Scowling into the darkness, my frustration grows. This is getting ridiculous, I think, throwing back the covers and climbing out of bed. There's something inside my head and chest like static electricity; it just won't let me rest.
As I tiptoe by, I hold my breath, straining to hear the sounds of sleep outside each of my brothers' rooms. Soft breathing, an oscillating fan flapping about the edges of an open comic. The tightness in my throat subsides and I find my way downstairs.
It's 3:17 in the morning, and I am alone again. The old me loved the quiet hours of the morning where I could sip tea then meditate and prepare myself for the day. Now I absolutely hate it. It's too quiet and too dark and despite having checked in on everyone just moments ago, alarms are sounding in the back of my skull; an incessant buzzing behind my ears that tingles. I'm learning I must trust myself to not trust those alarms, as hard and confusing as that sounds. I don't really know which of my instincts I can trust anymore, if any, and knowing that is incredibly frustrating. Donnie says things will get better with time but I don't know if I really believe him or not.
The truth is that I'm damaged—we all are, really, but everyone else seems to be holding it together while I slowly fall apart, piece by piece by piece. They either don't want to admit it or haven't realized yet how bad things are. I can't blame them, though. It's simply in us to be hopeful.
A sound pulls me from my thoughts, a metallic clang in the distance—a rat perhaps—-and I realize that I've been pacing. My surroundings come back to me after a moment: the cool cement under my feet, the glow of a computer screen saver cutting through the darkness. How long have I—?
3:42am.
More time has passed than I thought, and still, there is so much left. I start a kettle of boiling water and find my gaze straying. It's too dark to make anything out, but I know it's there. Chills run up my arms as my feet betray my mind and suddenly I'm there, face to face with with the makeshift shrine: in the center is Raphael's mask, flanked by his sai and other traditional objects. Almost completely hidden from view is his NightWatcher helmet. I know Master Splinter didn't put it there, so I'm guessing it was Mikey. Honestly I'm not sure how that makes me feel.
My hands reach out without my mind telling them to and they light an incense stick. I bow my head and in place of where a prayer should be is absolute silence. My gestures are hollow, but what's expected.
Afterwards, I take a step back and simply stare. I don't even hear the kettle scream. Only when the lights to the lair flicker to life do I come back to my surroundings: Master Splinter standing by the switch, regarding me, and then the spreading incense smoke. "Leonardo?"
The clock reads 5:36am.