He's gone. No matter how many times he comes back, he always leaves again. And you're left alone again. You always find yourself wishing that maybe he'll stay for good, but you know deep down that he can't, won't, and never will. You stopped counting the days he's been gone. You've retreated to your bed, you have your blankets pulled over your head, and you are never, ever, going to get up. You hear your phone buzz on your nightstand. You know it isn't him, so you don't bother. You draw your knees in to your chest and sigh deeply. You push up against the wall, try in vain to disappear.
Your phone buzzes again, and again you ignore it. It isn't important, whatever it is. It's becoming hot and stuffy under your covers but you don't know if you have the energy to come up for air. You decide to wait until the last possible moment before the bedsheets smother you and you die. Your phone buzzes yet again, and you think idly of turning it off, but can't seem to get around to doing that. You notice the need to use the washroom, and you're starting to feel hungry. You finally pull yourself up into a sitting position. The blankets fall into your lap and the light from the room hits your eyes, making you squint uncomfortably. You fumble around with one hand to find your shades, and then, when you have them, slide them onto your face slowly. Better. You sit there on your bed for a few moments, listening to the sound of your own breathing as you recover from being under the covers for who-knows-how-long. Then, with effort, you push yourself up and head off to the bathroom, where you relieve yourself.
You take a look in the mirror, and almost hiss at your reflection. Your hair is a mess, you haven't combed it in days, it's going to take forever to comb out and style again. You decide to leave combing and styling for later. When you check your phone for the time, it's twenty after five, which you decide is as good a time as any to get up and become a member of society. You get dressed, which takes longer than you would've liked, due to taking excessive breaks in between garments, and then resign yourself to laying on the couch. You turn on the TV to some show you hate, but remember watching with your Bro a few times. Then, when your stomach growls to remind you of your hunger, you order a pizza. Two pizzas. These activities have spent all your energy, and you lean your head back on the armrest of the couch for a few moments. Your phone vibrates next to you, and you lift your head to see who's calling. It's Roxy. You let it buzz a few more times as you gain the energy to pick up.
"Dirk? Where've you been all day?"
"What? I've been here."
"I called you four times in the last hour. I was pretty sure you died."
"I was asleep until now."
"You sleep all day all the time, Rox," you say irritably. "What does it matter if I do it one day of the year?"
She huffs quietly and doesn't answer you, and you know you've said something wrong, but don't even have the energy to try and take it back. "Well... I guess you're okay now. I... gotta go, mom's calling me."
"Yeah, of course," you say vaguely, not really knowing what else to say. "Bye Roxy."
There's a long pause from the other line, and you can't seem to decode what it means. "Bye, Dirk."
She hangs up, and you find yourself feeling... angry. At her, maybe? At your Bro? No, this is more... at yourself. You stare at the ceiling and think about this while you wait for your pizza to arrive. The TV blares on in the background, but you barely notice it. When you hear the doorbell with your pizza, you have to physically push yourself to get off the couch and answer. You pay with your credit card, take the pies, and go back to the couch, dropping them on the coffee table. You switch to the Discovery Channel and try to pay attention to that instead of all the things you're thinking. That seems to work for a while, so you eat pizza and watch some guy who doesn't know what he's talking about talk about robotics for a few hours.
When you've finished eating, you go to bed. Rinse and repeat.