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It’s not only about me anymore.
My insides splinter, that cracking along my chest, scissoring at the realization. I’d believed I was loved.Wewere loved.
I was lied to.
I do something selfless then and force a handful of the burger down my throat even thoughIno longer have an appetite.
I shove down more, fat tears streaking my cheeks, silently inhaling the food as my anger grows and grows.
No one comes to bother me, but I know that I should get used to that. Knowing I’m now alone. Having no one when I used to be half of something magical.
Opening my jacket, I rip out the item I’d hidden underneath once I’ve finished. I don’t know why I kept it. I shouldn’t have taken it to begin with, but I was angry.
Still am, but it’s more of a gaping, festering wound now than fury.
The inscription on the inside of this stupid thing somehow gave me a sliver of hope that this was… I don’t know, a bad dream? Something I could just wake up from.
The red-bound book sits like a weighted brick in my hand. Days have passed with nothing but silence.
I snort past a grapple of more tears. It’s unflattering and normally I would’ve been embarrassed for me and how I’m behaving.
Another sound pushes past this one worse than the last.
It’s only me so why does it matter.He doesn’t care. He never did.
Hiccupping, I could laugh at myself for being so innocent.Naive.My wonderland dying as that invisible thread inside me finally snaps.
He’d chosen her andtheirbaby. Not mine, notours.
Climbing from my seat, I wipe away my stained cheeks and find the same lady behind the bar top counter.
“Oh, it’s on the house,” she stammers. That generosity sitting across her temple doing nothing for my already fractured insides. I don’t need anyone’s pity.
Her head snaps back as the book rattles off the linoleum. She hadn’t been expecting it, much as I hadn’t expected a cheeseburger when I asked for toast.
“Word of advice don't assume you know what I need. The food I got was good but what I asked for would have sufficed.”
Turning, I don’t give her a chance to respond because I’m already halfway through the door.
Hope was a belief and I’d lost all of mine.
one
Rory
Runningusedtobeeasy, but that’s no longer the case.
Physically it’s as effortless as breathing—the one thing I can control. I set the pace; I push harder.I have the power.
Mentally though, I’m being suffocated. Running makes me feel alive when inside I’m being buried and that’s the worst part. I used to run from my problems but now I run from a burden that isn’t even my own.
The crazy thing is the faster I run, the more I push my limits, the more that thing inside loosens and so that’s what I do. I push harder. Spots have started to become a frequent friend in the last several weeks, fighting my stamina, but I don’t care.
If I slow down, then everything will settle once again, and I hated that. So, I run toward the one thing that will give me relief. The thing that helps me forget everything even if, only for a moment.
My body fights every new mile I add, but I keep going. Pacing myself as I chase that nothingness I’m desperate for.
I’m shocked too, but I actually crave the way things were before. It’s funny how we take advantage of the simplicity of things before we realize how bad they can really get.
