Surviving on Your own
Sleep Rarely Comes
"Hey Trowa, you wanna come have dinner with me in my trailer tonight? You're looking a little thin," Cathy asks me after we finish our bit of entertainment for the masses.
I smirk and shake my head, no.
"Why don't you ever talk anymore Trowa? What's gotten into you? I'm worried sick because all you seem to do is mope around!" She's mad. I almost feel bad. Almost. I just stare at her with an unreadable blank face.
"If something's the matter then why don't you tell me? You know I'm here for you, right?" She looks like she's about to cry. But that's the problem, nothing's the matter.
I nod.
Spinning on her heels, she marches off. I head back to my trailer. The TV is still on and muted. The only channel I ever watch is channel 4, all day news. Looks like Quatre's on again. He looks very handsome in his three-piece suit. I bet it's quit expensive. He has his hair slicked back for his television appearances, but I doubt he keeps it like that all the time. It makes him look older, more dignified.
It touch him on the screen. I miss you. My fingers itch to turn on the volume so I can hear your voice, but that will only make me miss you more. Instead I turn the TV off. I think I'll lie down now, but sleep rarely comes these days.
