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[sadpoem]

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9/9 text; un: omori

[sadpoem]

[Does he not wake up for hours, or not text for hours? Morning shifts into afternoon shifts into night, and Sunny can't tell if he's moved from one spot, taking turns between staring at her note, the polaroid, the shadow from the heels of his hands.

[No, no, no - something in his mind screams it. He feels sick, dizzy, like he can't think straight - he can't, but...

[Xie Lian told him so gently, so kindly that none of this is a dream at all. Sunny doesn't want to believe it. He's scared. He's sad. He doesn't want to go home. He needs to go home, because Basil is still waiting for him on the other side of that door, but he can't do it, he can't do it.

["Sorry." She'd never say so if she knew the truth. She'd never be able to look him in the eye again. He's hidden himself from it; he's tried. Four years, and he'd managed, but the truth can't leave him now; it chokes him at the throat - speak - but no, no...no...]

i didn't
send those messages

[headhooligan]

[It’s just like what he said before. Their message history is a repulsive thing; she doesn’t want to touch it. But there was that one piece…

[“Leave him alone.” Aubrey’s been trying to keep busy. She’s terrible at doing what she should.

[There’s a void where that photo was.]

Who did?

[sadpoem]

i dont know

something
is wrong

[headhooligan]

[He can’t be messing with her. Not now…]

I don’t understand.

What happened?

[sadpoem]

i cant
remember

[Don't stop there. He has to spit it out. He has to tell her while she's still listening.]

sometimes
i forget
so much

and have messages
i don't remember

[headhooligan]

[How can he…?]

What do you remember?

[How much of what he’s said is true? How much did he mean? What is this world doing to him…?]

[sadpoem]

[Sunny feels weak - like he could pass out if he's not careful, but his heart is racing. He's afraid. She's asking him questions that would have been hard enough to answer at home, but this isn't home, and everything that hasn't made sense has been so easy to simply ignore.]

i dont know

some things
day to day

i forget so much
but i just thought

it was all a dream

[A two-month-long dream. The curtain is being yanked off its rod.]

[headhooligan]

It’s not.

I don’t fully understand what’s going on, either. But it has to be real.

[…]

I’m sorry.

[sadpoem]

[No, it's not...it's not her fault.]

i like
dreaming
better

[headhooligan]

[That’s what he’s been doing for four years, isn’t it?

[Dreaming. Alone. Rotting.]

Is it okay if I call?

[She hates using text for this. She hates this. They’ve only barely talked, and everything feels fragile.]

[sadpoem]

[He won't be able to talk...]

ok

[headhooligan]

[A call, then.]

Hey. [It’s immediate, quiet, almost out of breath.

[Silence follows. Right… Sunny never was very talkative.... Phones are terrible in general, actually.]

Sunny? Are you there?

[sadpoem]

[It takes him so long to answer. Maybe hearing him breathing will be enough, but...

[It's only a breath; the shakiest, smallest of whispers:]

Yes...

[headhooligan]

[Thank god, thank god,] Thank god. [A relieved, shaking whisper. Hold it together…]

Hi, Sunny.... It’s… really good, t-to hear you. [She swallows.] Sorry. Was it easier to type…?

[sadpoem]

[An echo. He sounds so small.]

Yes...

[headhooligan]

[She’s messing up already…]

Sorry. Sorry. We can— Is it okay if I talk? And you can write…

[sadpoem]

ok

[headhooligan]

“Ok.” Okay, yeah. This can work. It’s okay…

[The downside to this is that he can hear just how emotional she’s getting. At the same time, that was kind of the point. Sunny’s quiet, and it’s good to hear anything from him at all; but from Aubrey, words aren’t enough.

[Is anything?]

Honestly, though, I… I don’t know what to say. What do you mean you’re forgetting so much…?

[sadpoem]

[Sunny's breath on the other end of the phone is shaky.]

my head
is fucked

it doesn't
feel real

i come home
and i don't know how
or wake up
to messages I didn't send

[...]

they're calling me
the wrong name

[headhooligan]

Sunny…

[Her voice cracks on his name. There’s a muffled sound as she covers her mouth. Every message is its own little stab; of course he was never okay. What a sick, cruel, joke of a thought.]

How long…?

[sadpoem]

[He doesn't know.]

how long
have we been here?

[headhooligan]

It’s been like this since you got here?!

[sadpoem]

im
sorry

[headhooligan]

No. [Firm. It falls apart from there.]

Sunny, it’s… It’s been two months, it’s been four— Too long. God, it’s…

[She wipes her eyes, futile.] It’s not your fault. I’m sorry....

[sadpoem]

[It is his fault. It is his fault. It is his fault, and she can never know. That photograph. How long has Aubrey been holding onto it? Did she bring it with her? It doesn't make sense. He hadn't wanted to see his sister's face. He wasn't ready.

[He feels like he could fall asleep. Just fall asleep, and it will all be over...]

please
don't say that