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“What a way to greet your brother.”
I scrub my hand down my face, sitting up slowly and gripping the sofa to help against the room spinning.
“Just tell me what you want,” I groan.
What the hell happened last night?
My eyes crack open and I spot the empty bottle of Jameson that sits on its side on the floor. Now I remember.
“Just thought you’d like to know that Kitty is back.”
My shoulders slump at the sound of her name. I never should have gone crazy on her like I did, I should have let her explain. I should have taken a step back before I shouted at her, just the sound of my own voice in my head ha
s me cringing. But seeing her sitting over that box, snooping on something that is so raw, I just couldn’t stop myself.
“Good,” I growl before I pull the cell from my ear, ending the call and leaning back against the sofa.
I’m a mess, I know that, but I have no idea what to do or where to go from here. This is exactly why I didn’t want to let love in again, why I didn’t want to give anybody my heart because I know that it would just end up being crushed again.
I’ve had it ripped open, stomped on and then put back again, but it’s never fit the same. I’ll never be whole again, I’ll never be able to love again. Not like I did with Emmy.
Maybe that’s it. Maybe I’m not meant to love again, maybe my one true love was Emmy and that’s all it was ever meant to be?
There has to be a reason for everything. There has to be.
What am I doing? I’m not this person, I don’t sit around feeling sorry for myself. I’m a go-getter, a doer.
Pushing up off the sofa, I stumble and grab onto the doorframe, steadying myself, determined not to let this get to me. I just need to move on and forget about her purple hair, beautiful face and her sweet voice.
Fuck, how the hell am I meant to do that?
The light shining through the blinds has me slamming my eyes closed. My retinas feel like they’ve been burned from the inside out, my arms feel heavy and it takes all my energy to lift them and rub my eyes, trying to get the sleep out of them.
I roll out of bed, my body hitting the floor with a dull thud and then I crawl my way to the bathroom. This is nothing out of the usual for me, I love my sleep more than anything and there’s nothing I hate more than mornings.
Nothing, not even two coffees could wake me up properly. It’s a slow process and one that I had perfected before I got shot, but now it’s all out of whack.
I used to sit and stare at nothing for a good fifteen minutes before having my first coffee, once I’d had that I then had something to eat with my second cup before having a shower and then opening my door and sitting on the bench outside that overlooks my flowers with a bottle of water to hydrate myself.
I’m a night owl. I can stay up until four in the morning, but that doesn’t mean as soon as my head hits the pillow, my brain will stop.
Thoughts, inconsequential thoughts run through my head. Like, what would have happened if I was a couple of minutes earlier to a meeting? Or, what if I would have gone to sleep ten minutes earlier, would it have thrown my whole day off? Allowed me to fit more in? Or would I have slept later because sleep is my vice.
I lift myself up using my good arm braced against the bathroom counter and look in the mirror that hangs above it, almost covering the entire wall and stopping about ten inches from the ceiling. The lifeless eyes staring back at me, ringed with dark circles show me that I really need more sleep. My hair hangs around my face, limp. The pastel purple dye that I use has faded and is in desperate need of being fixed.
It’s time for me to get back to who I was. I can’t keep flitting through my life the way that I am, I’m becoming an empty shell and that’s not who I am. It’s not who I ever want to be.
“Time to pull up your big girl panties,” I whisper to myself in the mirror.
Grabbing my toothbrush, I push some toothpaste on and brush my teeth as my eyes count the black tiles that are interspersed with all the white ones that line all the walls before I wash my face quickly. I then change into a pair of leggings and an oversized t-shirt before heading straight out of the door.
“Where are you going?” Luke asks as I walk across the compound to my car.
“To the store,” I answer, opening my car door and sliding into my Camaro before starting the engine and reversing out of my spot.
God I’ve missed driving this car, almost as much as I’ve missed shooting Betty.
I watch Luke in my rearview mirror as I drive out of there, Evan coming to stand next to him. I know they’re worried about me, the hundreds of missed calls I’ve had since I’ve been at Charlie’s tells me that, but they should know better. I always sort myself out, I never dwell. I’ve had my little pity party and now I’m back. At least I will be once I make myself presentable.
