Minnesota Goodbyes

Entry #21

The words drift up like steam. I can't make them out, but I can catch the cadence of worry creeping into them. And I owe Lacy. Again.

Because I briefly peered out of the bedroom when there was a knock on our front door. I'd gotten out of bed to do so, which, unfortunately, is still the biggest accomplishment of my day. My reward, of course, (when I'd finally untangled myself from my sheets and threw on a too-big sweatshirt and cracked open the bedroom door to peek out) was Jay. Safe to say I immediately retreated back to bed.

Lacy, thank God, leaned against the door-frame, preventing him from entering our apartment. I know she's worried (not that she says it, but she makes sure I eat most days and clanks around in the kitchen in the mornings, like an alarm I didn't set. It's supposed to remind me to get out of bed, I think, and some days it works.), but I'm grateful she didn't let him in.

Everything is in tumult with Jay. Whenever I think about him, my stomach knots up and a slick of sweat slides down my back. He doesn't share the blame that I do, but the idea of his warm eyes melting with sympathy makes me a bit nauseated. Avoidance is my best bet.

I could get up again.

I could do it.

My legs are stiff from laying here, but I could tread across the carpet and press my ear to the keyhole. Is it worth it? Do I want to know?

"She doesn't want to talk to you, Jay."

"I know." I can't hear his sigh or see his shoulders slump, but I imagine they do. How else could he react, when one of his friends (?) is imploding? "I'm worried."

"Me too."

The silence is profound. Not like I can't hear their words, but like there are no words left. A vacuum of silence and regret and helplessness.

"Is she... okay?"

"What do you think?" Lacy snaps but then softens, "She doesn't talk to you or Sam, she barely talks to me... It's hell on Nick, from what he tells me."

Her voice is wet and thick. "What am I supposed to do, Jay? I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

I slink back to my bed but don't climb in it. Leaning against the side, I slide to the floor. The silence echoes through the room, reverberating in my chest. It confirms what I am: empty.

I'm sorry about the drops of water on this page. Maybe I'm not empty yet.

I wish I was. What a goddamn coward I am. Empty. Is there anything more cowardly to wish for? To not feel? I can't

I'm a coward and broken and I wish I couldn't feel a thing and even the silence and dirty sunlight weigh on me and my shoulders slump and I can't stop crying and Lacy paces on the other side of the door but she might as well be on the other side of the universe for how much she can help me. All I can do is bawl and wish the pain would just fucking stop.

I can't do this. I can't I can't I —

I don't—

Rasping and choking and snot. I'm so damn sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry.

I don't know what I'm supposed to do either.