I feel miserable. Since Friday night, I don't even know if I'm a person ...

I can't get Taylor out of my mind. In the end, the dumbuss has managed to keep me from getting it out of my head. There are many reasons making me think of him, somethimes its impossible to tell why, but I am constantly thinking about him, doing nothing.

It seems incredible how something can destroy you inside, even if you are complete on the outside. It's like a lot of things have been ripped from me. As if they had left me completely empty of everything that kept me alive and wanting to eat the world.

I remember vomiting next to a damn building on the Tower Bridge road. I was lucky that there was a kind of alley and that there weren't too many pedestrians. When I recovered from the dizziness and nausea, and if I'm honest the desire to die, I got in my car and continued on my way down the road. I wasn't going anywhere, but what I was clear about was that I didn't feel like going to my house. So I saw the sky open when I came across the London Tower Bridge Hotel, on the same road. I paid the parking and I was lucky to find a free room. I spent the night there, ignoring those calls that were just from my friends. I only sent a message to my mother in case she was worried about me.

I don't usually to write messages to my parents. They know very well that I go out and that I spend many nights away from home, but I felt I had to. When the ticks turned blue and after a while he answered me, I turned off my iPhone. I didn't want to know anything about anything or anyone. After all these months without my best friend, he was the only thing that mattered to me. But I was so afraid of receiving bad news that it wasn't until the next morning when after a half breakfast in the hotel lounge, I turned on my cell phone. It began to vibrate with such intensity and speed that I got scared and didn't even want to look. But they were just notifications from my social networks, messages to chats and groups and those emails of newsletter things that you always say «I'll take them off», but you always end up leaving for another day.

In the end, another day always comes ... And it remains the same as yesterday or the day before yesterday.

But yesterday, it was a bad day. I couldn't sleep a wink all night, and the little sleep I did get brought nightmares. I kept opening my eyes whilst dripping in sweat, often feeling a discomfort similar to when some food falls badly on his stomach. Then I saw poor Taylor on the ground again, beaten, his eyes closed. And to those two pigs giving him the brutal beating. I heard the voices again and, worst of all, myself telling him that he was no longer his best friend.

It was perhaps the biggest lie I have ever told. And if he had known that all this would lead to everything that led to it, he would have done nothing. Maybe he would have said «yes, it's true, we have to talk.» Because there are times when you opt for the worst option of all. Although, what hurts me the most, is that at that time, I didn't even think I had options. I behaved like one of those filthy thugs, like one of all those who bully every day, like one of those who seem to have no heart.

Today was a foul Sunday. I'm not for anyone. I have not answered my friends, I have not answered their calls, I have not even paid attention to Dakota when she has sent me an answer to one of my WhatsApp states, or to the hot photo of Georgina, or to the audio of Stella. I have simply stayed at home, without going out all day. Like yesterday.

When I returned from the hotel at noon, my parents asked me how I had spent the night. And I told them with a forced smile I'd had a wonderful night, though if they had known me better they would have realised something was wrong. I locked myself in my room all day, lying on my bed with music playing. It almost looked like I was hungover. But no... I was sleepy. Tired from my conscience being too heavy.

Today has been practically the same. A shitty day that, if I could, I would have spent sleeping. If it wasn't for my mother deciding that it wasn't normal for me to spend all weekend without leaving my room, I would have stayed there. But, just like Saturday, I had to have lunch and dinner. The rest was no longer so important...

«Important». What an ambiguous word... For some, full of meaning, for others, devoid of many things. The same things are not important to everyone. So the meaning of that word is so different. For my mother, it matters a lot to eat, to drink, to go to bed at a reasonable time. For my father, to study, to focus on my career, and to become a successful computer engineer. That I live life but am smart and reasonable.

What a foolishness... In the end, all those things, for me, end up being mere trivialities. But I'm still a damn coward.

My room is so tidy that I don't recognize it. I have had plenty of time to put everything in its place while I am out of it. The analog clock on my phone reads 1:52 on the screen. I am sitting, with this in my hand, between my spread legs. Though I'm sitting on a comfortable mattress, I am constantly uncomfortable.

My thumb moves across the screen to open my WhatsApp chats. I scroll through them all until I find my best friend's chat. When I open it and see the messages I left in read I feel a deep emptiness inside me. How could I ...? How could I break a friendship like ours? How could I asked him to forget me? How could I have dropped him on the floor at Hyde Park on Friday?

But I could... I could and what I can't do is send him a message. I know he's still alive. I know he has been online at some point because I can see the last connection time. And, on the other hand, I don't dare to write to him, to say «I'm sorry», to ask him not to forget me and that he's still my best friend, to ask him how he is.

I fear his rejection now as much as I fear facing his feelings towards me. Because, absurd as it may seem, after all this time, I can't believe how my best friend could fall in love with me.

I end up taking my fingers to the touch keyboard, writing a «tell me you're...», which ends up staying like this because I dare not tell him to tell me that it's okay, that I need to know that the hits don't has been too serious, that he don't is in a hospital... But I delete everything and return to the home screen to lock my mobile and leave it on the table.

"Fuck!" I curse, kicking the bottom of the small table, cursing everything because I don't know what to do. I end up leaning back on the bed, with my eyes fixed on the ceiling. I bring my hands to my face and then to my forehead, pulling my hair back, almost pulling it.

I wished not to meet a victim of homophobic assault and to see his face in the headlines yesterday. I gratefuled to remain oblivious to the world hoping that the world was also oblivious to me. But the damn phone doesn't stop ringing and I have to sleep with it turned off if I don't want to be screwed up. In the end, I end up where I was yesterday, in bed, doing nothing -which is rare for me already-, with another day that gone before I realize that it is too late to be alone.

★

*This traduction is mine and I don't speak english. Please excuse me and, if you see an error, say me!Coment, vote, and follow me if you like this!

I am working hard on the translation so that it is good, readable and as faithful as possible to the original story, written in Spanish.*

Corrections by Rachaellouise99

Thank you so much!