Spillage || TW {18+}

♦ 16 ♦

picture; Livvy Ross

song; "Overdose" by grandson

author's note; Bit of a longer chapter this time. This chapter also contains another trigger warning for drug overdose. It isn't until the very end of the chapter, and there is some sweet stuff before the horrible stuff. I didn't go as graphic as I will later when Rylie remembers actually using drugs because an overdose isn't easy to remember, especially for a person like Rylie. 

I think I've asked before, but I'm wondering if any of you know what Rylie suffers from? Any guesses? Bulimia nervosa is pretty clear now, but she has a main mental disorder that caused other disorders. Can anyone guess it?

Also, I just wanted to say that I am in NO way romanticizing mental health issues and disorders. As someone who suffers from Generalized Anxiety Disorder, I know that mental disorders are not beautiful or glamorous, at all. 

We are just starting to get into the nitty gritty of Rylie's issues, and you all will be able to see as readers how it greatly affects her life, relationships, and health soon. 

Comment + Vote, enjoy.  

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Exhaustion.

It weighed me down so deep, so relentless that I couldn't even keep my eyes open. It was now 7:15 am; I knew without having to look. My lids felt like sandpaper over my eyeballs and I smashed my face deeper into my pillow--in a feeble attempt to suffocate myself. 

The insomnia from the night before had crept into the marrow of my bones. Even when Micah had come to ask to sleep with me after his nightmare, I laid awake until almost 4:30 am.

I had half a mind to ask Lola if it was okay if I missed first period, but the desire to see Victor made me sit up. 

It was weird, I thought with my eyes closed, my back leaned against the headboard of my bed. I actually looked forward to school now that I had Wolf to walk through the halls with.

After a few more moments of resting my eyes, I looked over to see that Micah was still sound asleep. He looked really peaceful, and if it wasn't for the fact that I felt so dead tired, I could fool myself to think that his tears and begging last night was just a bad dream.

My gaze darted up to my doorway where Lola was leaning against the frame, a blue-and-white striped steaming mug in her hands. 

She was dressed in an oversized pink shirt and white pajama bottoms. Her soft green gaze was watching me with so much empathy and adoration, tears sprang to my own eyes almost instantly.

Pressing the heels of my palms to the sockets, I rubbed away the tears before they could escape and betray me then tried to shove the tiredness into the deepest recesses of my brain.

"Good morning," I said, my voice low so as to not disturb Micah.

"Is it a good morning?" Lola wondered, a stinging motherly tone in her response.

"It will be a good day." I told her determinedly. Lola took a step inside the room and came to my side of the bed, sitting on the edge.

"Could you not sleep last night?"

"What gave you your first clue?" I questioned wryly, my mouth turning up into a fatigued grin devoid of any trace of humor.

"The dark circles. The unwillingness to get out of bed. The slow movements. The--"

"Okay, I get it." Despite my mood, I chuckled as Lola rattled off all the things she noticed since she'd been standing in my doorway. How long had she been standing there anyway?