He wanted to go somewhere. Do something.
He couldn't.
For the third time that morning - or, afternoon, now - the phone hummed noisily against the surface of the bedside table. It was a vexing reminder of Roderick's obligations, but again, for the third time, he did little more than roll over to face it and watch the unanswered call notification blink on the lock screen.
The simple thought of even lifting his arm off of the mattress was enough to tired him out, never mind.. Having a conversation. God, right now, there was a hair's breadth of a difference between running a 15K marathon and having to regale the details of his week to his mother. The Winter grumbled incoherently and turned over to stare at the blank wall to his right, letting a comfortable fog settle over his mind once more.
Every once in a while, when he'd peered over at the clock, it'd felt as if he'd only been lying there for five minutes, but it'd been two hours. Sometimes, it felt like an hour had sluggishly come and gone, but the opposite was true - it'd scarcely been ten minutes. Time seemed to slow and quicken at random. Roderick figured he should be frustrated by it, but instead, he was just.. Tired. Not tired because he hadn't slept enough, or drained by excessive social interaction, or that he'd been up and about all day (quite the contrary), just.. Like there was a weight tied to his brain, and his head was ten times as heavy as it normally was.
Thinking was exhausting. Getting out of bed was on a whole other level.
His new prescription had just been shipped in today, and he was due to head out to Rosebury to pick it up. He was overdue to choose his classes for the upcoming semester. Evelyn had left him a message, asking him if he was free this afternoon. He'd said exactly, "no sorry haha im busy today" and hadn't picked his phone up since. The Winter could still taste fresh toothpaste as he ran his tongue over his gums. Roderick had tried to get up once, maybe three hours ago. He'd put a clean shirt on and gotten half-way through brushing his teeth when it'd it hit him - a figurative tub of molasses, making even the most simple task feel impossible. Now, here he was, still lying in bed.
He knew there were crushed cigarettes beneath him. He could see the ashes scattered across his sheets like dirty snow. It was sticking to the sleeves of his pull-over, and probably to his face, too. It bugged him. It really did. There was an itch in some deep crevice of his brain telling him to - at the very least - sweep them onto the floor and off of his living space. The floor wasn't in his line of sight. Anything not in his line of sight wasn't a problem, as far as he was concerned.
"In a minute," he muttered to himself, letting his eyes grow blurred so he could no longer see the individual grey specs.
A minute turned into two minutes. Two minutes turned into five. Five turned into ten. So on and so forth.
LazyAssholeLazyAssholeLazyAssholeLazyAssholeLazyAsshole.
"Bugger off, cunt." He laid his forearm across his eyes. "No, sorry, I'm busy. Can't you see that? I've got things to do."
He did. He did have things to do. He'd get to them eventually. Right now, though, he had to rest. The drugstore, and mum, and the head office, and his girlfriend could all wait a bit longer. It was still summertime, and they weren't going anywhere any time soon. Roderick just needed time to wake up. They could wait.
They could wait.
