Norman may not have been the most extroverted, but the return to his large, empty home had been difficult. The boy had become so accustomed to share a tiny space with his crew, suffering their vulgarities and questionable hygiene, that finding himself alone in the large empty rooms of the house only accentuated the pain of the separation. He didn't have much things to do either; he'd missed the inscriptions for college, he had no job and no one had come to see him. Although when he thought about it, his patience and organization skills were so poor these days he doubted he could even keep a job at a stationary store.

Norman had wanted to call Mary, his childhood best friend. They were very close before he left for bootcamp. He sent her a few letters during his service in Germany, but never received any reply. At that time, Grady had spent hours harassing him just to know the identity of his mysterious correspondence. It was a time where he had friends, real ones. Despite all the horrors he had seen there, Norman was missing this fraternity. It had both broke him and made him grow so much. The army had made a man out of him, however now this man had only memories to keep him company.

For several minutes, Norman stared at the phone, body stiff and skin itching with cold sweat and shivers. He kept twitching the piece of wrinkled paper between his fingers. It was actually a magazine picture, on the back of which Don had written his phone number. Thin channels of bitter tears were rolling along the young man's cheeks. His chest was painful under the mad march of his heart, tight with the erratic rhythm of his panting breaths. He had just woken up from an umpteenth nightmare. The simple thought of the sergeant's low and even voice seemed capable of soothing the anxiety that was running through his veins. But at the same time... it was four o'clock in the morning, the sun was still low and the fog was overflowing the city scenery. It would be impolite to call someone this early in the morning. But at the same time, his mind seriously threatened to snap if he didn't.

Norman inhaled with difficulty, wiped out the lines of salt water that had reached his wettened lips and dialed the number.

Ring.

The boy's knuckles were white from crushing the handset against his ear.

Ring.

A new sob tightened his throat like a vice. The young man swallowed it back down, biting his lip to the blood.

Ring.

Norman brought his knees to his chest and sank into the leather chair.

Ring.

''Please, do something...'' he mumbled shakily.

The line hung up. The handset slowly slipped from his weak hand. The pain in his chest exploded, fragmented like a thousand spikes of ice that lacerated him right into the soul. The sob returned, the tears began to drop again. The boy buried his face in his knees and let himself cry. The echo of his lamentations propagated into the empty carcass of the house. It was like going back in time, a vision of those evenings that he had spent in his youth trying to hide his tears from his parents as he tried to be the perfect son. The only difference was that now, it wasn't a shiner on the eye from the other kids but a stab in the heart that was ripping him out of tears.

And it didn't feel like it was ever going to stop.