It's been one week. One week since I yelled at Michael in the hallway. One week since I met up with Annabeth. One week since I passed out crying on my kitchen floor. And I did it again.
I propped myself up on one elbow and groaned. "Fuck."
I wiped my cheek of the mixture of drool and alcohol. I looked around, spotting the microwave and the red numbers that glared at me like a bright neon sign. It was three in the morning. I'd been out for nearly eight hours.
Slowly, I stood up, stretching my arms high over my head and hearing my joints pop. I grabbed a water bottle from the fridge and dragged myself to the medicine cabinet, pouring two aspirins into the palm of my hand. Swearing quietly, I popped the aspirins in my mouth and flushed them down with water.
The past week was the same as the first and second. Slow and blurred by alcohol. Except I usually started my drunken hours at seven instead of all day. In the hours I wasn't drinking, I would be visited by Kayla, Reese, Luke, Calum, and Ashton. But not Michael.
I could smell the beer on my clothes and my face felt sticky, so I made my way to my room, grabbing clothes and then heading to the bathroom. I turned hot water all the way up and closed the door behind me, stripping off my clothes. I looked in the mirror, watching them steam up. I cringed at the site of my body. I looked gaunt to say the least and my ribs were starting to show. The dead looking girl in the mirror couldn't be the same girl with the freckles from the sun and dip-dyed blue hair I saw three weeks ago.
I hated this all. I wanted to scream and cry and just let go.
But I didn't cry.
Or maybe I did. Maybe in my sleep. Maybe when I was too drunk to remember.
But I wanted to. God damn. I wanted to.
Are you okay?
Al, you should eat.
We're worried about you.
Ashton. Reese. Luke. Calum. Kayla. Their voices swarmed around in my head.
Michael.
Don't push me away.
Lanie, please.
I put up with all the concerned questions in the day. But by night, I was gone.
I continued to study my reflection. My cheekbones were apparent and my lips were pale and cracked. My eyes were dead and my hair was a mess. Gently, I took off the silver moon necklace that I still wore every day.
I stepped into the shower, which was scalding hot. It was hot to the point where it was numbingly cold. But at least I felt it.
I sunk to the ground, scrubbing soap all over me. I thought about everything that's ever happened to me. Good or bad. But not the incidents. Never the incidents.
Wait. What incidents?
I knew I was holding back things I referred to as "the incidents" but what were they again?
Oh.
I remembered. Not the indents themselves, but what they were. But I blanked them out.
But the screams they made to be remembered were still very clear.
And the voices. Everyone's voices. My voice. Swirling around, adding to the cacophony.
It was unbearable.
I could feel the door that held memories back begin to splinter, cracking more with every pound and scratch from the other side. My head was a mess, demanding for something to dull out down. I needed Michael. As much as I hated it, I really needed him now. I almost shot up, preparing to finish washing off and go upstairs to find him.
