I Will Be My Undoing If I

I Hear Footsteps And Four's Hands Wrap Around My Wrists. I Let Him Pry My Hands From My Eyes. He Encloses One Of My Hands Perfectly Between Two Of His. The Warmth Of His Skin Overwhelms The Ache In My Fingers From Holding The Bars. "you All Right?" He Asks, Pressing Our Hands Together. "yeah." He Starts To Laugh.

Then Drew Shuffles Into The Dining Hall. I Drop My Toast, And My Mouth Drifts Open. Calling Him “bruised” Would Be An Understatement. His Face Is Swollen And Purple. He Has A Split Lip And A Cut Running Through His Eyebrow. He Keeps His Eyes Down On The Way To His Table, Not Even Lifting Them To Look At Me. I Glance Across The Room At Four. He Wears The Satisfied Smile I Wish I Had On.

Every Tattoo I Got With Them Is A Mark Of Their Friendship, And Almost Every Time I Have Laughed In This Dark Place Was Because Of Them. I Don’t Want To Lose Them. But I Feel Like I Have Already.

He Doesn’t Scowl, But His Mouth Is So Tense That I Know He’s Angry With Me. 'don’t Be An Idiot,' He Says. 'an Idiot?' Is He Talking About The Blanket? 'you Were Lying.

Sometimes You Just Need To Talk To Someone Who Is Detached From You. They Just Listen To What You Tell Them And You Get To Form The Way That They See You, Whereas Everyone Else In Your Life Already Thinks They Know What You're Dealing With Or What You're Going Through. That's My Recommendation For Actual Anxiety.