#slepless

He looked at his alarm clock. 5:03 am. This would have to be his last attempt. He closed eyes once more and completed his breathing exercises. Four. Seven. Eight. Four. Seven. Eight. Soon his consciousness began to seep away. He felt the world begin to spin around him.

He was shaking.

                                                                                                     It wasn’t cold,

Virgil hated being cold at night. The day the others found out about this Patton made sure to put the heating on a timer at night so Virgil no longer suffered in silence.

‘He felt so cold though.’

                                                  DiD hE fOrGeT?

                                                                                    ‘No, Patton wouldn’t forget.’

                                                   WoUlD hE?

‘God, why is he sweating?’

It felt as though his mind was no longer attached to his body. He was floating. He felt sick.

‘What is this?’

                                                         Why…

                                                                                                                     Why? 

‘I just want to sleep’.

His heart stopped.

His body shot up as he gasped for air, his hand clenched the cloth around his chest as his wide eyes surveyed the room for any danger. His wardrobe was still closed (he could never sleep if he could see the pitch blackness escaping through). Cobwebs still decorated the corners of the room, his floor was littered with his clothes as well as the black cat cushion which had fallen off his bed. 

His bedside table held the same items as well. A small basic lamp, a framed card from one of his few positive memories, and a neatly folded purple jacket. There were was also some glaring numbers. 5.10 a.m.

His breathing gradually plateaued and he smiled sadly. Seven minutes of sleep.  ‘I guess that’s better than nothing’ he chuckled bitterly to himself.

He tried to shake off the heavy feeling around his eyes. He was sure any other attempt at sleep would be futile. He switched his lamp on and went over to his wardrobe to remove a bath towel. He then grabbed his jacket and some random clothes from the floor and tiptoed his way to the shower.

Before he switched the light on he made sure the ventilation in the bathroom was off, some condensation was worth not waking the others with the noise of the fan. He hit the switch and braced himself for the blinding light. He turned on the shower and stared at himself in the mirror as he waited for it to run hot. His face really did look worse for wear. He removed the hair that was matted to his temple for a closer inspection. His eyes drooped and refused to remain fully open, even when he splashed cold water on his face. His cheeks were red from the sweating and hyperventilation, but his lips were chapped from the cold chills he’d been feeling.

Was there something wrong with him? His heart. Did it actually stop beating? His hand clenched his chest again. He could hear the gently thudding against his ribcage. Well, it was there now, so what happened? He gripped the edges of the sink and shook his head, there was no point dwelling on it now, he couldn’t solve it on his own. He knew that. Yet… He removed the oversized t-shirt he always slept in and stepped into the shower. He let himself have a single thought before he was overcome by the warm embrace of the water. ‘Do I actually have the guts to tell the others?’

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