REINKED-An Uneventful Every Day Morning Tainted By A Lack Of Self Assurance and Bloodshed

I arrive outside my apartment. The room number, 311, stares at me with some kind of sealed malintent. I take out my key and turn it and the doorknob, slowly entering inside. The air inside tastes dead. The apartment walls are an all consuming blank beige, the floor a rotting brown and the ceiling a gross looking white. The only furniture in the apartment is an air mattress and microwave sitting on a counter in what should be a kitchen area that's been stripped down of any other beneficial items. Next to my air mattress are piles of folded clothes. Shirts, pants, and jackets are all neatly separated. 

Sticking to the wall above my air mattress is a little sticky note with something written on it. Did he come back last night? What kind of message would uncle have for me that he couldn't just text?

Leave a mark on this note if you’re alive.

Oh, of course. Yeah that makes more sense.

I take out a pen and make a few small marks under the words. A feeling like I may not be coming back here for a while fills my chest. I procced by grabbing a new outfit out of the piles and going to take a shower. The bathroom is as small as should be expected for a place as beat up as this. There's a sink, a toilet, and a little corner shower. Mold slowly grows from the corners of the floor tiles. I sigh. It has spread farther than it was yesterday. How annoying. I reach out and turn the dial for the shower, letting the hot water come rushing out. Watching the water fall from the showerhead, I strip off my clothes and step inside, stepping carefully so as not to touch the mold on the floor. The water slowly clears the germs from my body and the tension from my mind. I half-heartedly begin rubbing myself up with soap and shampoo, rinse myself off, and stop.

Looking at the shower curtain, I start to reach out my hand, and I stop. A part of me considers what it would be like if someone were behind it. Maybe they were standing deathly still, their breaths quieter than a dropped pin. A chill goes down my spine. Maybe I’ll be just fine if I never leave. Let the water turn me to wrinkles as it slowly turns cold and I die of hypothermia rather than die by a man’s sharpened blade.

Or maybe I’ll never die. Maybe this moment is an eternal one, and immortality is only a gift for those who give up their right to live, to think, out of fear.

My shampoo falls over and hits my foot.

“AH FUC-”

…

I walk out of the bathroom, pulling down my shirt. The clock reads 8:15 am. School starts at 9 and it takes me half an hour to get there, but if you aren’t there half an hour early, the teacher marks you as tardy anyways. Not surprising, considering his hatred for all his students. Whatever, It's good I live so close by. I grab my bag...when I stop. For a moment, my eyes take in the place. 

I've lived here for five years.

My uncle pays the bills, but he's never around.

When the fire escape creaks and I hear someone fiddling with the window, I have no one else there to rely on.

When I eat my convenience store garbage, I eat it alone.

Alone. I'm entirely, undoubtedly, alone.

“...let's make sure we're less lonely together from now on."

I grit my teeth. Fuck this.

I walk over to my pile of clothes and begin shoving in as many outfits as I can. I manage to fit in six. The one I'm wearing now makes seven. Next, I tie my jacket around my waist. My favorite one. My dad's old favorite.

Next, I go back in the bathroom and begin pulling out my body wash and shampoo. There. That should be everything. With that done, I make my way to the apartment's front door. I stand before it, looking at the same door I used to look at every night before I drifted off. 

"Goodbye." I whisper, before opening it up wide and slamming it closed behind me.

…

I pull open the novel site I upload to. Moving over to my author page, I scroll through the multitude of novels I’ve written up to this point. The blur of AI art covers turns into an amorphous mess in my mind until I stop on the biggest standout. White text. Dark background. Crying man.

Love Is Lost

I gulp. I try to recall the act of writing this one. How old is it? I think three years old. What was I doing back then? I chuckle. Definitely just doing the exact same stuff I am doing now. Well, whatever, the goal isn't to question the stagnation of my life.

The goal is to start studying my own writing style.

Simply put, once I write something, I don't remember it for long after that. A chapter only exists during and a few days after I write it. So, maybe my writing on future projects would benefit from learning how exactly my thought process works.

I open the first chapter.

Walking down the city sidewalk, my eyes scan each line of a strange story about a boy waking up to his girlfriend's body replaced by a skeleton. The story goes on for chapters, showing the disappearance of hundreds, thousands of people, replaced by skeletons. When the whole world has become lonely and cold, that’s when the angels arrive. I stop there. 

That was...a lot.

It’s not that I’m not enjoying it. Quite the opposite actually. It feels like a story filled to the brim with all the things I personally find invigorating.

What’s bothering me is I don't know what it says about me.

I don't know what any of my writing says about me. The most I can really glean from it is a sense of hopelessness mixed in with blood and guts. I, again, know very well what caused it. Is that...is that all this is? Just a trauma response?

There's gotta be more. It feels like there's more.

I just...really hope what that more is isn't any worse than the rest of it.

I look up. School is just in front of me. I pocket my phone and, after taking a deep breath, take a step past the school gates.

“Hey pal.”

Then, I feel a hand grabbing onto the back of my collar and pushing me along.  Any attempt from me to get away is futile, his grip is too strong. I can tell that the other guys at this one's sides will also have a field day with me if I actually succeed in breaking from his grasp. We eventually arrive at the school’s side, safe from the view of anyone who could be bothersome to my “kidnapper”.

He starts out by breaking my nose with a solid crack of his fist. I fall back, holding my broken mush of a bleeding appendage. He picks me up off the ground just to head butt me back down.

“How was your date, you little loser?” The boy laughs as he watches me try to stand up before kicking me in the chest. I gag, forcing myself to not vomit from the shock.

“L-leave me alone-” I feel a sharp kick to the side of my face that sends me rolling to my side.

“Oh?! Leave you alone?! Guys, you think I should leave him alone?” The boy looks to his friends. Both gleefully shake their heads. “Hmm, sorry man, guess you’re screwed.” I groan before I feel his foot slam into the top of my head. I desperately cover myself, doing my best to protect my most important areas. It was only somewhat effective.

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave our girl alone and not come back here again.” I feel spit hit my hand before the group walks off, leaving me alone. Groaning, I sit up. My whole body aches and is already showing signs of bruising. Blood continues to pour from my nose, but despite the pain, I don't believe it's actually broken. Or at least, not severely. 

Great. Guess I’m meeting the nurse finally. I hear she’s a dandy lady. Whatever, it’s my own fault. I should have just said-

“There you are.” I turn my head, and there she stands. Sami, panting hard and looking panicked, comes running to my side. “Oh Yuta, who did this? No, we can worry about that later. Hang on.” She reaches out her hands,  feeling up my nose gently.

“A-ah-”

“Don’t move. Let me see.” She puts a hand on my shoulder before pulling off her backpack and bringing out a little first aid kit. She pulls out some cotton balls. “Keisuke used to get manhandled a lot by those kinds of people. They just adored when he would shrivel up. I…I hate guys like that." She declares

“Sensical.” I say as she begins to stuff cotton in my nose.

“But with you…this is only happening because of me.” Her fingers move down my face, wiping the blood off my cheek. “I shouldn’t have gotten involved with you. I should have been prepared for this to happen. I...I should have considered my standing at this place. I’m sorry Yuta.” Her words feel like they are stabbing me deep in the chest. I can’t take it.

“I can take a beating. Anytime, if it means I can stay with you, I'll take a million of them!” I say. I’m not sure if it’s the right answer, but it seems to effect her.

“Y-Yuta?" She blushes bright

“So please don’t leave me! Not when I just found you! I...don't wanna be alone again. I don't want you to feel alone again. ” I feel my cheeks turn red, but I can’t bear what my mind is telling me. Saying that if I don't fight, I'll lose her forever.

Saying she will slip away.

Saying I’ll only have my apartment again.

Only having an uncle who doesn't care about me.

No...I can't live like that anymore.

“Please don’t leave.” My hand reaches out and pulls me closer to her, till my head is on her shoulder.

“Ugh, jeez…what made you think something stupid like that?” She holds me tight. “You’re my writer. I won’t ever let you escape me.”

Good. Please. Never let me escape.