Chapter 49
[A/N: Is it wrong of me to not feel like writing at all?]
He wiped the sweat on his forehead with his arms. He was still hyperventilating, so he decided to concentrate extra hard on the threads of the blanket to calm his nerves down. There were times like this, when if you focused on the most insubstantial thing in the vicinity, your mind would blank out and all the emotions would just stop torturing him.
So, that was exactly what he did. After a few minutes, he could breathe properly and could now feel a sting in his eyes due to the residual sleep.
He stumbled out of his bed, and made his drowsy steps down the kitchen, drinking as much water as he could to bury down the emotional wreck that was his life.
For a second, when he was making his way back to the room, he wondered why he hadn't turned gothic after all. It almost seemed like a rational choice given the amount of issues he had with himself. That thought made him chuckle darkly.
His father would have had a colossal heart attack for sure, if he had gotten himself piercings and tattoos wherever possible.
Then, as he reached his room, he turned towards his wardrobe once mindlessly, the topic of being a goth still occupying his body.
He opened the doors to his closet, and scrutinized it very very clearly for maybe the first time in his life.
The raven blacks stretched out for forever it seemed. And he wondered why he hadn't noticed that before. It looked like his wardrobe was the most intense collection of blacks and greys there ever was.
The painter in him hung his head in shame, and the man in him chuckled, too loudly. It was just too hilarious to ignore. He was a goth, after all.