Delirious
by Joshua Goodale


Chapter 1


It was three-thirty in the morning and he couldn't sleep. At this point, it had become unfortunately common for him to be unable to fall asleep for weeks at a time. Maybe it was his stress, pulling him down as if an anchor were tangled around his leg, yanking him deep under. Maybe it was because he often felt afraid of his house, uncomfortable in his own skin. Maybe.
  He had been awake in bed, staring into the pitch black while mulling this over in his head. He'd figured it would help him sleep, but his brain had other plans. The youth's mind too heavy, too restless to ignore, thoughts rushing through like a busy intersection with no stoplight. A set of weary eyes blinked several times, bringing him out of his stupor only to realize how thirsty he was, mouth feeling as though it were stuffed with cotton. A deep sigh rose from his chest, legs swinging over the side of the bed lazily as he'd lean forward, reluctantly pushing himself up in a slouched standing position.
  He turned around to face his bed, reaching for his cell phone. Eyes squinted to focus at the device, he'd turn on the built-in flashlight, the light piercing through the darkness. It wasn't as if it was necessary to have a light in order to navigate his own home, but he was adamantly against the idea. From this, he was able to walk to his bedroom door, unlocking the doorknob that separated him from the rest of the empty house. As contact was made with the cold doorknob, an uneasy feeling flashed through his body, half-expecting something to be standing on the other side of it waiting for him. Of course, there wasn't, but that didn't stop him from thinking they were watching him in the dark corners, not to say that he'd go intentionally looking, either.
  Making his way from his bedroom to the kitchen, a familiar feeling gripped him, immediately aware of being swallowed by pure black. Nyctophobia and him were almost like rivals who then later became old friends - a fear he faced so commonly that it was only like that of a small flea biting at his psyche. He stepped into the kitchen, bare feet pressed against the cold tile flooring, the usual stinging ammonia of cat urine and garbage immediately filling his nostrils. He approached the sink, glancing out of the window that was above it. The street lights were still on, lighting up the parking lot of his apartment complex. He looked at the rows of doors, envious of the peacefully sleeping figures that no-doubt resided in them.
  There was a small squeak as his hand turned the faucet on, a steady stream of gurgling, cold water pouring out and cascading against the filthy bowls and silverware that had been pushed aside to make room. For a moment, he fixed his eyes on the sight of the water spinning down into the basin. Something about it was almost hypnotizing, but in an oddly peaceful sort of way. A small pill bottle sat upright on the counter, digging a finger in to wrestle a capsule free. He didn't enjoy the idea of taking medication of any kind, but it had to be better than suffering like this. He'd blink again, the dark circles around his eyes wishing he could blink and simply not open them again for several hours at least.
  He snapped back to, realizing he had been staring at the stream of water while lost in thought, absentmindedly twiddling the pill between his fingers. Anticipating the whole process, he downed the pill effortlessly and grabbed a cup spotted with dried liquid from another time, holding it under the faucet. Nearly filling it to the brim, a bit of the liquid sloshed out back into the sink as the cup was brought to his lips. It was gulped down then and there, but it wasn't enough, his throat burning for more. Once again, he ran the cup under the steady flow, filling it up halfway before finally turning the sink off. It was empty in seconds, setting the empty plastic onto the counter top. It was almost as if he was even more parched, his stomach only hurting now from all the water. Nothing seemed to ease his mind, but it wasn't anything new.
  He gave up and returned to his room, eager to shut his bedroom door behind him and lock it again. Settling himself down on the edge of his bed, he sat in silence. The drugs were sure to take effect soon at least, but it never felt soon enough. Phone still in hand, he rose it to his face, eyes locked onto the brightened screen. His face was illuminated by the pale glow, being the only thing that was visible in the otherwise dark room. He'd press several buttons on the cell as it made small, corresponding beeps. A tiny voice was heard.

"Y o u   h a v e   o n e   s a v e d   v o i c e   m a i l"

"Hey Danny, it's Monica. Just wanted to see if you were around and wanted to do something later today. Call or text me or something, alright? Okay, Love you!" Danny moved the phone from his ear, looking down onto the screen. The time read 3:47 AM. His head laid back onto the wall against his bed, moving a hand to rub his eyes. He couldn't sleep. It was three-forty in the morning and he couldn't sleep.