Perspective

Chapter Forty One.

"What if you're here when I'm not ready?
What if I'm not willing to listen?
I hope these devils never leave me
'Cos I keep taking what they're giving

Right now it feels like killing time
I'm running from the shadow of my former shadow's life
Sometimes I wonder if I was ever really there?
Right now it feels like killing time"

***

It's been another long exhausting week.

Mum is out of hospital with a vengeance, and I'm serving my time in punishment for calling the ambulance last week.

No sleep. No peace. Repeat.

I'm so tired. Breathing is exhausting.

Sam has noticed at work, and whilst I appreciate that he's been trying to give me extra breaks; I reminded him that he's paying me to work not just stand there.

He then told me he was the boss, and if he wanted to pay me to stand around he damn well will.

Speaking of Sam, I don't know what is up Harry's ass but the couple times he's 'randomly' come in for lunch this week while I 'just so happened to be working' which was 'such a 'coincidence'; he has been glaring at Sam like he killed his dog.

It's almost impossible to hate Sam, trust me. I've tried. So I don't know what his issue is.

The only time I've been able to see Harry this week, has been at work for the short time he'd come in for lunch. My mother has been exceptionally diligent at terrorizing every shred of my sanity when I try to leave the house aside from work.

I don't have the energy to fight it. I'm just so damn tired.

I understand why they use sleep deprivation when interrogating prisoners of war, it's mental agony.

I can barely concentrate.

Not to mention the content psychological assaults that leave me crippled and feeling like a helpless 6 year old all over again.

It made it harder to find something to write in my journal each night, the temptation to just leave the page blank and stop the suffering was a lot more prolific - almost deafening.

Half way through the week though, I started having something to look forward to each night. Something to write down that added a semblance of respite from that four walls of my sanity collapsing around me.

That smooth slow voice that had my stomach in knots, my ears drunk on the sound while it flowed into my mind to drown out the clutter and made the day bearable.

Harry started calling me.

I didn't hear from him after he left on Saturday, but I didn't contact him either. I found myself in that new cycle I hate where I let insecurity rip at my insides.

Does he want to hear from me? Would I be bothering him? Would I be annoying?

All of the things I never gave two fucks about a couple weeks ago now nag at me like a song that never ends.

Then he just turned up at my work on Wednesday, and that night was the first time my phone rang with his name on my screen.

When he called Wednesday night he asked if he could call again on Thursday after  I said I wouldn't be able to see him when he asked; I felt like shit that I was too ashamed to tell him the real reason I couldn't see him aside from just saying I was 'busy'.

Could I tell him about mum? Its so fucking embarassing.

Bryce always made me feel like it was the biggest inconvenience, and eventually I just stopped talking about it. As much as I wanted Harry to fuck off before, now I'm worried my situation would make him run for the hills.