Gray suggested I stay home today. It was the only thing he said yesterday after he walked me home. He considered asking his parents if I could spend the night, but I told him not to bother. I assured him I was fine, that I would be fine. There's really nothing wrong. It was just a fluke of a day - a slump. I'm going to get back on my feet soon enough. It must be the pain from summer ending, or the exhaustion of school starting up. I know I'm going to be alright. 

Gray texts me around lunchtime. He asks how I'm doing and if I've had anything to eat today. I assure him that I've had some cereal, and he says he'll bring me some dinner after school. I can't convince him he doesn't need to check up on me, so I spend the next few hours staring at the walls of my bedroom, wishing I had the strength to get myself out of bed. It doesn't even hurt when I lie and tell Gray I've had something to eat. It's almost 1 PM and I haven't gotten out of bed yet. 

Sometimes I wonder if my dad even gives a shit about me. If I ran away, would he care? What if I killed myself, would he care? Would he mourn my death, or would Gray have to plan my funeral? I don't need to run away to know my dad doesn't care about me. Who's the one that goes grocery shopping? Who's the one that cleans the house? All he does is go to work, come back, shoot up, and sleep. Even when he's here, he's not here. 

I think about writing some poetry. It's something I haven't done in months. I've barely even thought about writing since Gray came into my life. Maybe I would if I could get out of bed. I can already see the words materializing in front of me, forming into colorful phrases and fleshing out a story I have yet to decipher, but I already know in my heart. 

I feel like telling Gray not to come over, but I don't want him to worry about me any more than he already has. He was so scared yesterday to leave me alone. It makes me think there's still a reason for me to live. Gray loves me.

Or at least, he loves me now. 

But what if he doesn't in a year? Or a month? Or a week? What if he gets tired of having to put up with all my bullshit? I should just break up with him. There's no way he would break up with me - he's too nice. Two words and I can free him from the prison I've built around him - "it's over." He'd probably thank me. 

After all, who could ever love a pathetic, hopeless loser like me?