Anthony lay tightly curled up on his side, facing away from the door. His body constricted with his breathing because of how small he was making himself. It took concentration, just to do what should have been an act of second nature. In and out. In and out. It hurt and Anthony didn't want to do it anymore, but he knew that if he stopped thinking on it, stopped concentrating for even a second, he would stop and that would be it.
He wanted to stop though. Anthony couldn't imagine going on like this any longer. It had already been over twenty four hours since Sorin had died, and it felt like a small life time had already passed. Maybe it had. Maybe his sense of timing was off and he had been locked away in the quarantine room for weeks, months even. It could have been, he wouldn't have known for sure. Every minute that passed hurt a little more, a new pang tore through him and left him feeling just a little more dead inside.
But he didn't cry. Not because he didn't want to, it was because he couldn't. There were no more fluids in him to help him carry out the act. All that would have happened would have been loud, body wracking sobs, which hurt his throat. But he didn't need his throat, there was no more use for it when he was going to curl up in here and never move again. He didn't need to talk to anyone when that was his plan.
Anthony missed the sound of the door opening, but heard a voice. One he couldn't place. He couldn't place any of them anymore. He was sure one of the three healers had been in a few times already, give him his meals and ask him a few questions. He could hear talking outside of his room. All of the voices just blended together to make a noise which hurt his head.
He didn't answer, though he tried to curl up into himself just a little more. This wasn't his life, it couldn't be happening. Maybe if he squeezed his eyes shut, he could wake up and it would still be sunday morning, before breakfast. He could show up early to the Great Hall and all of this would have just been a bad dream.