Why can't I fix this?"

The sound of my footsteps echo through the long hallway as I harshly stomp through it. I can't shake my frustration and take it out on the previously silent air. I know I'm working myself up for nothing. No matter how many times I stomp or whine, it won't turn back time; it won't take away what's happening. So, if anything else, I might as well make myself relax...or at least try to.

When I reach my bedroom, I engage the code-lock. It isn't as if I'm hiding anything, I just don't want anyone around me right now. I peel off my jacket and let myself collapse onto my bed, nuzzling my face into my pillows. I am desperately tired and my eyes feel so heavy, but I'm not sure if I'll be able to fall asleep. I haven't been able to ever since I saw Noah back on my day off. It wasn't a very healthy development, but it wasn't like I could force myself to sleep.

I sift through the week's events in my head, unloading my heavy thoughts into my pillow. His shrieking and out most recent encounter remained most prominent in my head. I hate it when people suffer, as should anyone else, but this is personal; which makes it more treacherous. I want Noah to be okay, I really do. He was my first friend, and my best. So seeing him in so much pain is like having to watch someone kill my little brother and throwing his head at my feet. A pretty morbid thought, but it pretty much sums it up.

"I promise I'll save you."

Saying that now makes me feel like a liar. Every attempt I've made to actually do it, has failed, and it made it seem like not a single thing I could ever do would make any sort of difference. It really makes me feel useless. I have no plan or any motivation to go out and fail again; to go out and break the same promise for the hundredth time. I just can't seem to to convince myself that it was worth it anymore. "Great Job being a jerk," I tell myself, rolling onto my back. "Your best friend is out there somewhere suffering and you're too caught up in your own pity-party to do anything about it.

The room says nothing. It stays silent, offering no kind of argument; no kind of advice.

I don't know what I'm thinking, expecting the walls to talk back to me, and mentally kick myself. But I am sleep deprived and maybe a little delusional. "Man I need some sleep," I laugh, covering my eyes with my forearm. I lay there for who knows how long, waiting to fall asleep. I don't even try counting the minutes, just listen to the endless ticking of numberless seconds in the silence. Then, finally, my breathing evens out, matching the beating of my heart, and I sink down into the arms of slumber.