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Not a single sound or sign of life.
For the second time in a matter of hours, I feel the floor crumble out from under me, blinding fear surging forward.
The door’s unlocked, which is good, because if it wasn’t, I was breaking it down.
I gently ease the door open, eyes wide, bracing myself for whatever I might find.
The first thing I notice is how clean it is.
How empty.
The second is how empty it is even ofhim.
I step into the room, looking every which way around the small, square room. Save for an air mattress covered in rumpled sheets, a nightstand with a small lamp, and a dresser across the room, it’s practically bare. Unlived in.
I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this.
Even in just the few weeks Skyler’s been all but living with me, he’s been a human tornado. Not a total slob, but he makes his presence known by leaving clothes strewn about. Books he picked up then set down in another place. Trinkets he randomly grabbed and played with before growing bored and leaving them on the nearest surface.
He fidgets. It’s what he does. He did it in my bungalow on the island, and he does it in my home now.
But here…
This room he’s been living in for six months…
A soft sound, almost like a whimper, followed by a dull, repetitive thudding reaches my ear and I snap my head around, gaze homing in on the closet across the room. The sliding doors are shut, save for where it’s cracked open just an inch, if that, revealing just blackness beyond.
Skyler…
Closing his bedroom door, I gently make my way across the room.
All those times Skyler spoke about these episodes he has, he’s always made them seem so destructive. Like he really was a tornado blowing through, destroying any and everything in his path.
A heavy, sort of calmness falls upon me as I sink to my knees. Pressing my hand against the closet door, I hesitate only a beat, and then I carefully ease it open.
“Sky,” I breathe.
Curled up in a ball amongst a mess of clothes and hangers, with his hands clenched over his ears, face buried in his knees, he rocks back and forth, hitting the wall with quiet thuds.
I scoot as close as I can get, but there’s no way this thing can fit two grown men. His frame is slight compared to mine, but he’s still tall and lanky, taking up much of the space despite how small he’s trying to be right now.
My hands move before I can think better of it, and I reach for him, only for him to bat me away before returning his hands to his ears.
I freeze, my heart sinking somewhere in my stomach.
Tears sting the back of my eyes as his rocking picks up, and his hands clench his head so tightly, his knuckles whiten.
I look around, taking in the clothes he must’ve pulled from the rack.
Is this why he’s in here? So he doesn’t break anything?
The thought has my chest cracking wide open, and I’m shaking my head.
No, nope, I don’t like this.
He’s trying to contain it. That’s evident now.
And I fucking hate it.
