My heart is racing. My breathing, shallow. I can feel my hands shaking uncontrollably from their place on my lap. I have to stay as quiet as possible, not wanting to risk him finding me. I can't let that happen again. I won't. I don't want a repeat of last time.
I've been hiding for a while. I don't know how long, my phone's not with me. It could be seven, it could be twelve; I have no idea. The closet I'm isolating myself in is too cramped for comfort, but I manage to fit just fine. Huh, I guess I am as diminutive as he makes me out to be. He's much bigger than me and could hurt me in a heartbeat if he wanted to. He never has, but he's gotten close a few times. I used to be the strong one, not him. I guess a lot has changed since we were kids. He's grown to an incredible six foot three, while I only stand at a measly five four.
He's changed a lot personality wise, too. He's less talkative, opting to show his hatred towards me in actions instead of words. He was never nice to me when we were younger, but somehow, he got worse. He follows me around a lot. Watches me sleep. It's weird, I know. I tried to stop him from coming into my house, but he never listens to me. Never. My friends constantly tell me not to worry about him, to act like he's not even there. They try to convince me that he doesn't even exist at all, but that's insane. I don't know how they can do it so easily. He could be standing right in front of them and it's as if they'd see right through him. Stan thinks I'm crazy. I'm not crazy.
As every minute passes, it gets stuffier and stuffier in here. A mountain of garments that were once strewn across the closet floor are now perched messily atop my head and body, leaving only a minuscule crack of space around my nose and mouth for breathing purposes. I wouldn't dare leave a space for my eyes to peer out. No, that's too risky. He'd know for sure that I was under this huge mess of fabric if, God forbid, he'd look for me in here. He's not here yet, but I have a strange feeling in my gut.
Suddenly, my bedroom door opens. It creaks noisily, and is followed by the unmistakable sound of footsteps. He's here. After a few minutes, I hear him start pacing back and forth across the room. His footsteps are heavy, which confuses me. Usually, they're almost inaudible; as if he wasn't even there. He's talking to himself, but I can't quite make out what he's saying. I rarely can. He sounds distraught, angry. Angry at me. He's always been this way, ever since we were young. Directing his hatred towards me is like a second nature to him.
I squeeze my eyes shut, praying this nightmare will end soon if I simply block it all out. I remove my hands from my legs and clasp them over my ears in an attempt to mute his voice, which works to an extent, but doesn't completely silence his harsh words and insults. At least, that's what I'm assuming they are. That's how he usually speaks to me, when I can actually make out what he's saying that is. However, for all I know he could be in a state of panic wondering where I am. Oh God, what if he's worried about me? Am I scaring him? Am I stressing him out? Maybe I should go out there. He's told me on numerous occasions that he loves me. I always tell him that I don't feel the same way, that I have a boyfriend, to which he gets mad at me. Love, hate, love, hate. It's like an endless cycle, one I can't release myself from.
"Kyle?"
Shit. God, I'm so fucked. I'll be found soon, and it'll be over. He'll hurt me. God, he'll fucking kill me.
"Where the fuck are you?"
No, no, no, no, no. This can't be happening, not today. I was supposed to be staying over at Stan's house with the guys tonight. I gulp, trying to force my tears not to fall. However, I can't hold them back for long, and let out a quiet sob. Suddenly, he stops rambling to himself. Footsteps are coming towards me. He heard. He heard, and now he's going to harm me.
I brace myself for an attack as the closet door is swung open. I peek through the garments to get a better look at him. Immediately I see a tall, slim figure standing opposite me. That's strange. From what I know, he's much larger than that. I can't see his face, he's completely blacked out. Shit, the room is so dark. How long have I been in here for? He tears the clothes I used for hiding off of me, throwing some of them onto the floor behind him. I scream, covering my face with my shaking hands.
"Hey, hey!" he yells frantically at me.
"Stop, stop, stop! Please!"
He hushes me and grabs me by the shoulders, shaking me slightly to snap me out of it. I look up in fear, dreading seeing the menacing expression I've gotten used to over the years. Now that he's closer, I can make out his facial features a bit better. Wait, is that?... "K-Kenny?"
"I'm here, Ky. Calm down," he whispers, embracing me tightly. I lay limp in his arms. I'm in a state of shock. Once I regain my composure, I wrap my arms around his neck and cry into his chest while he strokes up and down my slender back. We stay like this for a while. It's comforting. He's comforting. I forget about my fears for a while, but it's short lived. I pull away from him, clumsily wiping the endless flow of tears streaming out of my eyes. I hate crying in front of him. I hate crying in front of everyone. You'd think that after three years of dating I'd get used to being a complete pussy around him, but that's not the case.
He makes an attempt to help me out of the closet, but I stop him. "Don't. It's n-not safe out there," I stutter.
"Where? In your bedroom?" he questions me with a nervous laugh.
"He'll get me," I say, pointing towards the window. He's leaning against it, grinning at me. "D-don't you see him? He's standing right th-there." Ken turns his head quickly, but doesn't react as timorously as I had assumed he would. He looks back at me and tucks a strand of my auburn curls behind my pale ear. From what I can see, he looks worried. Frightened maybe? Either way, he's not impressed with me. I don't understand why he's looking at me like that. As if I'm crazy. I'm not crazy.
"There's nobody there, Kyle," he mutters. "It's all in your head. C'mon, let's get your delirious ass to bed." He snakes an arm underneath my legs and wraps the other around my back, lifting me up with ease. A few stray shirts and socks that were once placed not-so-carefully on my head and torso fall onto the floor as he raises himself into a standing position. He strolls over to my bed and awkwardly shoves the blanket away with his elbow, carefully placing me onto it. He leans over and gives me a lingering kiss on the cheek, closing his eyes so I won't see the worry in them.
"Why are you acting like this?" I question with a raised eyebrow, my emotional state seeming to have vanished into thin air. "All concerned and shit. It's annoying."
He scoffs, covering me with the navy blanket and sitting by my side. "Why're you acting like this?" he asks, not answering my question.
"Like what?"
"Never mind, Ky," he mumbles, switching on my bedside lamp. I sigh with relief at the now bright room. He's gone. He can't get me now. I tug the blanket away from the other side of the bed and gesture for him to hop in. He kicks off his shoes and climbs over me. Once he finds a comfortable position to lie in, he drapes his arm over me and kisses my temple. I turn to face him and huddle into his chest once again, savouring the warmth and his familiar scent.
"Kyle," he whispers. I nod tiredly. "Why were you hiding in your closet? You're out, you know. I'm walking proof."
I'm silent for a few minutes before finally coming up with something to say, dumb as it may be. "I thought... I don't know what I thought," I reply stupidly, ignoring his gay joke. Ken sighs. Fuck, I always disappoint him. "Why're you here?"
"You weren't answering any of our messages, I was worried," he mutters. "I told Stan to call it off. We'll hang out next weekend." I smile a little. He's being genuinely caring and thoughtful for once, a bit different to his usual sarcastic, cheeky self. "Oh, and if you ever decide to play hide and seek by yourself again, would you please for the love of fuck bring your damn phone?" Okay, maybe not.
"I was not 'playing hide and seek' by myself!" I growl at him.
"Oh, were you playing with your little friend?" he chuckles sarcastically. I glare at him.
"He's not my friend." Fuck, I shouldn't be saying this shit out loud. He could hear me.
"Then what is he?" he asks a bit more seriously, although I'm assuming he already has an answer in mind. I stay silent. "Nothing, Ky. He's nothing. A fucking figment of your imagination. You know what you need to do?" I look up at him with confusion etched on my face, shaking my head. "Ignore 'im. Do that, and he'll go away. The stupid prick will be all like, 'The fuck do I want with this fag if he's not even gonna pay attention to me?', and he'll piss off."
I look down at my hands. They're clutching onto Kenny's creased t-shirt for dear life. I slowly release the fabric from my tight grip. He doesn't understand. None of them do. They think it's all in my head; it's not. Regardless, they're trying, I'll give them that. "Thank you, I'll try my best," I lie, leaning up and pecking him on the lips.
"Good. Now try to get some sleep, Babe," he yawns, pulling me in closer. I comply, snuggling into his comforting embrace.
I shut my eyes in the hopes of falling asleep. It doesn't work. After about fifteen minutes, I open them again slightly, noticing the now dark room. Did Ken turn off the lamp? Probably, although I don't quite remember him leaning over me in order to reach it. I carefully turn around in his hold so that he's now snuggling my back. He's out like a light. It must be late. God, I must have been in that stupid closet for hours. Once I'm successfully facing the opposite direction, I stretch out my arm to turn on the light once again, just for reassurance.
"Don't."
I jerk my head back to Kenny as quickly as humanly possible. Still fast asleep. Then, who said that? I slowly turn around to face the door once again, and my breath hitches. He's there, standing at my closet door where I was once safely seated. He's watching me, as usual. I slowly place my arm back at my side, suppressing the urge to wake Kenny up in fright. He smiles at me.
"They don't think you're real," I tell him. "I'm trying to convince them otherwise, but they don't believe me."
He chuckles darkly, slowly lumbering over to me and kneeling by my bedside. "Don't worry about them. All we need is each other." I shudder as I feel his breath hit against my cheek. "I'll keep you safe."
"Goodnight, Eric," I whisper to him.
"Goodnight, Kahl."