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I tried.
Every single morning I got myself up, dressed (shoes and all) and I went to my front door and I tried to go out.
Some days I even got into the hall.
But most days, I would stand there completely paralyzed by the swirling anxiety- the hand around my throat sensation, the lightheadedness, the rolling queasiness of my stomach, the alarming slam of my heart in my chest, the chills and goosebumps while I was breaking out into a sweat, the trembling feeling overtaking my entire body until it got so bad that I was shaking, standing there with my hand on my doorknob looking like I was having a seizure.
It was stupid.
Irrational.
It was based on a false reality.
But it was real.
It was real and it was sickening and it was scary and it proved too hard to push past. No matter how much I tried.
And then every single morning, I would kick out of my shoes, slip out of my clothes, and slide into a hot bath, swiping at the useless tears, and trying to convince myself that the next day would be different.
Though the next day was never different.
I had to believe that it might be.
Without hope, well, there was nothing.
I had to believe that some day, one day, I would get back out. I would drink coffee at a coffee shop without feeling like I needed to run screaming. I would have a date without being terrified that every word I said made me sound like a neurotic freak. I would see old friends who had given up on me. I would go to see my uncle on holidays. I would get a normal, legal job and I would start living again.
Because what I had been doing for two years, yeah, it wasn't living. It was surviving. It was going through the motions. It was a sad, pathetic imitation of life.
And I was reaching the end of my rope about it.
Though the frustration at my own ineptitude only made matters worse unfortunately.
Rocky jumped up on the closed toilet lid, letting out a loud meow and dancing around in a circle for a second before sitting.
"I know. We really made a shamble of that introduction, huh?" I asked, snagging a flower petal floating around in the water and rubbing the softness between my fingers. Rocky let out a sneeze as he brought up his paw to clean. "Alright fine," I sighed. "I made a shambles of it. You were your usual charming self... and I'm talking to my cat again," I snorted, hitting the drain with my foot and standing to reach for the towel.
I dried off, wrapped the towel around my body, and walked over toward my mirror, looking into my eyes and taking a deep breath.
"The next time I see him, I'm not going to make such a fool of myself," I vowed.
At the time, I had no idea what an epic fool I would make of myself the next weekend.THREERyan"Earth to Ryan," Mark said, snapping next to my ear, making me shake my head and jerk backward in my chair, realizing that I had drifted off in the middle of a goddamn meeting.
That wasn't like me at all.
"Sorry," I said, shaking my head at my brother who, judging by the smirk and the dancing fucking eyes, was enjoying me being off my game. "What was that?"
"That wasn't important," he said, shrugging. "Budgets on the women's shelter. It's all in the paperwork. What is important is the fact that you just fucking daydreamed in the middle of a work meeting. Daydreamed. I'm pretty sure you don't even dream in your mother fucking sleep, man," he added, sitting back in his chair, arms going behind his neck. "So what's her name?"
"What?" I snapped, too quickly, too defensively. He knew me well enough to call that what it was- a stalling tactic. So I went ahead and put it out there before he could dig at me about it. "Not what you're thinking, Mark. My neighbor has herself involved with some lowlives. It's been bugging me."
That was half-true and would likely come off as mostly honest to him. Were it maybe Eli I was talking to, I'd never get away with it. But Mark and Shane and Hunt usually accepted me at face-value. I wasn't easy to get to "know" and they generally just believed what I was was what I put out there.
"So this neighbor," he said, head cocking to the side slightly. "Is she of the old and homely variety or the young and hot variety?"
"She's a shut-in, Mark," I snorted. "You won't be taking her out on the town anytime soon."
Or even if I had anything to say about it.
Which I shouldn't have, but I apparently did.
"Don't really need to take her out to have fun, now do I?" he asked, smirking higher. "That just answered my question too. She's hot."
