#egos

You stare at the wall in front of yourself, sat upright at the foot of your bed, simply staring. You're tired, yet every time you try laying down to sleep thoughts would flood your head and leave you awake, so why even try to sleep in the first place?

Your eyes feel heavy and you struggle to open them again when you blink, but even if you let them stay closed you'd never sleep, left in the darkness with your thoughts. It was better to stay up, at least then your mind would slow down with the thoughts.

Some quiet would be nice.

A small, calming feeling passed over you as the bed dips behind you. A hand rests on your back, the thumb rubbing up and down across the bottom of your neck in what you believe to be a comforting manner.

Weird, you don't remember anyone else being home.

"Why must you humans torture yourself like this?" A whisper of a voice mutters behind you. It's deep, and should probably be intimidating, yet all you feel is warmth and comfort.

There's no response from you, not a verbal one at least, as your head droops down to look at your hands resting in your lap rather than the wall. It's almost dizzying, the motion from the switch from staring at nothing to something. The hand on your back ceases its motion of the thumb, allowing it to rest on your shoulder instead. The grip is firm, keeping you grounded.

"You can't continue like this, even I know that."

A hand reaches from behind you, resting on top of one of your hands. In this position you can feel their chest and clothes press against your back and side, they're so warm.

"Come, let me help you." Their hand grabs yours, yet they don't do anything. As if waiting for you to say yes. So you do.

"Okay." Comes out in a quiet whisper, barely audible to even yourself, yet the person behind you hears.

Their hand in your shoulder leaves, running down your back before detaching itself from you. The contact isn't lost, as they get up from the bed and raise your hand in theirs. Now they're by your side and they switch their hand that's holding yours. Then they're tugging you up gently.

It doesn't take much to get you to stand up, suddenly feeling less tired, willingly letting them pull your hand, and therefore your body, away from your bed and out of your bedroom. Where they're taking you doesn't matter, you can't bring yourself to worry.

Rather, you raise your head and observe the person in front of you. They have a strong build, and you assume they're a man from both the build and his voice. The suit he wears is dark. His hands are soft, almost like they were made of satin.

You bump into his arm, not realizing he had stopped. You're in front of your bathroom now. He opens the door, and steps inside, flickering the light on as he does so and then leads you in. The light is bright, and you have to cover your eyes with your free arm, like a kid outside during summer.

He lets go of your hand, and when you lower your arm to look back at what he's doing now, you find yourself alone. Strange, maybe the lack of sleep has finally gotten to you. Maybe your brain made someone up to get you off the bed, out of your room, to take the pills that are suddenly in your hand.

A glass of water sits on the counter, and you take a moment to sit on the toilet seat and stare at the pills in your hand. They're all there, the ones your doctor prescribed you ages ago. Ones that were supposed to help, yet for some reason you never took them. With little thought, you toss your head back and throw them into your mouth, quickly taking the glass of water and chugging it down.

The water hydrates your parched throat, the burn washing down with the pills. They taste awful, but what medication does? Other than gummies, of course.

Glass now empty, you set it back down on the counter, using your arm to lay your head somewhat comfortably on the counter as well. You just needed a moment, some time to try and relax.

"You would relax more in bed." The voice mutters in your ear, but when you look up and around, no one is there. The mind is an awful trickster.

Agreeing with the voice in your head, you push yourself up with the help of the counter and make your way back. The bathroom light turns off as you leave it, but you don't think you reached for the switch at all.

The walk to your room is slow, your feet drag and your body feels heavy, yet you manage. You shut the door behind you, resting your forehead on the cold wood for a moment before turning around and making your way to bed.

By now you can feel the meds start to sink in, and just as your head hits your pillows your eyes get heavier than they have all night. Turning to lay on your side, you can barely make out the person again as they sand at your bedside.

"Rest, you certainly need it." He whispers. His arms come down to pull your blankets up around you, and then his hand rests on your cheek. His thumb brushes up and down your cheekbone, the comforting action lulling your eyes closed.

"I'll be back, when you need me most." Cold lips press against your forehead, yet they bring nothing but comfort and relief.