Shadow
"—And if you call now, we'll throw in our new patented (patent pending) Shovel Claws with any order of the Aqua Shield Pro! Aqua Shield Pro; shield your lawn with the power of water!"
Strewn out, face buried in a cushion, Shadow didn't care how long it had been since he tiredly drove home, practically crawled through his door, and finally plopped himself on the couch. He had flicked on the TV, intending to find something to watch—something to pass the time. But now he was stuck on the white noise of infomercials, eyes only half-following the movement of the overly-excited announcers on screen.
Rolling to his back, he looked up at his ceiling fan, the hypnotic motion threatening to rob him of his last shreds of consciousness. As much as he wanted to just shut off his brain, he had never known how to flip that switch. His thoughts were a radical train with no station in sight.
His gaze traced the shape of a water stain in the corner where the wall met his aging popcorn ceiling, vague restlessness melting into a weird malaise. He glanced at the papers neatly stacked at the corner of his coffee table—assignments already completed days in advance. And it wasn't like he could get ahead on that stupid home ec list without Sonic—that much was made incredibly clear.
There was a rare lull in activity where he could finally take a breath.
And he hated it.
The minutes bled into hours, moving like molasses. Anxiety prodded him to move, but he just...didn't. A pile of yellow yarn sat curled in his knitting basket—a new blanket for Maria. He could—he should—work on it, have it ready for when he saw her next.
His eyes flicked back to the TV instead.
Too many hours to fill. He let out a sigh, immediately feeling heavy with the temptation to just give up and sleep—if he could even fall asleep.
Self-appointed promises flicked through his head—things he should be working on.
He should, but he can't, he can't, he can't—
I…can't stop.
He let his eyes close, as if blocking out one stimulus would quiet the others.
Lazy.
Selfish.
You're wasting time.
"Stop," he moaned aloud. The twisted voice of his anxiety didn't listen.
Every second you spend on your ass is a second closer to Maria's—
"Please, just let me rest," he begged his vexing perfectionism, desperate to just feel a moment of peace, burying his head under a throw pillow to try and gain any control over his head.
Maria is wasting away, and you have the gall to sit here and whine—
"Stop," he finally shouted, throwing his pillow at the wall. ...I'm doing the best I can. Tears began to collect on his lids. He curled in on himself, jaw tensing as he tried to stop the dam from breaking.
What more could he do…?
He let out a breath, wincing at how shaky it sounded. He hated caving into his emotions like this. Maria was always so strong. And the shame of succumbing just made him more frustrated.
He knew what he needed to be, what he should be.
But he was still just a person—he couldn't always be expected to be that, could he?
His selfishness turned his stomach.
You don't deserve to be happy. Not unless she's happy.
Shadow finally got up, unable to fight his inner voice. Wiping away his tears, he picked up his crochet hook. Winding the yarn through his fingers, he started up where he left off.
The monotony of casting and pulling each crochet mixed with Shadow's blurry focus on the television into a slurry of mind numbing sensations. The half-focus he shared between both activities at least seemed to create a barrier from his inner-self's derisive words.
Time passed, and eventually he met the end of his yarn ball. The blanket was still only half-finished, but a sore spot had begun growing in the small of Shadow's back. It wasn't painful, but when accompanied by his stinging dried out eyes, it meant it was time for bed.
Looking at the clock, it was already 11:00. Tomorrow may be a Sunday, but Shadow still had to be at work by 9:00 a.m.
The rumbling of his stomach had gone unnoticed for most of the night. It was only then he realized he had forgotten to eat anything tonight. To be honest, he hadn't had much outside of a cookie and some coffee for 'lunch.' He'd also absently snacked on some chocolates in his receptionist candy bowl at work, but his body was craving something akin to actual food now. But, he didn't feel up to making anything now as it was.
"Oh, Bernadette! Please, stay! I love you, I've always—" CLICK. Shadow turned off the T.V.
The screen faded into a mirror of black, hazily reflecting his bleary, unfocused eyes, still red-rimmed with tears stubbornly unshed. His gaze traced the dark circles that seemed to have made a permanent home under his lash line. The frown etched on his muzzle deepened as he tried to find some piece he was truly happy with.
He couldn't.
