Where The Dandelions Grow

02 - Adulting

Echo's POV

Daybyday. Day by day. Day. By. Day.

How am I supposed to take it day by day when the seconds feel like minutes and the minutes feel like hours?

I hate inspirational quotes. They always make me feel useless because of how simple they always sound to do. Yet, the easiest things seem to be the hardest task to complete. Someone claiming to have an inspirational quote once said, "I can fall asleep in the shower without drowning."

How is that inspirational? I have shocking news, dude. I, in fact, can't take showers without drowning. It's the intentions that matter, I guess.

Anyway, showering? Forget it.

I don't remember the last time I'd given myself a full shower since the incident with the pills. There's been no energy left in my body for a long while and if I ever manage to get to that point where I can scrub myself from head to toe, then I'll at least feel like things are starting to get better.

For now, I stare at the woman in the mirror who I don't even recognize. There's crust in the corner of her eyes from days of crying herself to sleep, along with eye bags so puffy that it looks like she might've gotten KO'd in both eyes. Her hair, which was once lively with full dark brown curls reaching her mid-back, now sits brushing against her shoulder blades, damaged. It's hard to stare knowing I'm her. Knowing she looks the way she does because of me.

I slash water in my face and grab a towel to dampen it away. I already wiped down important areas with soap and water. The bare minimum of what I could manage to do for my body, but it works. I try not to look at the tub that's been layered with the pills of my attempt, but it's hard. There's a reason I won't clean them. It reminds me of how much of a failure I am every time I enter the bathroom. It reminds me that I couldn't do the one thing I wanted to do and I'm not sure why.

I want to know why.

Somedays I'm so bored with myself, and my body, that I'm not sure if what I feel is an illusion or if I truly feel the way I do. Like a waste of space. Or just an entity that takes up space.

Unable to look at the pill anymore, I'm freed from the dreadful feeling they bring me by a knock on the door. It makes me jump, catching me off guard, but I recover fast, twisting my hair into a tight bun at the top of my head, sealing it with two twists of a hair tie before yelling, "Coming!"

I have no clue who's at the damn door and I have no desire to find out. From the second knock, harder than the first, it seems they probably won't go away without being consulted. In the middle of the third knock, I unlock the door and swing it open.

James, my building's middle-aged landlord, stands on my welcome mat, an envelope in hand. "Oh. Good morning, Echo."

"Good morning, James." I say with a forced smile and continue with, "Can you tell me why you're banging on my door like the fucking cops?"

He curls his lips inward. "You've always been a sweetheart, haven't you." He sighs, "I'm here to see your father who, you should know, sleeps... heavily... some days. He told me to knock harder if I wanted to wake him."

I haven't gone through the whole telling people my dad died phase, yet. Except for that guy I told when I called that number...

Regardless, I can't seem to fathom saying the words out loud again despite how much I disliked the man. So instead, I say, "My dad's out. I can relay the message."

He hands me an envelope. "Great. The rent's due, it's been due for a week now. I've given Mr. Johnson a lot of leeways when it comes to his rent, especially when you were a youngin', but tell him I need it ASAP. Thirty days are all he got."