Oh My...

46.) Sorry

"Alex! Get your ass in the living room! Now!"

Hearing Claire yell like that would wake anyone out of a deep sleep. I jerked up with a gasp, and Bree did the same beside me. We ended up falling asleep in my room together after Marshall and Lindsay left. I glanced at her before placing a hand on her shoulder and pushing her back down. "I'll be back."

"Let me come with," she grunted, wiggling out of the blankets she was wrapped in.

I shook my head, already at the door. "Seriously, stay back."

I arrived to the kitchen and saw Claire standing in front of the hole in the wall. I gulped and started with a million apologies.

"Shut the fuck up." She snapped, not moving her eyes from the hole. Claire ran her hand through her stringy blonde hair and shook her head. "I-I can't fix this shit! You know I just rent this place? I don't own it. How am I-"

"I'll find money." I quickly promised. "I'll get a job."

"You're goddamn right you'll get a job!" Claire bellowed, still glowering at the hole. "I can't fix this on my own, I can barely--goddammit, how did this even happen?!" Her voice rose with stress.

I bit my lip. If I told Claire that Marshall was in the house when she wasn't home, she would never trust me again. "I lost my temper." I stated.

"And punched a hole? I don't buy it. Who was here?"

"I'm being serious," I pressed. "I was on the phone and-" I hesitated.

"And what?" Claire snapped.

I looked down. I didn't want to tell Claire this, but it might be my key to get her to believe my bluff. "You know that he got another girl pregnant?"

Claire's eyes widen; in an instant, the hole was forgotten. "Marshall?"

I nodded. "He told me over the phone. Look, I just sorta lost it- I'll get money to fix it."

"They have an opening at the place I work," Claire started. "Maybe I can pull some strings and get you an interview. But it isn't a guarantee, you'll still have to look for a job on your own."

"I will. I'm really sorry, Claire."

"Forget it, just get it fixed. Now wake up Bree and help me start dinner."

That night, after I finished helping Claire clean up the kitchen (an attempt to get on her good side), I was waiting for the shower to warm up when I caught a glance of myself in the long mirror over the sink. I stood there without any clothes on and stared at my body.

Ravaged from drugs and neglect, I appeared ghostly pale and ill. My eyes, weary with dark circles around them from makeup I hadn't bothered to take off, seemed to almost sink into my face. My cheekbones and jawline were noticeable, but it made me look almost sickly. I tried to imagine myself at an average weight and shuttered at the nightmare I was now.

By far, my arms were the worst. Millions of scabs picked open from when I was tripping and feeling spiders and bugs crawl under my flesh. There were bruises and scars from being careless and stupid, and veins peeking out of my translucent skin.

Staring at myself in this condition made me cry. I hadn't realized how bad I got. I hadn't realized how abusive I've been to myself. More tears trickled down my cheek as regret and remorse washed over me. I didn't even know how to fix this--was that even a possibility? Perhaps my window for redemption has closed, and now I have to live with this mess I made. My trembling fingers slid over my jutting hip bones, and I felt my throat rock with a sob.