Lasting Dreams.

Adrienne’s car is pulling out of the driveway. I don’t watch from the window like I probably should, because she’s probably looking to see if I am so that I can gain back some points. Instead, though, I just listen really quietly from the couch in the living room because, at this point, I don’t care about points. They don’t really even matter anymore.

There’s this splitting headache I’ve got pounding into my brain like a jackhammer, and I’m fucking sick of it. I want to hit myself so hard that I can’t even think straight, let alone have a headache rake its way to the front of my mind. And right now, it’s like all signs are pointing to the medicine cabinet above the bathroom sink; I need some heavy shit to forget about everything I’ve landed myself in, but even then, I doubt I’ll make it out alright. So I just sit here and wish that the painkillers will get up and walk into the living room, pop themselves into my mouth, and ease me of this damned migraine.

I don’t remember how long I’m sitting here, just trying not to do anything to make me think about them. But it’s hard when all I am is because of them, and how I’m the one who deserved it because I told George to drive. I was the one who sealed it for all of them.

My stomach growls. I’m pretty sure I’m hungry, but that doesn’t make much sense. I’m more sick than anything.

I have nothing to do, sitting here in my living room, occasionally alternating between the armchair and the loveseat, all the while staring either out the window or straight ahead at the wheelchair that sits motionless by the door. All I can do now to keep myself from thinking about how much I’ve completely fucked everything up is to remind myself that at least I can pretend I still have Adrienne.

She’s probably had lovers after me.

On the car ride home, she told me about how she had missed me. But in the back of my mind I know she was just lying to try and make me feel a little better about everything without giving me too much hope that things would get better. She could still lie, though, and I’d just listen to her and keep those lies until they burst me right open and made me see.

I’m not hungry, but there isn’t anything left to do. She pulled out about ten minutes ago and already I’m hopeless. I want to do something. I need to do something, to occupy myself with something so that I don’t feel like as much shit as I do. I swear to God I deserve it, I’d just rather take it in doses rather than all at once like it feels like I am right now. So I get up from the loveseat, look over at the wheelchair one last time, and head straight for the kitchen.

Cat isn’t here. Adrienne said somebody took her because I’ve been gone for so long. She said that whoever it was, they’d return her and put me out of my catless misery. Empty food bowls greet me as I walk into the kitchen. I miss Cat.

A lot.

I’m trying my hardest just to ignore them, but it’s really hard because I want her to rub up against my leg and claw and the bottom of my pants and beg for treats because she knows I’m really really powerless when it comes to her. I give her every fucking thing she wants and she knows it. And I want to go upstairs and climb into my big, empty bed and have her hop up with me. She’d purr and I’d just let her fall asleep right beside me because even though it isn’t very manly, I don’t feel like I have much else besides that cat.

The kitchen is absolutely silent. It’s freezing, because the heat probably hasn’t been turned on in months. It fucking sucks. I hate winter.

I realize that I’ve been hating a lot of things today, and it’s probably because I’ve lost everything in a matter of hours. At least, in my head, I have. On a literal level, I’ve been missing it all for months. The tile under my feet is like ice and I just stand there, shivering and sad and feeling like absolute shit. I think I’m depressed right then.

My feet take me to the table and I sit down. The refrigerator is running, that buzzing sound now the only thing I can hear. It’s like my ears are ringing. I ball my hands up in fists for a moment before clamping them over my face. I rest my elbows on the table and sigh really deep.

And I cry and I cry.

Tears are just pouring out of me. I thought they all fell out at the hospital when they told me. I was wrong. My eyes are raw and my face feels numb. I want out. I want out. I want out. My lungs are aching for air and I have to pry my lips open. I can’t stand the sound I make when I’m crying. It just doesn’t sound right, for me to be crying or sad or anything. I remember when we were all happy, and when I hardly ever cried. Before now, I can’t even remember the last time I was genuinely sad. But now, it seems like that’s all I can feel. My heart is all shriveled up and it hurts so fucking much.

I want to sleep.