Something's pushing me down (II)

Drake reclined against the wooden side of his bed, struggling to control his thoughts. His eyes, instead of sleep, were filled with questions as if the mysteries of life were waiting to be unraveled. After everything that happened the previous night, his mind now had become a battleground of unresolved emotions. "Was it a dream, or did I really see that?" he spoke to himself. He got up and went into the bathroom. Looking at his reflection, he said to himself, "I won't tell anyone about what I feel or what I've seen—not even Alla... He lost his footing as he caught sight of his glowing red eyes in the mirror. This time, he didn't blink, determined to convince himself that he wasn't dreaming. He panted heavily, splashing water onto his face while staring into the mirror. He rubbed his eyes as hard as he could until one of them began to bleed. Now, it felt as if his eyes were burning, like a fuming coil. He stumbled to the sink and sat down closer to the basin. "It's real, Alan. It's real. Why?" he cried, weeping like a lost child. Suddenly, he became aware that something was going wrong outside his house. He ran to the window, a sudden wave of horror flooding through him as he saw the dogs barking outside his bedroom. Tears streamed down his face like raindrops; he felt completely unraveled. Gasping for breath, he was overwhelmed and unsure of what to do. In a moment of panic, he bit his own hand hard enough to draw blood. Once more, he cried, "It's all real, it's all..." Stumbling, he leaned against the bedside, the pain in his head becoming unbearable, until he finally succumbed to sleep.

Sunlight poured into the room as dawn broke, and Drake was still sleeping by the bedside. He opened his eyes slightly as the light struck them. Suddenly, he felt a burning sensation on his back. He rushed to the bathroom and took off his shirt to see what was wrong. A flaming thread snaked across his tattoo, disappearing as he tried to trace it with his finger. He glanced at himself in the mirror with disdain and muttered, "It was all limited to nightmares, but now what's happening?" He put his hands on his face, breathing heavily. As he stepped out of the bathroom, he hesitated at the door, then turned back to look at himself in the mirror one more time. He used both hands to pry his eyes open wide, checking to see if they were okay. He didn't find anything unusual—just a bruise under his left eye from rubbing it so hard the night before. With a sigh, he closed the bathroom door.

Miss Maggie was sitting in the living room, enjoying her 12 p.m. tea when Drake walked in and settled down beside her on the couch. As he approached, she looked up and smiled. "I think you had a good sleep last night," she said knowingly. Drake smirked and leaned back slightly. "Yeah, Ma, I had a very nice sleep last night," he replied, glancing at his blue hand, where the impressions of his teeth still lingered. Miss Maggie's smile widened. "Wait right here," she replied, her voice full of motherly care. "I'll bring you some breakfast. My son needs to eat." Drake watched as she got up and moved to the kitchen. As she busied herself preparing food, Drake remained seated, lost in thought and still examining his hand. After a short while, Miss Maggie returned with a tray balanced in her hands. She paused, looking at him more closely, her brow furrowing with concern. "Did you get a bruise under your left eye?" she asked, her voice tinged with worry. Drake instinctively touched the area beneath his eye and nodded. "Yeah, I just rubbed it a bit too hard." He discreetly moved his blue hand away to hide it from her view. Concern was evident on her face, but she didn't press further. Instead, she set the tray down in front of him. "Well, let me know if it bothers you. You need to take care of yourself," she said before heading back to the kitchen. Drake nodded with a smile, grateful for her care.

As usual, Drake arrived at the bar a bit late. A spark of excitement lit up Alan's eyes when he saw him come through the staff door. "Drake!" Alan shouted, his voice echoing in the dimly lit space. "What happened? Why are you screaming like someone's girlfriend?" Drake replied, a teasing smile on his face. "No, nothing. I'm just happy to see you today," Alan answered, his face glowing with joy, as exuberant as a child with a handful of chocolate bars. "What's so special? We see each other all the time," Drake added, pausing with an ironic tone. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry. I apologize, my friend. I didn't sleep at all last night thinking about my behavior," Alan sighed, looking earnestly at Drake. "I got a bit confused, that's all. I swear, I'm embarrassed that I didn't understand your feelings. I'm really sorry." "Okay, okay, fine. Now stop acting like a puppy," Drake replied, grinning widely. "Can I get to work now?" "Ahem, why not?" Alan said, clearing his throat playfully. Just as Drake turned to head to the back, Alan grabbed his shoulder. "Wait, wait, wait!" Drake frowned. "What now?" "Um, your left eye... it's a bit..." Alan hesitated, his expression shifting to concern. Drake's smile faded instantly. He looked at Alan with a mix of helplessness and exhaustion. "Yeah, I'm fine. You don't have to worry about me," he said, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

Everyone was busy working at the bar when suddenly, the atmosphere shattered with the sound of raised voices. Alan, the manager, quickly made his way to a table where an argument was escalating between two men. One of them, a burly figure named Butch, was yelling at the person seated next to him, who was angrily shouting back. "Sir, both of you are disturbing the other patrons. Please, could you cooperate with us?" Alan asked, attempting to maintain his calm demeanor. Butch, in a fit of rage, suddenly stood up and shoved Alan with all his might. Alan stumbled back, crashing into the next table and grimacing in pain as he injured his hand in the process. "Alan, are you okay?" Drake yelled from his corner, watching the chaotic scene unfold. Without a second thought, he leaped out of his seat and hurried over to his injured friend, helping him to his feet. The sight of Alan in pain ignited a furious fire within Drake that he couldn't contain. Driven purely by instinct, his anger erupted, and he threw a punch at Butch's neck. To everyone's shock, Butch was sent flying through the air like a ragdoll, crashing into the wall with a loud thud. The bar fell into stunned silence. Wide eyes, gaping mouths—no one could quite believe what they had just witnessed. Even Drake stood frozen, his mind struggling to process the sheer force of his own actions. The entire bar turned its attention to Drake, their expressions a mixture of shock and confusion. He met their gaze with a bewildered look, realizing the gravity of what he'd just done. Panic surged through him as he exchanged a quick, worried glance with Alan. Without waiting for a response, he turned and hurriedly left the bar, the weight of the moment heavy on his shoulders.