A/N: Yes. Coliver. I know. I had to do it. And yes I had to write another multichapter angsty fic, because that's what I do. There are trigger warnings (if you've read The Truth Is, you'll be OK with this one. HEH), but nothing too extreme. Yet.
"Get out! Get the hell out!"
Michaela took a step back as the book hit the floor a few feet away from her. She instinctively placed a hand over her mouth as she watched Conner reach for another book off the table. Another dull thud, and the book was lying open on the floor. Connor was heaving, his shoulders coiled so tightly that she was certain that he was going to snap. His eyes were frantic, even desperate.
She wanted to be angry at him, but she couldn't. Not when she could clearly read the hurt in those eyes. They used to be so confident. So full of life and ambition.
"Connor, calm down," she managed to breathe out, holding a hand up. She knew that he would never hurt her. He had thrown things before, but never at her.
"Connor, please," she pleaded softly, her voice shaky. She watched Connor stare at her warily before retreating to his bedroom. Her muscles twitched, wanting to move forward and stop him. Her throat constricted as she stopped herself from calling out his name. She dropped her hands to her sides and stood there, for a long minute in silence.
With a heavy sigh, she turned on her heels and left the apartment.
0
Michaela stared at the untouched plate of sandwich in front of her. She had left it on the kitchen counter this morning, hoping that he'd finally decide to eat something, but no. Of course not. And she knew for a fact that there was nothing in the fridge. The last time she stocked it, she ended up having to throw away everything because they expired.
What was more concerning was the fact that he hadn't eaten anything yesterday either. He was going to starve himself to death.
Connor was on the couch, staring at the TV that wasn't even turned on. He was still dressed in nothing but a plain white shirt and a pair of sweatpants, and she had to wonder how he was managing with just that in this cold weather. His cheeks were starting to sink. The bags under his eyes were getting exponentially worse, and his once well-kept hair was now a messy mop.
"Connor, you gotta eat," Michaela began, taking a few steps towards him. That had been a mistake.
Without a word, he got off the couch and headed straight to his room. She could hear a familiar click, and she knew that he had decided to lock himself in his room again. She knew from experience that no amount of coaxing and threatening was going to get him back into the living room.
So she put down the takeaway Chinese food she had brought onto the counter and walked out of the apartment, hoping that the smell would entice her friend to come and eat something for a change.
0
"How is he?" Asher asked before taking another bite of the pizza.
"He's still refusing to leave his apartment," Michaela answered taking a slice for herself. She was trying to stick to her diet, but right now, she was in her "stress-eating" phase.
"Maybe I should go talk to him."
"Really? The last time you talked to him, shit hit the fan and I had to pick up the pieces," she replied rolling her eyes. Asher was the most insensitive person he had ever seen, not because he was an actual asshole, but more because he simply had no understanding of human emotions.
"Maybe we should just drag his ass out."
"I'm not going to manhandle him, and that's not even a legitimate solution," she countered, ready to throw the half-eaten slice at his face. He was such an idiot sometimes, it was a wonder that he was a law student at one of the best institutions in the continental USA.
"We can always shove food down his throat."
"Are you being a moron on purpose?"
"What?" Asher questioned, throwing his arms out.
She was wondering if she was going to have to get professional help.
0
Connor brushed his fingers against the cover of the book lying besides him on the couch. He could feel the rough texture of aged leather, count the number of small indents created from being thrown around so much. Connor exhaled slowly and opened his eyes. He wanted to be able to close his eyes without having to see his face again. He never knew that anything in this world could hurt him so badly. He never imagined that something could destroy him and leave him bleeding like this.
He pulled his knees towards his chest and buried his head between them. The cold air wasn't a distraction enough. He wished the hunger was, but it had only succeeded in making him feel more helpless. He had tried to eat, more out of instinct to survive than anything else, but no matter what he ate, he ended up throwing everything up immediately.
Connor closed his eyes and immediately regretted it. Now all he could see was the same, horrid image that had been haunting him day and night for the last many months. It all felt so real in his head. His fingertips began trembling at the sensation of the warm liquid that had plagued him that day. He could hear his own screams, ringing against the cold walls. The same lips that had brushed against his skin countless times were now rigid, unmoving...
Connor rushed to the toilet and emptied his already empty stomach. He heaved, clutching at the bowl. His throat burned, and there were tears in his eyes now. His knee hurt against the cold bathroom tiles, but he didn't care. He just wanted this to stop.
0
Connor blinked.
It was dark.
He remembered falling asleep when it was bright. How long had he been out?
Connor tried to push himself off the bed but stopped when he heard a small voice...singing. He knew it wasn't coming from his own apartment, but how was that possible? He hadn't heard as much as a squeak from next door since about half an year ago.
The voice was gentle. There was a hint of a smile in the voice. Connor moved towards the source of the sound and found himself leaning against the wall at the head of his bed. He didn't recognize the song. But then again, he had stopped listening to music altogether for some time now.
It was strange, knowing that someone was in the next room. A living, breathing human being. He had grown accustomed to the complete isolation, but now it felt as someone had intruded the small fortress he had built for himself.
But the song. Something about the voice. It had him keep listening despite the unsettling feeling building in his gut. He then heard dull thuds as well as the sound of glass hitting each other. The noises continued throughout a few songs. Connor continued to listen, ignoring his muscles' protest.
Someone was next door. He wasn't completely alone anymore.
0
Continue?
