Al woke up feeling like he’d been hit by a truck full of emotions and left there, sprawled out on his back, being slowly crushed under the weight of the cargo. He could hardly breathe beyond the barest of wheezes. He didn’t understand this feeling, but there was no question that he had been on a roller coaster lately. Unlike the rest of the effects however, this one made him desire companionship desperately. He needed someone to hold and share with, to make the burden less heavy. But there wasn’t someone like that. That is why he was so upset to begin with.

But it was entirely his fault.
No one else’s.

He carefully scraped himself up, pulling his knees to tuck under his chin as he hugged them. If he was more clear. Why was he always so vague? It wasn’t like he was keeping secrets from him – but why? He hurt him so bad that he turned to someone else. He released his legs to run his fingers up through his own hair, clenching and twisting as he bit down on his bottom lip to stifle the anguished cries from emerging. Blood was drawn.

Even now, with this crushing guilt, all he can think about is how much it hurt to be unwanted by the one person who- he was just so selfish! Why can’t he think more about them?! That was what ******** things up in the first place. He was just so ******** selfish and stupid and creepy! It was a wonder anybody wanted anything from someone as wretched and worthless as he was. He tugged on his hair harder and then suddenly stopped. He ran his fingers in his hair, this time to fix the mess he may have created. He had to say he was sorry. He didn’t know how to say he was sorry.

He opened his phone and texted the first thoughts that came to mind. He stared at them for what felt like eternity before firing off a third message, an apology directed at him. He paused again. He was hopeful that apologies - at the very least above all else - could be accepted.

Someone else intervened - the target of his usual blame. The feeling of guilt returned two-fold, but this was far too complicated to even attempt a response. He closed his phone and slid back down to rest. After tugging a fur back over his form up to his shoulder he clutched the phone in his fist and held it to his forehead.

No one else's.

Why couldn’t everything be alright?