I Needed You

18

Something was going on.  I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.  But I wasn’t so sure because nobody would tell me anything, not that I had asked in the first place.

It was odd, Sam and Colby were hiding away in Sam’s room.  Katrina visited me, but she seemed way too anxious for her to be doing alright.  But I did ask her, however.  I felt like due to our bond she might be more open towards me, but she wouldn’t tell me anything.

It was getting annoying.  I felt like a victim, like a lost poppy, like a ticking bomb.  I felt like a little kid with strict parents, I knew that I was much better now, and I was more clear-headed than before.

Even though the house was massive, I felt cooped up.  It was stressing me out to stay inside or just to go to the backyard.  I needed to get out.

Stupid as it sounds, I grabbed my car keys with no real intentions that came to mind quite yet.  Like normal, everyone else was hiding away, so I was going to keep myself entertained.

I walked up to my car, the green appearing to be darker though I could see the rust starting to come through around the tires. I would ignore it for now, though.  I hopped in the driver’s seat, noticing that the gate opened automatically now instead of pushing a button.  

I drove through the streets of California, keeping the music down low.  I tried my best to look presentable today, with a Billie Eilish t-shirt and jeans that were a couple sizes too big but I liked them that way.

I found myself pulling up to the street shops, so I decided to hop out and look around.  Easier said than done, I parallel parked between two cars and I didn’t think I’d have enough room but the car fit perfectly.

Most of the shops were all different from one another, some being for household things and others for clothes or something.  The first one I walked into was like a Bath and Body works but worse, with everything being offbrand though some of the scents smelled delicious.

I didn’t have any money, so I couldn’t buy anything but it was cool to look around.

The next store I walked into was a surf shop, with surf boards and bathing suits and cheap scuba gear.  The bathing suits looked like strings, none of them one pieces and some of them might have passed for lingerie.

One was a cute little decoration shop, and it made my heart hurt for just a moment when I saw something that reminded me of my father.  It was stupid, just a little tea set, but my father had a habit of getting me tea sets.  I loved every single set, though I only had three.  

The one I was looking at was a pale yellow, the only difference between the one I had was that mine had white polka dots in it.

I felt a pain hit my chest as I remembered the couple nights I spent in Texas for my father.  The first three days were just a visit, because I knew he wasn’t doing good.  The next week after that was spent planning and attending his funeral.  

“Oh,” I said quietly to myself, rubbing my hand against my chest as it ached.

I didn’t know how to describe the feeling of believing I had no one by my side anymore when in fact I do.  It’s strange to explain, because I’ve been isolated within four walls for so long and now I’m outside blending in with the public but it’s the same feelings.

The same feeling, the suffocating feeling, the sense I don’t belong.  I feel so alone deep down, lost and broken.  It feels like my hope doesn’t want to grow.

It’s the struggle to do basic everyday things and a weight on my chest that doesn’t want to leave.  It’s a damaging process that I’m doing to myself and I can feel that I’m pushing people away because I know they’re better off without me and eventually I’ll fade away.  

I sigh, feeling a singular tear rolling down my cheek that I wipe away instantly to not alert people nearby that I was upset.  I wish I was alone so I could cry and scream.

I’m stuck feeling numb and distant, this isn’t a story where I’ll be saved.  I feel like I’m the main protagonist therefore the decisions, events and twists rely solely on me.

I wish I was writing my story with a pen in my hand.  It would be such a power and feeling of control that I can’t seem to grasp in my own life, in reality.  I wish I could write the problems and erase the worries and stress. If only I could remove all the problems and delete all of my fears.  

It’s painful every time I listen to a song that reminds me of my father, a sad song that brings some anger every time, and it makes me see nothing that I am.  There’s some emptiness I can’t seem to fill, like a void that refuses to be filled, and it’s even worse because there’s no self love in what I am.  Just me despising myself and everything I do.  

I feel like I’m going to wallow in the sorrow and grief and confusion and hope I feel a little better tomorrow.

I’m living in my own hell.  All alone, really.  But maybe my smile will remain on my face and help me feel just the slightest bit less insane.

If only.

I heard a gasp from around me, snapping me back to the little shop I was in.  I realized I was the one the noise was directed towards.

“You need to pay for that,”  A middle aged woman, probably someone who works there, approached me and pointed to the tea cup that was no longer in my hand but shattered on the floor.

“I have no money,” I held my hands up in front of me in defense.

“That’s too bad.  Pay up,” She motioned that I somehow pull money out of my ass and give it to her.

I shook my head, and in the panic of the moment, I ran.

Out of the store, ignoring the shouts from the people behind me.