The Things We Couldn't Forget

Chapter 6.

I left Mrs. Statham's house with a full stomach for the first time in I couldn't remember.

I'd mostly survived the trip to Montana with nothing more than junk food and a questionable chicken salad sandwich from a gas station.

I couldn't remember the last time I'd had a good, home cooked, real meal. It's hard to remember things like eating when you spend most of your waking hours in bouts of anxiety and the rest of your time sleeping to escape from it all.

As I'd left from Mrs. Statham's front door, she'd pulled me in for an awkward hug that lasted four seconds too long.

She'd begged me to come back by anytime, and I'd lied and told her I would. I knew though, that there was no reason for me to return. I'd gotten what I needed from her.

I used to feel bad.

The first few times I sank low enough to resort to stealing. When I could no longer afford to see a doctor who would prescribe the things I needed to get by, I didn't have much of a choice. Even when I did have money to make an appointment, they no longer wanted to give me what I asked for. I assume they knew what I know too.

I've got a problem.

I know that as I fist that bottle in my coat pocket. I know I'm depending on pills to keep me moving. I know I'm in too deep. I know it's not good or helpful or safe.

But the thing is, I don't really care.

I don't care that it's wrong or bad or illegal what I'm doing anymore.

Part of the problem, of course, is knowing if I tried to stop...I would probably end up like my mother.

I can't do that though.

I'm too afraid of not knowing what happens next to take that step. I don't like the idea of opening that door without knowing what's going to be on the other side.

I've done so many things now in my life that I should be ashamed of, but the pills help. They help me close off what I don't want to feel. They help hold me in warm safe arms. They tuck me away from the world and protect me from all of the demons inside of my skull.

I've passed the point of wanting to get better. I'm not even sure there is a better for me. At least, like this, I can just go away.

I breathe, I move, I walk through this life like a living corpse just waiting and biding time until I can be at rest once again.

She will realize what I've done.

She will notice the missing pills.

This is something I'm certain of, but by then I'll be gone. Her disappointment in me and my wrong against her will fade. She'll forget all about the girl who came into her home and discarded her kindness just for a quick fix.

With these pills...I can try to forget too.

I make my way to my car and go to get inside to take cover from the snow that's now falling with vengeful urgency. It cuts at my face like sharp little daggers and blurs my vision into nothing more than a white merciless fog.

I grapple for the handle of the drivers side door when I feel it connect to paper instead of metal.

I swat at the snow to pull the note away and blink quickly trying to make sense of the runny ink.

"You're not welcomed here."

It read in big block letters scribbled in a messy scrawl.

"Go home or be next."