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[Fic] There was… somebody here.
Tuesday, 25 February 2025 15:08“Hey, hey.”
He didn't know when she came in, or how, or why. She just suddenly was, and she was talking to him. She had a soft voice. He didn't recognize it.
Maybe he was finally going insane.
Maybe he already had a long time ago.
“What're you doing?”
What did it look like he was doing? He was staring at the ceiling, like he always did.
He wondered what she looked like, but turning his head felt too exhausting.
“What's your name?”
Did it matter anymore? Did any of her questions matter? What was she playing at here? What was she doing? Couldn't she tell he wanted to be left alone?
He heard a faint rustle from where she was. Had she sat down? Why?
What was he worth to her?
His soul ached and his lungs burned.
“It must be lonely laying there all by yourself… I think.”
The inside of his nose burned. His breathing didn't change, but he felt the stream of dampness down the sides of his face. Did she see it, too? He didn't want anyone to see him anymore. There was no body here. That was the whole point! He was supposed to want to be alone, but…
“So you can hear me after all.”
There was somebody here.
He nodded. Once. Twice. Barely.
“How do you feel, then, about all of this?”
He was quiet for a long time. No one's ever asked him that before. It wasn't even that he didn't have an answer, necessarily. More like his throat wouldn't cooperate, sealed shut after so long.
She waited for him.
No one's ever done that, either.
“It… hurts.”
He could have lied. Made it easier, turned her away, but he was tired. So, so tired. His voice felt like sandpaper, and there was a lump in his throat he had to muscle past.
“Well, yeah. That much is obvious… I think,” she chided. “Why does it hurt, though? What do you feel about it?”
What does he feel? He's ignored it for so long, he started to feel empty. Hollow, but still laden down with… something.
“I feel…”
Everything.
“... upset.”
It wasn't any more descriptive than his last answer, but it was hard to think. There was a static in his brain that made it its job to push out everything and feel nothing. Make it hurt less to do what had to be done.
She hummed.
“That's a start, I think,” she praised. What was she praising him for? When was the last time he had been praised? “Being upset isn't fun. Why are you upset?”
Why?
There wasn't really any particular reason, was there? There couldn't be. It was all understandable. A grave he'd dug himself. He had no right to be upset.
His nose burned again.
“I wanted to help… but no one ever listened to me.”
It made sense that they wouldn't, even from the start. He shouldn't have been surprised. He wasn't surprised. He fully understood their situation and why they did what they did. They weren't to blame for anything.
He stared at the ceiling.
This was the inevitable outcome for him.
“It's hard not being listened to, even if it makes sense… I think.”
His throat clenched, and he swallowed. All he could do was nod.
“It's kind of like…” She trailed off. “... When a player misses the foreshadowing in a game because they're distracted by the action, and then they fail the final puzzle. You know they could have figured it out all along if they'd been paying more attention, but it makes sense why they didn't notice. It's disappointing, but not in an ‘I told you so’ way.”
That was a weird way to describe it, but… He wasn't used to actually being understood. It felt nice. His lungs burned less. He thought about getting up, looking at her.
Was it always this easy?
His chest tightened, poison in his veins. If it was this easy, then what had he been doing this whole time? What was he doing now? He did this to himself. How could he have any right to mope?
He stared at the ceiling.
If things could be fixed that easily, then what was the point? Clearly it wasn't that big of a deal if something as small as this made him feel so much better. Clearly he wasn't really suffering, if that was all it took. It was a lie. He was being dramatic. He deserved nobody's pity. He got what he deserved. He should be left here to rot. He was alone, and he always would be.
If he got up now, he'd be admitting that, wouldn't he?
“Hey, hey.”
There was somebody here.
“Isn't it cold laying there without a shirt or jacket like that?”
He didn't know what to do. He didn't know what she wanted from him. He didn't know what he wanted from himself.
“What do you want?”
She was quiet for a long time.
“I saw you all alone here, and I wanted to get to know you,” she said. “Being left alone like this… it's no fun, I think.”
He didn't know how to respond to that. He wondered why she felt so strongly about it that she felt compelled to talk to some stranger she didn't even know. Did she know how it felt to be alone, too? He hadn't talked to anyone in so long, let alone someone willing to actually listen.
Should he lie? What if he wasn't ready to feel better yet? It was all moving so fast. He hadn't made peace with it. How do you make peace with feelings you don't even think are justified? How do you feel better at a pace that doesn't feel dismissive?
He wants to hold onto this painful feeling so it feels real. If it goes away, then was he ever really upset? If it's so easy, did those feelings ever matter in the first place?
Feeling better is scary. It's terrifying.
But…
He swallowed the lump in his throat.
“I'm cold.”
“You should bundle up in something warmer, then.”
“Can you help me sit up and… maybe get me a blanket?”
He could hear her smile.
“Okay!”
He didn't know when she came in, or how, or why. She just suddenly was, and she was talking to him. She had a soft voice. He didn't recognize it.
Maybe he was finally going insane.
Maybe he already had a long time ago.
“What're you doing?”
What did it look like he was doing? He was staring at the ceiling, like he always did.
He wondered what she looked like, but turning his head felt too exhausting.
“What's your name?”
Did it matter anymore? Did any of her questions matter? What was she playing at here? What was she doing? Couldn't she tell he wanted to be left alone?
He heard a faint rustle from where she was. Had she sat down? Why?
What was he worth to her?
His soul ached and his lungs burned.
“It must be lonely laying there all by yourself… I think.”
The inside of his nose burned. His breathing didn't change, but he felt the stream of dampness down the sides of his face. Did she see it, too? He didn't want anyone to see him anymore. There was no body here. That was the whole point! He was supposed to want to be alone, but…
“So you can hear me after all.”
There was somebody here.
He nodded. Once. Twice. Barely.
“How do you feel, then, about all of this?”
He was quiet for a long time. No one's ever asked him that before. It wasn't even that he didn't have an answer, necessarily. More like his throat wouldn't cooperate, sealed shut after so long.
She waited for him.
No one's ever done that, either.
“It… hurts.”
He could have lied. Made it easier, turned her away, but he was tired. So, so tired. His voice felt like sandpaper, and there was a lump in his throat he had to muscle past.
“Well, yeah. That much is obvious… I think,” she chided. “Why does it hurt, though? What do you feel about it?”
What does he feel? He's ignored it for so long, he started to feel empty. Hollow, but still laden down with… something.
“I feel…”
Everything.
“... upset.”
It wasn't any more descriptive than his last answer, but it was hard to think. There was a static in his brain that made it its job to push out everything and feel nothing. Make it hurt less to do what had to be done.
She hummed.
“That's a start, I think,” she praised. What was she praising him for? When was the last time he had been praised? “Being upset isn't fun. Why are you upset?”
Why?
There wasn't really any particular reason, was there? There couldn't be. It was all understandable. A grave he'd dug himself. He had no right to be upset.
His nose burned again.
“I wanted to help… but no one ever listened to me.”
It made sense that they wouldn't, even from the start. He shouldn't have been surprised. He wasn't surprised. He fully understood their situation and why they did what they did. They weren't to blame for anything.
He stared at the ceiling.
This was the inevitable outcome for him.
“It's hard not being listened to, even if it makes sense… I think.”
His throat clenched, and he swallowed. All he could do was nod.
“It's kind of like…” She trailed off. “... When a player misses the foreshadowing in a game because they're distracted by the action, and then they fail the final puzzle. You know they could have figured it out all along if they'd been paying more attention, but it makes sense why they didn't notice. It's disappointing, but not in an ‘I told you so’ way.”
That was a weird way to describe it, but… He wasn't used to actually being understood. It felt nice. His lungs burned less. He thought about getting up, looking at her.
Was it always this easy?
His chest tightened, poison in his veins. If it was this easy, then what had he been doing this whole time? What was he doing now? He did this to himself. How could he have any right to mope?
He stared at the ceiling.
If things could be fixed that easily, then what was the point? Clearly it wasn't that big of a deal if something as small as this made him feel so much better. Clearly he wasn't really suffering, if that was all it took. It was a lie. He was being dramatic. He deserved nobody's pity. He got what he deserved. He should be left here to rot. He was alone, and he always would be.
If he got up now, he'd be admitting that, wouldn't he?
“Hey, hey.”
There was somebody here.
“Isn't it cold laying there without a shirt or jacket like that?”
He didn't know what to do. He didn't know what she wanted from him. He didn't know what he wanted from himself.
“What do you want?”
She was quiet for a long time.
“I saw you all alone here, and I wanted to get to know you,” she said. “Being left alone like this… it's no fun, I think.”
He didn't know how to respond to that. He wondered why she felt so strongly about it that she felt compelled to talk to some stranger she didn't even know. Did she know how it felt to be alone, too? He hadn't talked to anyone in so long, let alone someone willing to actually listen.
Should he lie? What if he wasn't ready to feel better yet? It was all moving so fast. He hadn't made peace with it. How do you make peace with feelings you don't even think are justified? How do you feel better at a pace that doesn't feel dismissive?
He wants to hold onto this painful feeling so it feels real. If it goes away, then was he ever really upset? If it's so easy, did those feelings ever matter in the first place?
Feeling better is scary. It's terrifying.
But…
He swallowed the lump in his throat.
“I'm cold.”
“You should bundle up in something warmer, then.”
“Can you help me sit up and… maybe get me a blanket?”
He could hear her smile.
“Okay!”
