Cynical Souls

23 - Too Much Time in My Own Head

P.s: to clear any confusion, this is Dylan immediately after he woke up from the accident. Before his friends entered to check up on him.

Dylan's PoV:

Have you ever got drunk and the hung-over basically consisted of this feeling of a hammer nagging your brain, knocking on your skull unstoppably and the worst part is, that it only gets louder and more consecutive with each slam?

Well, that's how I've been feeling since I woke up after my alleged accident.

To be completely frank, I do not remember the accident itself, did I drive straight through a tree? Did the car fly in the air and roll off a couple of meters ahead? Was I going that fast?

I honestly do not remember a single thing.

The last thing my mind can recall vividly is that I was angry and frustrated, so I got into the car and blasted the music till my ears went deaf with all the thoughts I had in my mind.

Did I have my seatbelt on?

Looking at my perfectly fine ribs, I sigh in relief, thankful that every breath I had to intake didn't feel like choking on shards of glass.

Although my head bounces with the sounds and the slamming continues I try moving my arms and legs.
I succeed and another burden is lifted off my shoulders. I'm fine.

My head wanders to my car. Is it ok? Was it in a bad condition? Is the damage reversible?

My mind goes way back to junior year when I worked multiple jobs just so I could afford a car. My getaway from this world.

I guess it doesn't matter now. The important thing is that I'm here, alive and all.

I wonder what would happen if I died? How long would it take for people to forget about me and for me to become nothing but a distant memory.

I'm sure my friends will get sad, they'll be shedding tears; even Cole though he would never admit to it.

They would promise to always carry my memory around. But let's be honest, it's just a matter of time before people move on, letting go of everything you desperately wanted them to cling onto.

Who can blame them anyway? You can't expect people to mourn forever. People deserve a break from grieve and misery.

I close my eyes in despair. This not a topic I should be venturing into especially after I, myself happened to tip toe on the edge of life and death so carelessly, but sometimes the mind can't help but wander into dangerous territory.

Opening my eyes, I lay the previous topic to rest in my head, seeing the worried faces of my friends made me realize that no matter how shitty things get, no matter how bad you say you want all of it to be over, you just never really stop to appreciate everything you singlehandedly took for granted.

How many times you slammed your bedroom door in anger screaming, wishing to be dead.

How many times you laid your heavy head on a pillow thinking about how things would get easier if you just simply ceased your existence.

Well, for me the answer is many. Many times.

But I can't be oblivious to the fact that it is my friends that actually make living on this ball of dirt we call earth, bearable.

The sedatives or whatever drugs the doctors injected into my weak body, seem to be slowly doing their job.

After a while, I start noticing the hammer knocking in my fragile skull faded to the background. Though it's still somewhat there but better a faint sound than feeling like beaten by a persistent sledgehammer.

With the voices in my head getting quieter, I state off into the opposite wall, it's white and bare of any accessory or decoration.

Where are my parents? A humorless chuckle, almost bitter, escapes my lips.
What did I think? That the second they received a call informing them of their son's accident they'd drop everything on their timelines and rush to check up on me, making sure I was ok?

They probably brushed it off, continuing with more important things at hand. Example; screaming and fighting constantly.

God, I hated it when they fought. The toxicity just over spills and what I hated more, is that whenever I'm mad I can see them in my attitude, in my angry behavior. Even the erratic breaths as I'm seething resembles theirs when on the verge of a fight.

Kids should grow up admiring their parents and wanting be like them. I absolutely despised the idea. I found it repelling that just because I have their DNA engraving every grain of my existence that I should turn out like them. I don't want to. And I'm not letting myself do that. Become what they are.

A knock on the wooden door pulls me out of this never ending rabbit hole I got sucked in.

A woman in her mid thirties with red hair enters the room, seemingly pleased that I'm awake.

She saunters into the room with her hands stuffed into her white doctor's coat pockets.

"Hey Dylan, I'm doctor Adams, how are you feeling?"
She asks tenderly awaiting my reply.

"I'm well" I manage to squeeze out of my throat that feels like sandpapers. She gets the hint and pours me a glass of water from the pitcher placed on the side table.

After I thanked her, I gulped the whole thing in one chug, feeling the thirst and dehydration subdue a little.

"You have a set of good friends, they're waiting outside for you. What do you say keep them tortured out or finally let them in?" She says with a smile adorning her face.

"Let them in, definitely" I answer while smiling at her comment.

She nods comprehensively and seemed bummed out "You had to ruin all the fun. Just kidding I'm going to call them in" With that she leaves and I pull myself to look the best I can. Like I hadn't been injured and suffered from a concussion. Pssst.

•••

A/n:

What do we think about this chapter?
I mean it looks like a filler chapter, but honestly I think it's important to know what goes on in peoples' heads. It helps understand them better.

Maybe I'm just weird like that 😂😂

Anyway, please vote and comment for more updates ❣️