BLACKHOUSE [H.S.]

Fifty

Chapter song:

Fall Apart by Cory Wells, Lizzy Farrall

-

I take a sip of my too-hot coffee, wincing slightly as the combination of mocha and espresso slips down my throat, before I stare out the window of the small cafe.

The sky is gray, and cloudy, no doubt in preparation for the storm that's blowing in from the coast. I watch the cars passing by, everyone in the city hustling to get home before it begins to rain.

Seeing all of the strangers as they walk down the street with smiles on their faces causes my chest to tighten with jealousy, their laughter feeling like a mockery to how my world was shattered to pieces just weeks ago.

"I think Louis is taking me to Mexico for my birthday," Hailey says cheerfully, and I drag my eyes away from the window to look at her.

Her dark hair is curled into messy waves that fall to her shoulders, her full lips painted a deep purple that brings out the flecks of gold in her eyes. She looks happy, and the angry, bitter part of me hates it.

And I hate myself for feeling that way.

"That's great, Hails," I mutter through a forced smile, failing miserably at my attempt to sound excited.

I avert my gaze to the stainless steel table between us, grimacing at my fingers that have been torn to shreds from my anxious picking before tucking them between my legs.

Hailey sighs heavily before propping her elbow on the table to rest her chin in her hand. "When was the last time you ate something?" She asks.

When did I eat last?

The past two weeks have been a blur of crying, sleeping, and fighting off the urge to use my old, unhealthy coping mechanisms. All of my energy has been directed towards keeping myself together mentally. Food has been the last thing on my mind.

All I can offer is a shrug, and she pulls her lips to the side as she scans my face, no doubt noting the dark purple smudges under my eyes, and the hollowness of my cheeks. I didn't even bother brushing my hair this morning. I only had enough motivation to throw it up into a messy bun before I forced myself to walk to the coffee shop to meet her.

She said if I didn't come, she would come to me, and the thought of her seeing my apartment, horribly messy from my weeks-long depressive episode, had me out of bed in an instant.

"You need to be taking care of yourself, Katie," she says quietly, but not weakly. "You can't keep treating yourself like this." Like you're worthless, is what she doesn't add.

But how can I treat myself any other way than how Harry made me feel?

"I know," I say truthfully, because I do know. The problem is, I'm not sure how to stop it.