One Shots

Sitkolson

Thanks once again to burnyourlocalchurch for helping me out with this idea. You've been a great motivator and I'm happy to have found a friend. I'd like to post a warning, though, that this segment may be triggering to those who are suffering from anxiety, depression, or the backlash of some familial issues. Please enjoy, and feel free to comment your thoughts.

I felt pathetic, hands shaking on top of the gas station countertop as I waited for the clerk to find a fresh pack of cigarettes. As good as it had felt to stop smoking, I wasn't able to handle the stress of my life without the aid of the chemical toxins being pumped into my body.

They were killing me, but I wasn't afraid of death.

Death sounded way fucking better than another screaming match with Ryan. I'd rather not live another day than be forced to fake another smile for my sixteen year old sons when they came home from school. I was trying so fucking hard to keep them from knowing what was going on, but they weren't idiots. I couldn't hide the fact that their Dad never wanted to talk to me anymore, or that I poured vodka into my water glass to numb the pain of Ryan not showing up for family dinner.

He says I'm destroying his family, but he's the one destroying me.

"I don't want to talk to you when you're this depressed, Rick." His words made my blood boil until it dripped from my eyes as salt saturated tears. "You need to get help, Rick. Serious help." I shook my head, snatching the cigarettes off of the counter and sprinting for the door, as if I could outrun the replays within my own mind.

"Our son shouldn't have to pick you up in an alleyway after you got yourself into a bar fight and are bleeding out on the sidewalk."

I sat down on the cracked pavement outside the circle k to light a smoke, staring off towards the diner across the street, where a young family was having dinner.

"You stopped taking your medication, Rick. Why?" I put out the half finished cigarette on my hand with a wince, and stood up to start walking back towards home. "You didn't really want another baby, right?" I shoved my hands into my pockets, not bothering to look both ways before I crossed the street. "It happened two years ago, Ricky. Get over it."

I paused to relight my cigarette beside the traffic light. Trying to force happiness down my own throat with every breath.

The memories of when we used to smile at each other, for no reason other than that we were in each other's presence, felt like a distant dream.

"I think we should get a divorce." My fists clenched, and the burnt out cigarette fell to the pavement at my feet. "The kids don't need to be around someone who is constantly trying to kill themselves." The moment my empty driveway came into view, I let the tears flood from my eyes and coat my cheeks. I felt so alone in my own front yard.

The sound of a car horn blaring behind me sent me stumbling to the ground. I screamed, curling into a ball, and wondered if this was how it was all going to end. I was going to be hit by a car in my own front driveway.

"Ricky, get the fuck up!" I whimpered and shook my head. My eyes were clenched shut as I waited patiently for the impact of the oncoming vehicle, but it never came.

"You're a fucking idiot."

Two strong arms wrapped around me, hoisting me into the air as if I weighed less than a feather. I didn't even bother to struggle. I was so paralyzed by the perceived closeness of my own end that I couldn't even move my eyes from the spot on the concrete where I had just been moments ago. What could have been my final resting place.