4

I don't know how long it is until I get out of bed, but when I do, I have to lean on the bed and wall before I can stand up straight. My legs shake as I stumble, coughing as I take deep breaths to keep myself steady. I try to take my mind off of everything else. But the sharp objects laid all over the room don't help at all; I have to look away from one of the pots of flowers on the shelf, for its prickly thorns tempt me.

I manage to limp over to the vanity in the room. If there's anything that will distract me from those gruesome memories, it is looking at the terrifying monster known as me. That way, I can point out all the mistakes I have been through in the past and blame myself for every single one of them. Nobody else.

My dark hair is tangled and an absolute mess, and the shadows underneath my eyes and cheeks seem more sunken in than usual. There is a sickly tone to my skin. And as much as I try to control it, my expression twists back and forth in a disheveled arrangement of emotions. It's impossible to tell if I'm pissed off or simply upset, on the edge of collapsing into depression or falling into bewilderment. The bones of my neck seem to stick out, as they increase the bony shape of my toned frame. I look and feel disgusted.

So I head over to the bathroom and splash water onto my face, meeting eye to eye with my reflection once more. I must resist the urge to break the mirror, to see the cracks split back and forth across my gloomy face. I hate looking at it. I hate looking at how angry and cracked up I am. I almost look like some sort of deathly ghoul. How can Rudy love someone like this?

The shadows under my eyes are almost as dark as my hair. When have I gotten actual sleep? Rudy had begged me to rest, but my frantic mind never lets me to, even when she's gone. That little voice in my head spits venom, teasing me and wondering if the girl would end up in some sort of catastrophe if I decided to sleep. If she came upon an island of mischief in her little dreams without me to watch over her. That snake of guilt tempts me to stay awake for as long as I can. I don't care the abilities I have as the Boogeyman, as the personification of the so-despised negativity in this world. I worry too much. I love her too much.

I stare at the bandages coiled around my arms and neck. I did this. I can't bring myself to hurt Rudy, but I will always drop my defenses to hurt myself. Pathetic. Maybe someday, some fucking day, I will finally be able to end my life. But I have tried it too many times before, even while knowing that my immortality will never give away to whatever strong rope or blade finally breaks me. At least it doesn't hurt to try. But what about Rudy? What would she think?

Stumbling back out into the bedroom, I sit on the bed and rub my temples again. The water, which is still soaked all over my face and neck, is barely cooling me down, let alone make me feel better. Winsome had taken the bottle of painkillers away, and to my dismay, I don't have the motivation to go out and ask him for it. He'd refuse to give them back, anyway.

He cares for me as if we're in love, but we both very much know that we aren't even close to that. We love each other in a different way, just like a sibling would watch another. We aren't in the least alike, but he doesn't seem to care; if I dare to get a simple bruise or scratch, he'd check me immediately and wrap me up, even when I'd have the chance to do it myself. Even emotionally he knows my weak spots, but not as much as Rudy. He's not as deep. He just wants to see me smile. Instead of fixing my broken feelings right away, he settles for warmth.

"I can get ya something," he'd say. "Or I can take ya to the park." Not What's wrong? or Do you need any help? It's that technique he has of making me feel all tingly and loved inside without actually saying it out loud. And when he sits next to me, he lets me lean my shoulder against his.

It's something I used to loathe before, and I still long for it now. Warmth. Both the emotional and physical kind. The way someone holds hands with me, hugs me, lays their head on me, and the way they make me feel inside with their kind words and compliments. Love was so rare for me before, when I was just a lonely, unstable creature, the personification of all evil and darkness in the universe. And then someone calmed the fears inside of me and became my friend.

Rudy.

It suddenly feels so cold, despite sitting on the edge of my bed and now holding the blanket in my hands. I let out a shaky sigh, quietly coughing when no one else can hear me. I wonder how Rudy's feeling right now. Suddenly, I perk up; how is she doing?

As someone who quite literally isn't a human, I don't have any knowledge as to how hospitals operate. My best guess is that they would call me, though I don't remember where I put Rudy's phone. Perhaps I just visit the hospital itself and see if I can check on her?

But that idea makes me feel more nauseous and dizzy than I already am. I'm too afraid to go see her. I don't know what state she's in and I'm terrified if the result ends up being something drastically . . . I shake my head of those thoughts, squeezing my eyes shut and burying my face into the blanket. My arms are stiff and sore and I feel like I'm constantly running out of breath. I wouldn't make it to the hospital without passing out again.

Maybe I just need more water. It's not supposed to affect me in any way, but hopefully make me feel a little bit more refreshed. And then I might be able to focus.

I force myself to stand up no matter how much I want to stay, and once I'm on my feet, I can't pull myself back into my bed. My steps are shaky and unstable as I grab the empty cup on the nightstand, my arms slightly stuck outwards to keep myself in balance. When I finally wrap my fingers around the door knob, I look behind me, expecting for the dream to collapse to allow me to finally wake up.

But everything stays exactly where it is.

Thoroughly disappointed, I step into the hallway, ambling with my hand on the wall to see Winsome on the couch in the living room. He's watching television, having put it on mute and instead placed subtitles on the screen, perhaps in case I needed help and called his name. He notices me almost immediately, and his pointed ears twitch in a reaction.

"Heya, Maddy," he greets me, keeping the quiet tone he had before. "Ya feelin' better?"

"No," I croak.

His eyes droop, lips forming a straight line. "Oh," he mutters. He looks around as if expecting someone else to add on. "Then why are you out here?"

"Water," I croak again.

"Oh!" Winsome immediately stands up. "You could've just asked me." He walks to me, outstretching a hand to take my empty cup. "I can get ya some right now."

"No, I'm . . . I can get it on my own," I mutter.

"No need for that, seňor. I'll get it."

My jaw clenches weakly, and I shake my head. "I'm okay on my own."

Winsome frowns in concern. "Are you sure? Because I don't want you to overwork yourself or anything."

"I'm not overworking myself."

"It seems like you are . . ."

"I just don't want you to take care of me. I'm not some sort of child."

"But-"

He stops when I glare at him sharply, my fingers slightly tightening around the plastic cup. When he realizes my annoyance and gives me a smile of glum, I immediately feel an inch of regret.

"Okay, Maddy," he chirps, feigning relief. "Whatever you say." Winsome begins to back away, back towards the couch. "I'll just . . ." He waves a gloved hand dismissively. "Leave ya alone. You can take care of yourself."

He pauses again, looking shamefully down at the ground. "I'm probably just annoyin' you or something, don't worry." Then he sits down, gaze trembling on me for a moment before he forces his gaze back on the screen of the television.

It's a minor moment of tension, but it leaves me feeling a bit guilty all the same. I stare at him, waiting endlessly for him to turn back, but he stays put. He knows I'm watching him, and he doesn't want to give in. I want to apologize for getting worked up over a simple glass of water and that it isn't his fault, but the words don't make it past my lips. Like everything else, like my fear of Rudy, I'm terrified of saying it. That word. Sorry.

Slowly and reluctantly, I make my way towards the kitchen sink, and I fill the cup with water. It's shamefully silent aside from the water itself, and I look over my shoulder to see if Winsome's looking. To my surprise, he is, and we briefly make eye contact for a moment. I try to apologize through my the way I look at him, but he only gives me a small smile and turns away again.

I turn off the sink and stare at the cup of water in my hands. Suddenly, I don't feel very thirsty anymore. I set it next to me as I lean on the kitchen counter, looking to see what Winsome's watching, only to find out that he's turned the television off. He's just staring into an empty screen as I stare into the empty air, both of us not knowing what to say.

Then Winsome starts the conversation, but unfortunately, it is picked up from before.

"Sorry," he tells me. I look up at him, meeting his jade green eyes with my faint purple ones. "Sorry for buggin' ya." Winsome fidgets with the cloth of his gloves, almost as white as his painted face. "I know you can take care of yourself, but . . . I guess I just get a bit too worried sometimes." He nervously laughs. "Sorry for that."

We stare for a while longer. I pick up the cup of water, but I don't drink it. He breaks the silence with a shallow sigh.

"And talkin' like this, that's probably annoyin' ya, too! Heh." He uncomfortably shrugs. "I can't blame anybody. It's what I do. Don't know how to really, uh, stop it-"

"You're not annoying me," I mutter, catching his attention. "I'm just tired."

Winsome nervously laughs again. "Don't have to take the blame for me, Maddy. I can handle it."

"I-It's not your blame," I tell him more firmly, throat becoming more sore as I speak. "I'm just a bit . . . pissed off." At myself. I rub the bridge of my nose, closing my eyes. "I'm not mad at you. I'm really tired, Winsome, I- I don't- I don't want to rough you out. You're not annoying me. I'm . . . not in the mood to talk."

"Oh." Winsome's grin is wiped from his face, slowly erasing itself into the air. "Okay." He stares at me with a shadow of condolence. "Thanks, Ormad."

I slowly nod, a small smile crossing my face. But it isn't genuine. It almost hurts.

When he smiles back and looks away, I let it drop. I raise the cup of water to my lips and begin to take sips from it. I didn't put much water in it in the first place, so a few moments later, the cup becomes completely empty, and I put it in the sink. The dryness from my tongue and throat has barely been soothed.

I don't know what Winsome is truly thinking. He isn't good at hiding his emotions as everybody else, but he is fairly skilled at handling guilt. For me, it's the complete opposite; I've spent years working up my cold exterior, too afraid to let anybody in. I'd never felt guilt because I was completely alone. I had nobody to take care of or watch over. Occasionally, the guilt that I did feel was always directed towards myself, from degrading of my actions and how weak and vulnerable I truly was.

Then Rudy came. She is the one who opened me up. The rebellious little girl, a severe contrast to who I really was, saved me from possibly going insane. She loves me. I care for her because of that love, because she turned me from a malicious, cold-hearted bastard to the calm man she knows today.

But when am I going to see her again?

I limp over to Winsome, managing to sit down at his side without falling over. He pretends not to notice me, so I tell myself to do the same. We ignore each other and stare ahead at the television's dark and empty screen, like an endless void for us to completate what to to say. But it seems that nothing has escaped from our mouths.

Slowly, I move one of my cold, sore arms next to his own. His warmth causes a series of tingling in my spine. I'm still not used to it, the warmth of another person. Nobody knows how much it means to me. Through the millions of years I've reigned as an immortal, living alone in my dark home, I've rarely encountered the presence of someone else. All of them were human. Mortals. I loved them. They had reached into my mind and gave me comfort. And now they're gone.

And I fear that Rudy will suffer the same fate.

Winsome wraps his hand around mine and squeezes it, not yet looking at me. Then he gently rubs my palm with his thumb. I glance over to him.

"I'm sorry," I finally manage, struggling to keep my tone even.

Winsome blinks. Then he gives me a kind smile, patting me on the shoulder. "It's all right, Maddy. It's all right."

I wish for him to hug me, to let me bury my face into his shoulder and to leave all my weight off. I just want to be held and lifted. I'm too tired. But I keep my mouth shut, acknowledging him with only a sad gleam in my eye. The scars continue to burn, tickling my skin like little bugs. I don't allow any of that internal pain to show.

Winsome sighs, giving my hand another squeeze before letting go, twining his fingers together. "You should go outside. Get some fresh air. Maybe it'll make ya feel better."

"Are you coming with me?" I ask quietly, afraid for him to leave.

He shrugs. "I'd rather stay in here, to be honest. Better for people not to see someone like me outside." With a concerned gleam in his eye, he adds, "But I'll watch ya." The clown stands up, walking into the kitchen. "I'm gonna make some coffee and maybe get a book to read. You can just sit out on the back porch or somethin'. That'll make ya feel better." A smile crosses his face before he begins to make his drink.

I don't know how long my eyes are on him, but it takes me some time to get the motivation to move. Slowly, I wobble up to my feet. My head spins, a thunderstorm dully pounding inside. I keep my hands on one of the couch's arms to keep myself standing.

"Do you need any help, Maddy?" Winsome asks me.

"N-No," I breathe. "I'm fine."

Slowly, I make my way towards the door of the back porch, soon stepping outside into the fresh air. It almost causes me to sway from the sudden coolness against my skin, for it's a drastic difference compared to the gloomy air inside the house. It's not because the house hasn't been taken care of. It's just because she isn't here.

I sit on the first few steps, massaging the bridge of my nose. The sky is a shiny grey, and the sun has been playing hide and seek with the dark and dangerous clouds. But there is barely anything to take in. It all just feels so blank, almost a direct reflection of myself.

The grass has taken a more dull color, cuddling flowers that aren't as vibrant as before. It's because she isn't here. I want to feel her beside me, that sweet little girl who I love so much and too much. I can't ever be happy without her. The air feels a bit damp now, the lump in my throat hard to swallow as I stare at the sky once more. That's when a single raindrop touches my face, and its fellow friends begin to fall as well.

I should make a little garden. Rudy and I don't have much to do here, anyway. She'll pick the pink flowers and I'll plant them for her. Just to make her laugh as she plays with them, and then I'll smile along with her. We'll be sitting together, right here, and I'll listen to everything she says. I'll listen to her.

The thought makes me smile, just a little bit.

A thick tree sits across the yard. Its branches droop melancholically, leaves dangling in the gentle wind. I suddenly feel more tired than I already am. My eyes begin to flutter, giving into the migraine in my head. I close my eyes, trying to rest in this precious moment I have.

I hear the slide of the door behind me, and I try not to huff in irritation as footsteps start to trail behind me. But my mood shifts when I hear who it is.

"Hey, Ormad," the boy quietly greets me. He walks around me, his big black eyes like shining pebbles shimmering with concern. "Are you okay?"

Slowly, I look up at the boy's face, tongue caught in my throat because I don't know what to say. How could I?

"Your eyes are a bit puffy," he notices. "If you've been crying, you can tell me about it."

"N-No," I rasp quietly, shaking my head. "I'm okay."

Jess was Rudy's first friend. He was the one who introduced her to their school, which was completely new to her, and thus completely clung like magnets. I don't understand how he can be so patient and kind at such a young age. Everything in his appearance seems to represent peace; his dark skin is like the bark of an oak tree, his round eyes like a black starry night. On his face pastes a welcoming smile, brighter than his colorfully dyed hair. The child sheds pity for just about anyone he comes across, and I almost feel bad for letting him be so humble. But I don't want to ruin him. He's too innocent.

The boy sits at my side, small but not as much as Rudy. He holds a look of concern. "Are you sure?" he asks. "You can tell me. I don't mind. Especially after . . . what happened." He pauses, staring at the bandages wrapped around my arms and neck, dark spots beginning to appear on them. It's soaking up plenty of blood.

"I mean, you don't really have to if you're uncomfortable," he quickly adds. "I just want to make sure you're okay. And I want you to vent out to me if you need it-"

"No, kid." I let out a sigh. He's so mature that I almost feel pity. He's more mature than most of the adults I've seen. "Please . . . don't stress yourself out." With the pounding pain in my head, I don't even know if I can convince him to leave me alone.

Jess slowly shakes his head. "You're not stressing me out," he says quietly. One of his gentle hands moves onto my bruised knuckles. Warmth seeps through my skin, and I feel myself tense.

It doesn't matter how kind the child wants to be to me. It doesn't matter how much he wants to try and understand. All this talk about myself and what I'm so upset about leaves a dull soreness in my stomach, which reminds me - disturbingly - of Rudy. I squeeze my eyes shut when I try to imagine how that scene was: how she was on the floor, caked in red. Then I snap my eyes back open. I don't want to vomit again. It feels terrible.

Jess gives my hand a little squeeze, and he sheds a soft smile. "Okay. If you don't feel comfortable telling me, I'm alright. As long as you feel alright, too."

Alright, he says. He wants me to feel alright. But the only internal thought I can launch back at the question is, suicide. I want to kill myself. I'm too scared to go to the hospital and I'm too scared to stay here. I don't know what else I could do.

Scooting a bit closer to me, Jess asks, "Do you want me to heal you?" Like all of Rudy's friends (and Rudy herself), Jess is a psychic. As Rudy can predict future events, Jess can heal wounds like they're nothing but a simple scratch. If only I could've gotten to him faster. The torn skin on my body feels right, like they're meant to stay there. I deserve it.

"No," I mutter.

Jess seems surprised. He blinks, and he frantically shakes his head. "Why not? It'd be better. And easier to move around."

"I'm fine, Jess, alright?" I turn to him, keeping a glare from slipping onto my face. "I don't want you to heal me. Save your energy for later. I'm frustrated as hell."

He blinks again, like he's observing me for the first time. I know he wants to ignore my refusal and heal me anyway, with how his fingers are curled and ready to touch the bandages wrapped around me. But he stands his ground, and I stand mine.

"Oh. Okay." He lets go of my hand, smile wavering. "Whatever suits you."

Something icy smarts in my chest. My angry glare softens. It's so difficult for me to accept comfort, no matter how much I really want it. The warmth. The love. The way people tell me that everything's going to be alright. Jess is such a good kid for wanting to take care of me. I don't know why I won't let him, even though I bury the greedy answer deep, deep down.

"I'm sorry," Jess tells me, "for what happened."

His once warm voice sounds sullen and gloomy, and it strikes a cold chill down my spine. The constant reminder of her will dance on my back over and over again. I just know it. Slowly, I shake my head, closing my eyes and letting the migraine drown me. "No need," I manage.

"I don't know what to say about it," Jess mutters. "I don't want to say anything that might upset you."

Running a hand through my hair and slightly pulling at the dark roots, I let out a groan. "I don't give a damn about what you say as long as you give me some rest." A strand of my hair curls around my bony finger. "I don't want to think about her right now."

"Okay," Jess slowly replies. "I can do that. I'll try and tell everybody else, too."

But even with his reassuring agreement, I doubt that any of this will help. I just want to go back into my room, flop down onto my bed, and sleep for a very long time. I want to sleep until I see Rudy again. All this frustration and pain is impossible for me to bear.

"Hey." Jess taps me on the shoulder. "Akilah and I are going out for ice cream today. I think it'd be nice for you to have some, too." He gives me a grin. "Maybe it'll wake you up a bit."

"Ah, no, kid, I can't come with you." I tug at the roots of my hair a bit more roughly, trying to dull out the internal ache. "I feel sick. I- I wouldn't be able to watch over you."

"Winsome can come," he quickly adds. "He can watch over us. You can just kick back and rest. We'll hang out in the car and he can get the ice cream."

If anything, being in a car of all things would only make me more tense and nauseous. Usually, it wouldn't, but that empty, claustrophobic feel would tear me apart. Especially when her presence isn't next to me.

"Or," Jess says before I can, "maybe we'll just hang outside. You don't even have to go anywhere. We'll just get something for you instead, and then we'll sit in the park or something." He nudges me gently. "Anything to make you feel better!"

"Jess . . ."

"Ice cream is nice, after all. You like it, right? You like taro. Ru- I mean, I do, too. But I like mint chocolate chip so much more." His smile widens, one of excitement, and he tries not to notice my wince at the accidental name drop. "It'll be nice. And refreshing, too. Staying in the house all day isn't going to do anything."

I let out a sigh. "Jess, I don't think-"

"Sorry if I'm bugging you," he interrupts, almost yelping. "But I just want you to feel better, that's all. You always like going out for ice cream, anyway. Maybe you-"

"Alright. I'll go," I mutter moodily, almost rolling my eyes. The boy's enthusiasm is killing me. I cross my arms, staring at my feet. "Just because I have nothing else to do."

Like a firefly, his face lights up. His smile grows. "That's great! I'll call Akilah. And Winsome can drive us to the ice cream place. It'll be fun!"

"Yeah."

"No pressure, if you don't really wanna go." Jess leaps up onto his feet, almost bouncing up and down on his heels. "But I'm happy that you're coming along, anyway! It's been such a long time since I've had a treat like that."

"Yeah," I continue to say pessimistically, forcing myself to sound more lively than I really am. "Right."

Jess doesn't notice. He is a master with emotions, but when something excites him, he is almost blind to it all. He can't be blamed; he's still a kid. He shouldn't be given such high expectations.

The boy's puffy blue hair almost bounces off his head when he twirls around, nearly skipping into the door. "You can come in and get ready when you feel like it," he tells me.

Then Jess disappears inside, leaving me alone and already regretting my decision.