I’m not living anymore, just surviving. Barely.
Honestly, I don’t want to be here anymore.
Everything good in my life this past summer all withered away the night Lee climbed through my window. The night everything split open and never stitched itself back together.
I haven’t told anyone. Not Nan, not Bea, not my parents.
No one.
That’s how I intend to keep it, too—tucked deep inside, where it belongs. That’s the way I see it, anyway. Those memories don’t deserve to breathe. So, I’m choosing to suffocate them, pressing them down until they stop clawing their way back up.
Nan knows that Collins and I aren’t together anymore. I’m not sure if he knows that, although I’m sure it’s obvious by now. I made Nan promise not to ask questions, not to bring him up at all. I asked her to please never speak of him again.
She obliged, reluctantly. But she’s honored my wishes.
My mother isn’t quite as understanding. She badgers me nearly every day about the details, about why I called and begged her to book a flight in the middle of the night on that August evening.
I know she means well. I know she cares. I just wish she’d let it rest?—
I want it to die.
Getting ready this morning, my parents gone, I have one goal in mind. I need to walk to the pharmacy a few blocks away and get back before they return home.
I would have zero money to my name had Nan not snuck a few hundred dollars into my bags before I left.
I make quick work of throwing on some shorts, a black Weezer T-shirt, and flopping my hair up in a bun—no ribbon, no bow.
That girl—the one with a “decoration” in her hair—she doesn’t exist anymore. This version of her is far too dead inside for something so bright and cheery, any sense of virtue has no place anymore.
I slip on my Vans and throw on my fringed crossbody, heading out the door, the security alarm beeping as I leave.
The Texas heat attacks me the second I step onto the cement porch, thick and suffocating, wrapping around me like a vise. Birds chirp all around, fluttering from tree to tree above my head as I make my way down the sidewalk, and their happy energy is completely at odds with my own.
When my checkered feet hit the black pavement of the parking lot, my pulse begins to quicken, a nervous rhythm I can’t seem to slow. Automatic doors slide open and air conditioning kisses my face as I walk in, a brief reprieve.
The aisle I’m looking for isn’t hard to find in this little drugstore. I pluck a box off the shelf and make my way to the checkout, fingers tightening around the edges. One judgmental glare from the old hag working behind the counter, and a heatstroke later, the annoying alarm beeps go off again as I walk back into the house.
I know what it’s going to say. I don’t even know why I’m wasting my time, dragging this out as though there’s still a chance for a different ending.
Regardless, I walk up the steps and toward the bathroom, throwing my purse into my room as I pass by.
Just wanting to get this over with, I rip the box open and throw the empty remnants onto the vanity. I peel the plastic away from the stick, slide my shorts down, and sit on the toilet, heart pounding in my throat as I pray. I hope desperately, uselessly, that my gut feeling is wrong.
I’m not sure how long I lie on the floor, cool tile at my back, staring up at nothing, feeling nothing, when I finally force myself to sit up and look at the results teetering on the side of the tub.
And my prayers…are most certainly not answered.
Something inside me caves in, quiet and final.
I die a little bit more inside.
Everything is numb.
I’m numb, my mind is numb. Everything within me that used to be good, alive and thriving—it’s just…still. Paralyzed. It has to be, or I wouldn’t be here, sitting in this disgusting waiting room.
The blinds are closed, trying to shut out the world. On the other side, the booming voices of protesters with homemade signs. The ones I had to walk though, shame and disgust swirling within me are still audible, even through the sputters of the window air conditioner, grating on my nerves. The fish tank in the corner is a few weeks past the point of needing to be cleaned, cloudy water and possibly a floating fish. I’m not getting close enough to find out for sure. Flickering fluorescent lights give me a headache, amplifying the nausea surging through me.
The lack of human interaction is making me empty—hollowing my soul, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left but this pathetic shell.
