Wrists

I experienced unusual pain in my chest, so my parents let me stay home. It goes without saying—I laid around, drinking tea, and reading some of my favorite novels. Stephen King was on today’s agenda. No matter what, his books were always on the top of my favorite’s list.

But, even as I was writing the pure genius of King’s works, I couldn’t take my mind off of Elija’s emotionless, stern face as I snapped at him to go away. He wasn’t as mad or annoyed as I thought he’d be, nor was he sad or hurt. He held no expression, actually, and that was what bothered me so much. His reaction to things was completely different from what I was accustomed to seeing. Elijah was just... different.

I was getting sick and tired of this man being stuck in my head all the time, like a bad song. I couldn’t believe a person I met only days before could have such a great impact on me. I closed my book and dropped it on the ground in frustration. I needed some sleep; maybe that’d keep my mind off of unnecessary things.

For the first time, I didn’t dream about food or nightmares.

I dreamt about him.