Moonlit Craters

(18) Clearing House (New Content)

Music: Hate Me, Blue October
March 28th, 2020 
*****

A groan escaped, stifled by the pillow Stella's had nestled in over the night. She stretched her body, every muscle screamed in protest at the movement. Her head pounded, an invisible hammer in tune with a beat she could not hear. Body screaming in protest, she rolled over to take her morning round of pills and check the time. Her phone said it was just after seven and she had a text.

Unlocking her phone, she tried to smile at the picture that greeted her. Two cats sat in front of empty food dishes, one with its mouth wide open. A potential complaint about the empty food bowl.

Good Morning, gorgeous. :) Hope you slept well. These two had many complaints about how late I was out last night. They're threatening to strike if I don't feed them.

I'll make sure you're well taken care of if they do. ;)

Memories from the previous evening swirled around her, dancing to their own tune. Spending the night, dancing under a canopy of flowers, wasn't a night she'd ever envisioned for herself. Her cheeks still tingled from where he kissed them, affection Stella would never admit to craving. Later, she'd have to write it down. Just to have something to look back and smile about later.

Her phone buzzed with his response.

I'll hold you to that.

She didn't respond; that didn't need one. She rolled onto her back, looking at the rays of sun that decorated her ceiling.

"Is she still asleep?" Adam's voice sounded distant and echoey.

It took her a second to realize that he and Howie must be in the kitchen, his voice likely carrying through the vents. She'd never told them that she could hear them talk when they were below her room. There'd been no point in it; the majority of their breakfast conversations were shallow and impersonal.

"She was when I came down." Howie's voice sounded just as distant as his. Perhaps there was a bit more echo to it, his voice was naturally a few notes lower.

A cabinet opened and closed, someone moved around. The banging of pots made their way through the floorboards, covering any conversation that might have happened.

"Do you think last night went well?" Adam's voice seeped up through the vent.

"Well, she wasn't in bed with us this morning." He trailed off, anything else he said covered by the sound of the tea kettle whistling.

"You look disappointed." Adam must have waited for Howie to finish with preparing his morning cup of tea before speaking.

"I just." The bang of a plate or mug cut him off. "Her to get attached."

She couldn't hear anything for a few minutes. Had they moved away? Somewhere she couldn't hear them? Or was Howie stuffing his face?

"I mean, last time she did. You were there for that." Howie's voice cracked. "She hasn't changed a whole lot. You know? Just enough to get by."

She bit the inside of her cheek, a tear leaking out. How could she show him that she'd turned a new leaf over?

Being sober the past four years and almost eight months amounted for nothing – not when the desire to run back to it tantalized her at the most stressful of moments.

Not trying to kill herself in just as long went a little further, but not as much as when she still contemplated it. Even if that was not as often as the desire to drown herself.

Being single for that length of time, keeping herself separate from those around her, amounted to nothing when she tried to connect to those around her.