I want them to know that.
To really know, to feel the things I tried to convey every single day we were together.
I want them to take that with them.
When I finally hit the bottom, I toss those tools with the shovel, grab my hatchet and begin the painstaking task of retrieving twigs and branches from the surrounding trees in a sad attempt to protect these men the way they always protected me.
Always.
Right up until the very end.
They loved and protected me with their last breaths, and I will be damned if I don’t do the same.
After saying my final goodbyes, I tell them I love them one last time, wrap up the tools I used out here then head to our truck, loading them in the bed with everything else I bothered to salvage before I slam the tailgate closed.
I take a good look around at our property, at the place we worked so hard to have for ourselves, the contrast between the peaceful forest and blazing house almost laughable, and maybe I’ll find it funny later.
Much later.
When the infection in my hand and arm is so bad I’m delirious and hallucinating.
When I finally crack under the weight of all this pain and let it consume me once and for all.
PT. 2: LIV
Look to Windward - Sleep Token
I didn’t know where I was going when I left, I just got in the truck and started driving.
Aimlessly for the most part.
There might have been a part of me, a small part that was hoping I’d drive until I fell asleep behind the wheel and something terrible happened, but I’m beyond exhausted now. I’ve entered that weird in between where I’m tired but lucid enough to run on autopilot and function without sleeping.
That’s what I’ve done.
For the last five hours.
I’ve been driving around with no destination in mind, with no plan or end goal in sight.
Somehow, I didn’t die, and I’ve found myself sitting in front of the last place I want to be.
Omega’s Haven.
A shelter for people like me.
Homeless. Beaten down and exhausted. Completely alone and on the cusp of doing something I’d regret ever thinking about if I were in my right mind.
I heard about it once before, when we were in town window shopping for our house, and I remember thinking how nice it was that someone took the initiative to create a safe place like this.
And how much I wish something like this existed when I was fourteen years old.
I didn’t think I’d ever be here, though.
I didn’t think I’d have reason to be.
That alone is why I don’t want to be here.
If I stay in the truck a little longer, if I let my wounds continue to fester and keep up with my unintentional hunger strike, I won’t have to go inside. No, I can sit here until I die and maybe someone will find me in a couple of hours when the sun rises again.
