He goes to bed at ten, every night. He says goodbye to his friends on the Internet and shuts his laptop down, like clockwork, and then he changes out of his clothes and goes to bed. He dreams, but never remembers what about. When he wakes up in the morning, he’s always slept in, and he hurries to get to school in time. He gets home at thirty six minutes past three and does his homework, and then he returns to his laptop until bed. He likes gummy bears, horror films and music that has screamed vocals. He doesn’t really have any friends apart from me, so he keeps some weed in his sock drawer for when the loneliness gets too much. He doesn’t know what he wants to do after school, but he knows he wants to go and live in a big city. London, maybe. He’s so sad because he doesn’t realise how beautiful he is. I don’t know what I’d be if I didn’t love him like I do. I was nothing before him.
We’ve lived together for twelve months now, it’s nice. I used to be one of those faceless people he speaks to online, until we both realised that we couldn’t live with being so far away from each other. I moved to the other end of the country to be with him, I made so many sacrifices and I don’t regret it at all. His parents are nice, but we just spent most of the time up in his room alone. We don’t talk like we used to before I moved in, though. Most of the time I just watch him. It’s how I know so much about him.
Tonight, his routine’s changed. He doesn’t touch the laptop, he just lies on his bed with his face in the pillow and cries. I was concerned, until I looked at his calendar and realised the date. Of course he’s upset; it’s been a year since I hanged myself.