Eleven, twelve, one, two, three, four… and I decide to just get out of bed.

I stood in front of the mirror, running an index finger over the lower lid of my eyes in a useless
attempt to make the purple skin under it disappear. The aching pain I felt all around my muscles
confirmed it wouldn’t take too long before I died of sleep deprivation, or at least fall into a self-
induced coma. “Go to the doctor, just sleep.” People suggested too many times, but every time
I closed my eyes the sight of bright red liquid dripping down the light green chest I was way too
familiar with came into thought, and the pain was too much. “You just imagined it.” But damn
it was real to me, and nothing in the world could take away the guilt I felt. I ruined this man’s
life, my imaginary boy as I preferred to call him; his name was too much for me to think about.

I could almost feel him, his breath tickling my face as he innocently laid next to me, his fingers
twisted around mine as he lead me through the somber, the rough skin of his arms around my
waist every time he insisted on carrying me to safety. My hands upon his shoulders, his muscled
tensed as his warm breath hit my lips. I should have never questioned his intentions; it will
always be my greatest regret.

By the time I finished my thought I was laying on my back, sinking slowly into the unnecessarily
ironed sheets. I could almost catch the faint scent of his skin as I tried and close my eyes again.