Enigma.
000
Smack.
He didn’t mean to.
Smack. Smack.
He didn’t want to.
Smack. Smack smack smack—crunch.
But he couldn’t stop.
He woke up in a sweat, body on the floor with the covers wrapped around his middle. Despite the perspiration that was the thin sheet on his forehead, he was cold. The entire room was. He pressed a hand to his forehead and quickly pulled them back from the temperature, noticing that his fingers had turned an odd off-blue colour.
Oh my god—
He spotted a pair of navy coloured sweatpants and pulled them on over his bare legs. They didn’t help because he was still shivering. He heaved the entire blanket off the bed, causing a tired and groggy voice to groan. He froze.
“...The fuck?”
He hunched his shoulders and crawled to the side of the bed, peering over the mattress with wide eyes. Someone was there. He didn’t know or remember who, why, or how, but there was another person in the room. His room. He was sure of it. But he didn’t say anything and whoever was there with him made a yawn.
Smack.
Smack smack smack.
The sound of dry lips beginning to salivate filled the room. He recognized it. He almost screamed, but he knew it would’ve attracted attention. He opted for just making his eyes grow even wider and watched the stranger rub at one of their eyes.
Smack. Smack.
Sma—yawn—ck.
There it was again. It had another tone and was caused by something different, but beneath its innocence, it was nearly the same. Just... too similar. He didn’t like it.
“Mornin’,” the stranger waved to him, putting a hand behind him to the beside, grabbing the glasses that he hadn’t noticed before. The stranger cocked his head to the side. “What’cha doing on the floor?”
He could never contain it. He could never control it. Or it wouldn’t. It would never let him, no matter how many times he cried or screamed for it to leave him alone. But what he wanted never mattered much, anyway. They just rushed in, with or without welcome.
Smack. Smack smack—
“Frank?”
He could hear his name being called by them... the stranger... whoever the hell was in his bed. Everything was as if he was underwater. Everything sounded muffled, and worst of all; it was like he couldn’t breathe.
—smack. Smack.
Smack smack—yawn—smack.
And even though he couldn’t think or breathe or hear, even though his brain was about to explode out of his skull and his lungs were about to collapse and even though his throat was caving in on itself—
Smack.
Smack. Smack.
Smack. Smack. Crunch.
—he still screamed.
He didn’t mean to.
Smack. Smack.
He didn’t want to.
Smack. Smack smack smack—crunch.
But he couldn’t stop.
He woke up in a sweat, body on the floor with the covers wrapped around his middle. Despite the perspiration that was the thin sheet on his forehead, he was cold. The entire room was. He pressed a hand to his forehead and quickly pulled them back from the temperature, noticing that his fingers had turned an odd off-blue colour.
Oh my god—
He spotted a pair of navy coloured sweatpants and pulled them on over his bare legs. They didn’t help because he was still shivering. He heaved the entire blanket off the bed, causing a tired and groggy voice to groan. He froze.
“...The fuck?”
He hunched his shoulders and crawled to the side of the bed, peering over the mattress with wide eyes. Someone was there. He didn’t know or remember who, why, or how, but there was another person in the room. His room. He was sure of it. But he didn’t say anything and whoever was there with him made a yawn.
Smack.
Smack smack smack.
The sound of dry lips beginning to salivate filled the room. He recognized it. He almost screamed, but he knew it would’ve attracted attention. He opted for just making his eyes grow even wider and watched the stranger rub at one of their eyes.
Smack. Smack.
Sma—yawn—ck.
There it was again. It had another tone and was caused by something different, but beneath its innocence, it was nearly the same. Just... too similar. He didn’t like it.
“Mornin’,” the stranger waved to him, putting a hand behind him to the beside, grabbing the glasses that he hadn’t noticed before. The stranger cocked his head to the side. “What’cha doing on the floor?”
He could never contain it. He could never control it. Or it wouldn’t. It would never let him, no matter how many times he cried or screamed for it to leave him alone. But what he wanted never mattered much, anyway. They just rushed in, with or without welcome.
Smack. Smack smack—
“Frank?”
He could hear his name being called by them... the stranger... whoever the hell was in his bed. Everything was as if he was underwater. Everything sounded muffled, and worst of all; it was like he couldn’t breathe.
—smack. Smack.
Smack smack—yawn—smack.
And even though he couldn’t think or breathe or hear, even though his brain was about to explode out of his skull and his lungs were about to collapse and even though his throat was caving in on itself—
Smack.
Smack. Smack.
Smack. Smack. Crunch.
—he still screamed.