He closed the door and locked it, so nobody might come in. He didn't feel like seeing anybody.
His face was cold only moments before, now, though, as he spread on the bed, his face expressed utter misery. He wanted to be left alone.
He heard them walking outside, heard them talking and doing stuff. Normal people did that.
They had friends, and they talked to them. Partners, soul mates, lovers. Everyone had something, someone…
He closed his eyes briefly.
When he opened them, he thought about turning off the lights, but he lacked the strength to get up.
He didn't want to be alone. It was so cold, so lonely there, when he was alone. He looked at the ceiling, and tried to imagine her with him. He tried to imagine her wrapping her arms around him, warm and comforting…
That imagining had helped him through many hardships, and he drew strength from a warmth that he could almost touch.
But she was never really there. She could never be there. Ever.
He turned over to his side, facing the wall. He studied it for long moments, watching the tiniest specs of dirt and broken plaster.
He hated being him. Hated his own fleshy existence, hated everything about himself.
He wanted to be something better, something… Something good.
There's nothing good about him, he thought. Not a thing.
No matter how hard he concentrated, he couldn't think of anything good.
How he wished not to exist like this!
He didn't want to die, he just wanted not to exist, not like this.
To be someone else, someone beautiful and happy, someone loved and heard. Someone who has friends and healthy relationships. Someone good.
He rose to his knees, still on the bed, and looked at his own reflection in a mirror above the bed.
It took only a short glance there, and he plopped back down to the bed, burying his face in the pillow.
If only he could not exist. Not like this. Not anymore.
A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts, and he raised his head just enough to ask who's there.
He presumed he sounded pretty gruff that whoever was there simply apologized hastily and left.
He wanted to be left alone. Left alone to blood and wallow in his own self pity.
Another thing he hated about himself. He pitied himself too much. He hated himself too much to stop, and he hated the fact that he hated himself.
He was aware that he was being vaguely pathetic, and the he was acting, most probably, in a selfish way.
There were people with bigger problems than his, and he was lucky in many ways. He had a roof over his head and blankets under his body. Food and drink as much as he wanted.
He should be happy. But he wasn't.
He was lying on his stomach, chin on his pillow and staring at the wall. He was swimming in the pool of his own self- loathing. And he hated it.
He hated the thought of himself being so selfish.
He hated that he hated so much, so long, so many.
How he wanted to be someone else… Better…
A single constructive thought struck him. It was good and hopeful.
He smiled, then got up.
With resolute steps, he strode to the door and flicked the light switch off.
After that, he returned to his bed, and went to sleep.
Fin.