mulligrubs: [ˈməlēˌgrəbz]
adj. despondency, low spirits; a state of depression 

*****

Something is wrong.

Very wrong.

And I just can't put my finger on it.

Marks and bruises have been appearing all over, whenever I wake from slumber.

The thing is, not a single soul has lifted their hands against me.

At that point, the man and woman were marked as missing, but it didn't make sense. To be labelled as missing, you have to be missed.

I stopped attending that gray slab of a prison. No one cared, either way.

I spent my time alone, in the attic, or on the roof. And oftentimes, I'd wake up in dangerous positions. Like Leaning against the window frame of the attic, with legs dangling. Or, on the verge of slipping at the edge of the rooftop. The heights, they didn't frighten me, they thrilled me.

No, not completely alone.

He has been staying with me.

And the only one near you when you're unconscious.

He would never do that to me. In fact, he was the one that woke me from dangerous slumbers. I have woken to his terrified voice so often, to him dragging me to safety. It was nearly a routine, now.

Like a twisted alarm clock.

I think that's the main reason he stayed, to ensure that I don't accidentally kill myself. Life is a mysterious thing. When I finally feel as though I want to live, it sabotages me in my sleep.

However, the possibility that someone would care if I died, was surreal.

I trusted him wholeheartedly.

In spite of this, the nagging voice that has been tugging at my ears begged me to solve the mystery of the marks, pointing their abstract fingers right at him.

It has reached to the point where I can't sleep, not with all the voice bickering, telling me that he's the culprit.

I finally had enough.

Tonight will either twist the ragged stitches from my fragile soul, or it'll mend the demons haunting it.

What have I got to lose anyways?

-

As always, I crawled under the covers, carefully arranging the other side so he'd have no problem with tangled sheets and stolen pillows.

And there, I lay, trying to control my breathing, as if I was asleep. The light footsteps echoing on the staircase did nothing but to increase my heartbeat, and I willed myself to be still.

I heard the door creaking open and I almost cringed from the sound. He shuffled next to me and dropped down. I heard him whispering my name, as if testing if I'm awake. I did not respond, my body stiff as a corpse.

Seemingly satisfied, he let out a long sigh and headed to my desk.

There's nothing but a phone and a pieces of paper in there, what could he be looking for?

Slowly but carefully, I cracked an eye open.

He was holding the cell and in the dark of the room, the cell light illuminated his features. There was no trace of the kind and soft eyes that smiled at me during the day. Instead, his entire expression portrayed a mask of malice and something close to guilt.

A sudden rush of adrenaline, fuelled by paranoia and whispers of voices runs through me, propelling me from the bed. I collided with him in a clash of thunder and chaos, causing him to emit a surprised gasp. 

The phone flew from hand and I scrambled to claim it. I'm desperate, for a sense of sanity, of closure, proving my fears wrong.

To: Rith

I love you