Once Upon A Dime (hiatus)

11. Dead and Dread

I wake up to sore eyes and a dry throat. My heart feels like it was run over by a garbage truck, tossed into the sewer, and picked at by hungry hawks. I feel, in regular terms, like shit. I barely make it to the bathroom before I start vomiting my brains out and into the toilet bowl. Okay, I know what you're thinking. No, I am not hung over, and no, I am not pregnant. I'll answer all of your questions by one line of dialogue exchanged by none other than yours truly.

"Jenny, I don't want to be your friend anymore."

In the middle of the night, I had awoken to a loud slam. Thinking Griffin could possibly have returned from the dead, I moved cautiously over to the door where the sound had originated, and I swung it open. Kenny was just getting in his designer car, a resigned yet infuriated expression crossing his features. I had called out to him, but he had refused to look my way. Not even once. I know he heard me, since his shoulders puffed up, and he stopped mid-motion, but nonetheless, kept moving.

"Where are you going?" I had said to him after barely catching up to the car window.

"Home." He had said, stiffly, avoiding my intrigued, yet perturbed eyes at all costs.

"W-why?"

"Listen, Jenny. Earlier today just made me realize that I can't keep doing this with you. I'm a solitary man. I'm a lone ranger. I listen to no one. I don't want to be in contact with you anymore. I don't want you to acknowledge that I live, breathe, or talk. I don't want to be your friend anymore."

The words had impacted me like a bullet straight to the thigh. It's the easiest place to get shot and not die. If you take a bullet to the leg, you will pass out from the pain, true, but you won't die. But you have the lovely pleasure and experience of waiting out those excruciating seconds with a gaping hole in your leg before the sweet bliss of the unconscious takes you under it's wing. Those mere seconds had made me want to jump off a cliff and kill myself. Except the pain wasn't in my leg. It was in my chest. In my heart. I'm not supposed to think about him, talk about him, or even mention his name casually. Why? I don't fucking know! What did I do wrong?! Is it that I'm just that repulsive?

I shimmy out of my skin tight clothing and slink into the shower, attempting to dislodge the knots in my neck with tedious self shoulder rubs. The cast on my left hand seemed to have removed itself, and in it's place, a nasty looking scab, colored brown, red, and black. No doubt I'll have a straight marriage line from now on, if you know what I mean.

I let the cool water tumble down my spine, on my scalp, in my arms, chilling my being.

It's a terrible feeling, you know? Knowing that only the people that are required to be in your life are the one's that wait up for you. I think that's why it means so much more when you find someone that cares for you that doesn't have the same last name. They're not required or supposed to feel anything for you. However, if they do, that's when you know you truly matter.

On the other hand, I do not. I do not matter to anyone, and if I disappeared tomorrow, I'm sure life would carry on just as it did before I had left.

Oh. Isn't that funny. Today is December 31st, New Year's Eve. How cool. A time of joy, celebration, and overall mirth, right?

Funny.

After patting myself dry and slipping into a shirt and pair of sweatpants, I mope down to the living room, and turn on the television.

"In other news, celeb Bruno Mars is convinced of the existence of his unknown relatives. Stay tuned for…." The bubbly reporter warbles over the monitor, before I flick it off, and groan into my hands. Celebrities are so overrated. God. I hate people who think they're 'all that.'