She’s leaving.
“Just stay.” I requested, and sounded more desperate than I wanted to. “I’ll sleep on the couch.” It wasn’t exactly a couch, but more of a broken down futon that had more stains than cushion. To be honest I’d probably be more comfortable on the dirty carpeted floor. Or, I could’ve called Kellan and slept at his place.
But I wasn’t ready for that.
The moment I saw someone from my past—someone I actually remembered—I knew I’d fall back into the old world. The world I ran from. The world that almost killed me. I wasn’t ready. How could one be ready to look their past in the eye and pretend that all of the hurt and pain was gone?
She slipped into her dress and glanced over her left shoulder toward me. Eyes filled with compassionate sorrow. “Zip me?”
It only took three footsteps before I was standing behind her, zipping up her dress that hugged every curve of her body. My hands rested against her waist and she leaned back against me.
“Can you call me a cab?”
I could and I did. The moment she left, she thanked me, and told me that I could stay the night at the motel—she had already paid and it shouldn’t have gone to waste. I took her up on the offer, but I wasn’t sure why she thanked me. I didn’t do anything for her. If anything, I made her a cheater.
No.
A first time cheater probably felt some kind of guilt.
She just felt empty.
I hoped I never saw her again, because being around other empty individuals was draining.
After she left, I paced the motel room for an hour. Were there other people out there like me? Other people who felt so alone that they would rather spend meaningless nights with meaningless people just to have a few hours of staring into someone else’s eyes?
I hated being alone, because when I was alone, I was reminded of all the things I hated about myself. I remembered all of my past mistakes that brought me to the point where instead of living, I simply existed. If I truly lived life, I’d end up hurting anyone that came near me, and I couldn’t do that anymore. That meant I had to be alone.
In the past, I was never alone when I had my drugs—my silent, deadly, destructive friends. I was never alone when I had my greatest high.
Alyssa…
Shit.
My mind was messing with me, the palms of my hands itching. I tried to watch television, but there was only reality garbage on the screen. I tried to draw for a while, but the pen in the room had no ink. I tried to shut off my brain, but I kept thinking about the best high I ever had.
When would I see her?
Would I see her at all?
Of course. Her sister’s marrying my brother.
Did I want to see her?
No.
I didn’t.
God.
I did.
I wanted to hold her, yet at the same time never touch her again.
I wanted to kiss her, yet at the same time never remember her curves.
I wanted to…
Shut up, brain.
Lifting my cell phone, I held down the number two. The voice was different that time, but the greeting was the same. They thanked me for calling the drug and alcohol hotline. They welcomed me to talk about my current struggles and urges in a confidential setting.
I hung up, like always.
Because people like me, with a past like mine, didn’t deserve help. They deserved seclusion.
My steps moved to the balcony, and I lit a cigarette, resting it against a dry spot on the ground. I listened to the rain hammer against the town of True Falls, and my eyes shut. I took a deep breath, and allowed myself to hurt for the short period that the cigarette burned.
I thought about Alyssa. I thought about Ma. I thought about all the drugs.
Then, I always ended up thinking about the child that I could’ve held if it weren’t for the demons inside of me.
Sometimes the cigarette burned for eight minutes. Other times, ten.
One thing that never changed, no matter how long the cigarette lasted, was how my shattered heart still found ways to break into even smaller pieces.
Chapter Fifteen
Alyssa
Each day I carpooled to work with my neighbor, a seventy-year-old waitress named Lori. We both worked the morning shift at Hungry Harry’s diner, and hated every single moment of it. Lori had been working there for the past twenty-five years, and told me that her escape plan was to marry one of those Chris boys. Evans, Hemsworth, or Pratt, she wasn’t picky. Every day we’d drive over and Lori always complained about being five minutes early, stating that the worst place you could ever arrive early to was your place of employment. I didn’t blame her.