He was nestled against the thick marble door, his cheek grinding against the frame. His green mane was no longer tied together, simply sprawled out in a frizzled way that made him look manic. His eyes were bloodshot, sore from the crying. He had cried a lot. He knew that it never did anything good for him, but it was nice to cry. It was all that he knew how to do when he got this way.
The intercom clicked, and he turned towards the crude speaker that was hung upon his room's ceiling corner.
"Good morning, N. Are you done with your tantrum?" a voice fizzled.
N turned back to the door. His hand was bruised from hitting it, a deep purple splotch blossoming onto his knuckles. He bit his lip and shamefully turned to the speaker once more, as much as he hated it. The voice that came from it always gave him a headache.
The door had been abandoned. N paced around the circle of his plush rug, his eyes locked to the pastel floor. His hands helplessly gripp