DISCLAIMER: I own nothing.
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Standing in front of that tall, dark door, he suddenly felt like a child, dragging his light blue blanket behind him with this thumb lodged between his lips.
But he would knock first this time, because he wasn't a child. He was almost seventeen.
"Eric?" came the tired mumble, followed by the shifting of sheets, and he put his hand on the cold knob.
"Can I come in?"
"What are you doing? It's three at night."
"I…"
He paused. What was he doing?
"I couldn't sleep. Can I come in?"
"Yeah, sure."
He pushed open the door and looked at his father, alone on that ridiculously oversized bed meant for two. Their faces were illuminated by the moonlight coming through the blinds—one wide-eyed and frightened, the other old and worn.
"What are you doing?" the older face repeated, squinting at the clock again. "It's three in the morning, Eric."
"I couldn't sleep."
"Did you take your pills?"
There was a pause, then, "Of course you didn't."
"I don't like them, dad," he said, stepping forward.
"Well, what do you want me to do about it?"
"I… I wanted to sleep in your bed. Like when I was younger? You remember, right? And mom would always rub my back so I'd relax and you—"
"You're mother's dead, Eric."
"I know, but I thought—"
"Eric, you're seventeen."
"I… I know, but—"
"Take your pills and go to sleep."
He didn't respond. He just tiptoed out of the room as quietly as he'd entered, careful not to trip over the basket by the door.
"You're seventeen, Eric," he told himself as he dug through the medicine cabinet. "Take your pills and go to sleep."
The little, white tablets looked so strange in his hand. The cabinet door swung shut and he was face-to-face with his reflection, the sad, teenaged face with the pimple fading right next to his running nose.
Was he crying?
Somehow realizing this made it worse and his lips began to tremble; his hands shook. He sniffed and reached for a tissue. He stuck one pill on the back of his tongue, took a sip of water, and willed himself to swallow.
One, two, three… swallow.
His head came forward, and coughing, the pill came out. Wiping his mouth, he pushed it down the drain and returned the rest to the bottle.
He couldn't do it.
Back in his room now, he grabbed his cell phone off the shelf and flipped it open. Colored an eerie blue from the glowing of the screen, his eyes scanned his list of contacts. There was one he wanted to think about, and while he was thinking, his thumb came around and pressed the little green phone. Steady ringing soon ate up the silence.
What was she to him? What did she matter? Why her?
Because he needed to talk.
To anyone.