Involuntary solitude

Author note: A little something I wrote in response to a school assignment called "24 hours of solitude".

Disclaimer: You recognize it, I don't own it

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Closing the door, he leaned his back against it as he let his eyes move over the small room. Dust- layers and layers of dust and dirt. This was what he would have to spend the following day in? He let out a sigh. Definitely not his usual, but he would have to make do. Twenty-four hours alone. Damn, why hadn't he learned not to make bets against that woman yet?

What the fuck? He let out a growl as he heard the key turn in the lock on the door, sighing as the lock clicked in place. He was locked in. Trust her to lock the door to make sure he paid up on his debt. Resigned, he straightened up and walked around the small room, taking stock of his new domain. A small bed, a desk, and a chair was all there was in the tiny space. Though, tiny depended on the frame of reference, he admitted. To him, this was tiny. Tiny and dust filled.

He sighed and walked over to take a seat, testing the springs on the bed by bouncing slightly. At least it seemed slightly comfortable. He checked the time on his wrist watch. Damn, still 23 hours and 55 minutes to go.

He swung his legs up to lie down on his back on top of the dusty bed and stared up at the ceiling. What to do with the hours ahead of him? 24 hours had never seemed a long time to him. Especially not after the many years he had already spent on this earth. Now, they seemed stretched out in endlessness. A multitude of hours, minutes, seconds and milliseconds. An endless line of moments, giving things ample opportunities to resurface. Things he had pushed down, placed a lid and a lock on so they wouldn't hurt him.

He remembered that first scent- the first whiff of that delicious crimson that sustained him... nourished him. That first gut wrenching moment when he realized he had lost the one thing most precious to him- the one thing that had finally made his undead heart feel again. He closed his eyes, trying to fight the memories away again. There was a reason he spent his days surrounded by beating hearts and chattering voices. He needed the distraction. He needed something to keep his mind off of the things he couldn't bear. The things that made him question how to go on. The endless years stretching on ahead of him. Alone.

He feared solitude and she had always known that. She had known this was the one thing he could not handle well. She had to have known this would cut him worse than anything else she could have come up with. He supposed he owed her that, but it still cut him- still pained him. He checked the time again. 22 hours to go.

Thoughts

I started with an idea and just let the rest come from that then read through it to check I hadn't done any major mistakes. I then asked a friend read through it to make sure someone who isn't in my head could understand it and that was basically it.