Match of the Millennium

"Johny. Joooooohny!" The rapid beat of small knuckles shakes the door in its frame. Too thick to easily break, hinges on the inside. He's only made that mistake once. "Joooohny, let me in!" The silver handle rattles, its desperate racket filling the small room with the up, echoing back off of the tasteful green and tan tile. Locked, of course. Privacy is one of the first boundaries they were willing to cross. "Come on Johny. It'll be fuuun..." Grey eyes stare back from a face that is utterly unrecognizable. Not his face. Not his eyes. Not his reflection, moving when he moves, frowning when he frowns. Not his hands gripping the edges of the sink, and not his desperate, all-consuming need for intimacy calling from beyond the door. 'The eyes are windows to the soul. I should be in there, somewhere. Why can't they see me? Where am I hiding?' Those mournful grey eyes can only blink in reply, pale hands trembling as the body fights against him. 'Hello? Hello?! I am here. I Am Alive! Help, Please Help. Please somebody help me. I'm here. I'm alive. I AM ALIVE!' "Johny?" The pounding has stopped, but he can still feel her there. Feel her shattering into smaller and smaller pieces. Slumped against the door, probably. Tears in her eyes, definitely. 'Please, I don't know what is happening but Please. Just stop.' Still shaking, the hands release their hold on the basin. The small crease between his dark brows is smoothed away, grey eyes softening with concern. He can't fight it any longer. He can't keep control. His will is crumbling, self falling back into darkness. Turning, the actor reaches for the door.