09-01 blogpost2

[Note: Thanks again to Oliver for decrypting this file. We trust him, despite the file's illegibility.]

I am here.
The water filters everything blue. This is Sam? The guy I helped, whose worst problems I thought stopped at a fall and some confusion? I don’t even see the couch. It’s gone, I think. I have nothing here.
I think of this as the water in the apartment pulls me to the ceiling. I don’t think about my aching torso and the breath I keep there.

I hear his voice. And then the monster. Cold and gray. Turning with his whole body. Teeth searching for pain.
“When I need you, you’re gone. Again.”
His foot to my hand on the floor.
“And again.”
His foot to my back. I don’t feel that one.
“And again! When our room floods, you’re somewhere else.”
His foot to my ribs, to the bite. I gasp in pain, can’t afford the gasp.
“When I’m hurt, you can’t bother to help.”
I take a deep breath. He’s so tense. He moves. He can’t stop. He paces past me. That costs him his ankle. I drag him into the soft ground. I speak.
I can’t bother to help? Our room floods. You’re in the middle of it and do nothing.
There go a few of his teeth.
You lock me out of your room. I’m stuck on the couch, which you trash at every fucking opportunity. I help you with the smallest nosebleed. You can’t bother to help with this.
I lift my shirt so he sees the bandages.
You’re off chasing a monster, Sam. Try looking in the mirror.
He stares at me. “You think I’m the—"
I know. Brandon and Finn showed me.
He’s dumbfounded. He grabs my arm. I don’t feel the bending. I don’t feel straighten out again because it doesn’t.
He leans into my face. "Let me show you," he sneers.