. Not with all of that on his mind.
It sucked too because Nick had always been a constant for Carl, even in juvie he had learned to rely on him. The quiet assurances, the time he’d spent actually getting to know Nick instead of brushing him off as another product of a violent world. And Carl wasn’t into that gay shit, fuck no that was Ian’s thing. But…the way things were with Nick.. Neither of them would dare admit it but things went past friendships or brotherhoods.
All that was now tainted in blood.
He blinked hard.
The hammer. The guy (the kid, god..). The steps.
He exhaled slowly as he focused on the muggy sky out his window. He felt like crying, but he wasn’t a bitch so he wasn’t gonna. Much less squeeze his pillow tight against his chest and muffle said whiny-bitch-tears into it.
A shudder ran through his whole body. The nonexistent tears did nothing to make him feel better, but they drained his energy and left him with an exhaustion his body couldn’t ignore.
As his eyes became heavy, he grappled with the fact that normal would never come back. That comfort wasn’t a luxury he had anymore.
He welcomed the unconsciousness of sleep.