THREE VEINS [H.S.]

| 5 | A FUCKING CROWN OF OLIVE BRANCHES

||| EVELYN |||

Another day, another shift at Barker's. The occasional cover at Remedy. A neverending cycle, it seems.

I can shelf all the books I desire, pour all the shots I want, eat all the ice cream the freezer can house... and I would still be in an existential crisis over this damn Vein fade.

My mistake is believing I had my fill of crises within my twenty-five years of living.

The worst thing about this particular crisis is that I have no clue why it's happening. Or even worse, how long it will last. And I don't exactly have the means to seek out a professional's opinion.

If I let the why exist solely in my random encounter with Harry that one day at the bookstore, my brain cells will die before I have the chance to.

I don't want this fading Vein to dictate my every decision; I'm not built like that. I love consistency and leisure, going along with life's ebb and flow with little to no constraints.

However, this fading Vein is making me hyperaware of little things I didn't care to notice.

What once was a casual look-both-ways before crossing a street has become a triple take, assessing every angle before the first step. Same goes for locking up Barker's or unlocking my own front door. I'm early to everything so I'm not frantic in a late frenzy.

There's an urgency to this unknown that didn't exist before. An urgency I know hundreds of thousands of others in the world share.

Nevertheless, it still feels like a one-woman spectacle on my end. Starring me. The world on my shoulders, the weight once manageable... now heaving.

It's tiring.

It doesn't have to be heavy, I know. I am a people person. I am perfectly capable of reaching out to people. Cici, Talia... the list is short, but options are there.

Part of me even considered going back to therapy as this classifies as a definite life-altering event -- the only circumstance I'd agree to go back. But I shot down the thought of the infamous plush couch of despair as soon as it entered my mind.

Talking to Cici is on the agenda, once I can articulate a coherent thought or emotion about the journey to death out loud.

Thinking about it is morbid enough, the voice inside my head says as I walk the blocks to open up Barker's, breathing brisk Wednesday morning air into my lungs.

With my bag slung over my shoulder and hot coffee in hand, I pray the books on the shelves shiver to life and spill their endless secrets to pass the hours by.

|||

An hour into my shift, I gave in and sent Cici a text to meet me for lunch on 5th Avenue near the waterfront.

I can push up my own agenda timetable and though I'm not ready to talk about the deep shit yet, I also know my best friend.

She will kill to hear about the mysterious, attractive, convertible-driving enigma who started it all.

Once the store is locked up for the generous hour I'm spoiling myself with, I'm off the to the races. The midday sun breaks through clouds as I speed walk to arrive on time, eventually turning a corner to meet the tasteful stretch of avenue ahead.

Food carts are perched along the sidewalk, the lines casually growing with the lunch rush. I take to the side of the road to pass everyone, eyeing our favorite deli cart a handful of feet away.

Cici waits for me on the curb with her phone to her ear, dressed almost identical to me. Mom jeans, casual tee, but the only difference is her black, stiletto heel ankle boots contrasting my white sneakers.