Horn P.O.V

After walking home from my long shift at work, I'm spent. I'm tired, my joints hurt, and I've had to deal with annoying customers all day. Not to mention, my boss. He's the absolute worst.

After a nice, warm shower, I throw on some comfortable clothes and spread out across my couch. I turn on my laptop since I have nothing better to do. Omegle has been a fun pass time for the past couple of weeks. I like talking to people.

I click on Google before searching for Omegle. It's a funny site to mess around on if you have a good sense of humor. You can laugh at people who flash you or have a serious conversation about how your day is going. It all depends on who you're connected with.

My likes remain from my frequent usage; pot, marijuana, bored, gay, etcetera. Normally, Omegle takes that information and hooks me up with someone that has at least one of the same likes. If not, it'll tell me that I'm with a random stranger, although everyone on this site is a random stranger.

The connection takes a few moments. Several dots appear as I wait to meet someone new. Some people leave as soon as the connection is secure, but sometimes they stay.

The lighting in the other person's room seems dark until they turn on a small lamp. Now I see a cute ginger boy, roughly my age, covered in bandages.

"Hi."

"Hello." He rubs his arms and looks behind him for a moment. It's as if he's worried someone might be listening.

"Everything okay? You seem worried," I point out, glancing to look behind him.

"Just anxiety," he says softly. "I'm sorry, I don't normally go on this site," he apologizes.

"I only go on it when I'm bored," I tell him. "It's nice having someone to talk to when you live alone."

"I wish I lived alone," he whispers while looking behind him.

This person has me very intrigued. There are so many noticeable mysteries about him; why he's anxious, why he watches the door, who he lives with, the abundance of bandages. I'd like to get to know him.

"What's your name?" he questions quietly, most likely in an attempt to prevent the other person from waking up.

"I go by Horn, but that's not my legal name," I explain.

"Cuts isn't my legal name either."

Rarely do I find someone who has an untraditional name that isn't legal. It's not very common. People often think it's weird. That's why it's surprising.

"Interesting name," is the first thing that comes out of my mouth.

"I didn't choose it," he admits softly. "It was chosen for me because of my dermatillomania."

"What's that?" having never heard of such a word, I'm forced to ask.

Cuts scratches at his arm for a moment. "It's a mental condition that causes me to pick, rub or scratch at my skin. Half the time I don't realize it until I'm bleeding," he says, as he does what he just described.

"You're doing it now," I point out.

Cuts suddenly stops and looks at his arm. Sure enough, there's a bit of blood from the rough scratching. He reaches over to the desk and quickly wraps his arm with a bandage.

"I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologize for something you can't control," I reassure him.

"Sorry-, I'm not good at this," he says with a sigh.

I shrug my shoulders. "Compared to most of the people on this site, you're a dream."

Cuts' pale freckled skin dusts over with a light shade of pink. It's clear that he takes it as a compliment.

"Thanks," his voice comes out a shy whisper.

"You don't have to thank me for stating the obvious," I reply.

A light suddenly flicks on from under the doorframe. Cuts turns back quickly and sees the light. There's a sudden panic in his eyes. Whoever is with him, he's afraid of them.

"I have to go," he says quickly with a hushed tone.

A message comes through before he disconnects from the chat.

I really like you and would like to talk again. Give me a text...

The message ends with his phone number. There are a lot of obvious red flags for Cuts and his situation. He makes me very curious. I'm not exactly sure what's going on, but I have a pretty certain feeling that not all of Cuts' bandages are from his dermatillomania.

Wanting to know more, I enter his number into my phone. I decide to send a small text so he doesn't have some random number text him later.

Me, 12:35 A.M.
Hi, this is Horn. Now you have my number.

I toss my phone onto my bed and sigh. Cuts makes me very curious. He seems like a very timid and anxious person, but I bet underneath all of that he's very sweet and fun.

Noticing that it's getting rather late, my mind tells me that it's time to sleep. I have work tomorrow and I'll need the sleep if I'm going to have to deal with my boss. He isn't someone you want to deal with if you haven't gotten enough sleep. His irritating nature only intensifies.

I brush my teeth before going to bed. Every once in a while, I'll have trouble sleeping. Unfortunately, tonight just happens to be one of those nights.

Hours pass and I'm still unable to sleep. By looking at my clock, it's nearing four in the morning. A long sigh escapes my lips as I stare at the ceiling.

The color is dark but very bland. Staring at it gives me no boring satisfaction. Usually, when something is boring enough, it can put me to sleep within a few minutes. Unfortunately, tonight is a sleepless night, and not the good kind either.

Once my clock hits six A.M. I decide to get up and go through my morning routine to get ready for work. Today is not going to be a good day.