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[sadpoem]

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[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

[headhooligan]

[She misinterprets. Apology after apology rises in her throat; she chokes them all down. This isn’t about her…]

You didn’t have to be alone.... [But Aubrey’s not not at fault, is she? This guilt can’t be for nothing. Four long, lonesome years, and not once did she reach out; not in four years, not in two months, not until someone else’s distress hit her cold and dead.

[She’s so fucking stupid.]

You didn’t. And now you… [It takes some sputtering, but she forces it out.] You don’t have to be....

[sadpoem]

[His voice, very soft:]

I did...

[He deserved it. He needed it. He wanted it, didn't he?

[Didn't he?]

i miss u
so much

[headhooligan]

[God, after all this?]

D… Do you want me over there? [Desperately soft.]

[sadpoem]

[On the other end of the receiver, a tiny, pitiful sob.

[He hangs up the phone.]

yes