The IV drip attached to his arm dripped steadily, a slow, rhythmic reminder of how fragile his body had become over the past few days. Chris felt hollow. He still hadn't been sleeping well. Hadn't been eating properly. Everything felt like too much, like the weight of the world was pressing down on him, suffocating him.
His father was still unconscious in the other room.
Five days.
Five days of waiting, of hoping, of drowning in the chaos that had exploded around him. But it felt like an eternity.
Not even one week since he left school.
He had tried to reach Sky.
After days of going MIA. He felt like maybe if he heard from him, anything at all, even his anger, would make him at least keep going.
He had called. Several times. Not through his own phone—he hadn't seen it in days. His mother, the assistants, and basically everyone else had told him to stay away from the internet, to disconnect until things settled down. But Chris couldn't. Not really.
